Football, the Wedding and, perhaps, a Succubus?

The students are back and this weekend promises to be an exercise in excess as we once again blur the lines between education and the social custom of stupidity as a rite of passage. WVU will trounce Marshall and thousands of people who had nothing to do with the outcome will scream "We are number one" and take it as a chance to do damage to other people's property, lives and freedoms.

Peri and Brian's wedding is bearing down. I am so looking forward to seeing them again, despite the tepid reception that I am most likely to receive. I sometimes mourn the fact that I never managed to teach her grace. Or perhaps, her seeing how I have been mistreated by people I have forgiven of their sins against me, she learned too well that scorpions are not to be given rides across the river. I wish she would set my penance and be done with it. Maybe I am asking too much.

Feeling a bit better today, my world is still a mess, and my heart is all over the map. I can see where the Faerie has definitely seized the high ground against my common sense, and either she is not wishing for something to happen between us, or is ignorant of the attraction I am feeling. The former is unlikely, as she has commented on it. More likely she is considering her next move.

That is to my benefit.

It is not without literary and historical precedent to recall that, in some mythologies, faeries and succubi fill the same spot.

Perhaps I am doomed.

The Faerie: The light in the grey

I watched you from the corner of my eye
your lips pursed in peckish pout
and you wasted the silver of emotion
on anger and fury
towards people and things
not worthy of your thought.
I ought to have said something
but there I times I wonder
who is the predator
and who plays the prey.
I am still measuring you.
Not just the fullness of your lips
or the curve of your hips
or how it would feel
to seal a moment
to steal a kiss
conceal the bliss
I can only imagine
while I wait for signs
of imps or angels.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: poetry books American authors wvu literature William F. DeVault west virginia university morgantown

The Faerie: The Walls of Sanity

You may note at the bottom, we're now including the Technorati Tags for this blog. Why? You don't light a candle to put it under a basket. Now, back to the show.

What do you do when you feel your heart slipping away to someone completely incompatible with you? Hey, wouldn't be the first time. I am controlling it, though. I am writing from the conflict, from the yearning, but not indulging it. The Faerie will forever remain just exactly a mythic beast on the fringe of reality, caught in glimpses out of the corner of my eyes. I'm mad, but not crazy.

The Faerie: The Walls of Sanity

The yearning, burning ache I dare not slake
in drinking from your pinking temptation.
Thirst, cursed and the worst of it all is that I
I would allow myself to raise my foot to step
over the line, to the door of dreams and raise
a stiffened hand to press my way through
the final impediments to passions screaming
in dreams ripped and slipped and tripped to fall
to their knees, egging me on, begging me to pierce
the fierce solitude I have shelled myself within.
But I say nay to an unwise thirst. No, with sorrow.
And I turn away, with eyes red with regret.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: poetry books American authors literature William F. DeVault

Harlan Ellison rumour control

Harlan Ellison, are you in trouble? I see where there are all sorts of rumours going around. I was never your biggest booster, but I hate rumours, so let me set a few things straight.

1) I never slept with Harlan Ellison. We met for one weekend, when I was co-chairing the West Virginia University (WVU)Monongamoot Science Fiction Society's "edu-con", MonCon. I and my friend Steve Saffel had managed to land Harlan (for $2500 plus expenses) and Stan Lee (for $1500 plus expenses) just to have Harlan go on Tom Snyder's "Tomorrow" show and deny he was attending our science fiction convention. In the middle of a coal miner's strike. Not a great fiscal move for us...but what could we do? They were both just great. Why did I never sleep with him? He's straight. I'm straight. I was in a monogamous relationship with a brilliant, leggy goddess at the time. And I never sleep with anyone too short to ride the adult rides at Disneyland.

2) Harlan is not William Shatner in disguise. Trust me, all elements of self-loathing possible aside, Harlan is too short. And, he writes his own material. Including the original script to the Star Trek episode "City on the Edge of Forever". In his first script, Captain Kirk has to die in order to save the future. They had him change the ending and it still won classic Star Trek an Emmy.

3) Harlan had a friendly feud with Isaac Asimov. He said that Asimov pretended to be a dirty old man to get away with being what he really was...a "tit grabber". If current rumours are true...He may be channelling Asimov, but I wasn't there and I don't know the full story. A Harlan groupie did get past our security at MonCon using a letter of introduction from Isaac. She was carrying doped chocolate chip cookies in order to molest Harlan. He didn't eat them. But friends of one of the organizers did and passed out. She didn't molest them.

4) Harlan did write an early treatment for "I, Robot". I saw it. He sold off copies of the first several pages at $10.00 a pop at MonCon to make up for the losses we were taking. It was a noble gesture, but knowing how much he hates it when people change their opinions on anything, I walked up to him afterwards an told him I respected his action, but he would always be a "prick" in my opinion. He smiled and said "I can respect that". His version, being written in 1979, did not star Will Smith.

5) Harlan is not behind the War in Iraq. That is actually Joe Haldeman. Or Orson Scott Card. I always get those two confused.

So there you have it, some rumour control for an old acquaintance. You don't have to thank me, Harlan, just buy one of my books sometime. Oh, by the way...I still have never bought one of yours. I didn't want to lose your respect.

Finger wagging at the media in the JonBenet Ramsey Case

So the Ramsey case fell apart, did it? Just goes to show that there is still, despite what the pandering buffoons at Fox and CNN would have us believe, a difference between justice and tabloid television (I remember when CNN was a journalism outlet, instead of a tabloid television wannabe).

I am sick to death of TV news trying to throw former lawyers on the screen and taint jury pools. The sad thing is, if you were to bring this jackass to trial now, you could probably still get a conviction. I mean, all the commentators had already placed him at the scene, his hands around JonBenet's neck.

Guys, there's a war still going on. Renewed tension in the MIddle East. North Korea has the bomb. O.J. still hasn't found his wife's murderer. An environment in crisis. A well-meaning but malign buffoon in the White House and Barry Manilow just won an Emmy.

There's plenty more to be worried about than one psycho who grabs headlines by just giving you morons something to rumour monger on.

Shame on you all. Shame.

Next time I want headlines and a free first-class plane ticket back from overseas, just remind me to 'confess' to the Lindbergh Baby Case.

By the way, in a personal note to Titania: The offer was real.

Lips Loose in Los Angeles

I really can't say enough about the wonderful reaction to our latest music and poetry fusion, "Right Set of Lips". It is gratifying and fun to hear the feedback and see the counter zoom as more people listen and refer it to their friends...this tells me that we are onto something.

If you haven't yet given it a listen, you can find it on my City of Legends website under the 'Radio Page'. That version is framed by my intro and the usual theme music from the podcast, From Out of the City...which adds what may be unnecessary adornment to a simple, straightforward piece, one kind soul compared it to the stripped down "Blackbird" by The Beatles. I am aware that this is probably hyperbole from someone wanting a free book or laid, but it is still food for a much-battered ego.

If you just want to hear the raw piece you can get it at my MySpace site, along with a few other pieces: http://www.myspace.com/williamfdevaultandthegodsoflove.

I am still pulling together my last minute plans for Los Angeles. I will be there from September 12-19, just a couple weeks away, and still have not worked out all the details of where I am staying and who I'll be visiting with. If you're an old friend I have misplaced, or a reader who wants to buy me lunch, or an eccentric but gorgeous billionaire romantic poetry fan, you can drop me a line at williamfdevault@cityoflegends.com .

I am planning to meet with my friend Lenny, if time and funds allow make a day trip to Joshua Tree to recharge my spiritual batteries, and (duh) attend my daughter's wedding. The rest is fluid...I have been told not to expect to be entertained or tapped for any duty by the wedding planners, and my desire to spend some time with my sons on the loose in my city may be thwarted.

Sigh.

Top Ten people I'd most like to hear from before I go?

Dar, Alisha, Bob Davi (I lost his email address...believe it or not), Avi, Dave Demeter, Sandy (unlikely, but I still think of her as a friend), Kevin Rapp, Lauren, George Clooney (Hey, I hear he's good on letting people crash at his place), Elizabeth Roses (I should have asked her out), Q and Ellen. I know Larry has moved to Florida. The Panther lives in LA now, but I am pretty sure her hubby and anyone asociated with the wedding would be scandalized if we sat down to tea (and we all know I avoid scandal at all costs).

The odds on any of those? I fully expect one or two surprises, but won't hold my breath. Blue is not a good colour for me.

The Right Set of Lips and old friends from coast to coast

I spoke with my old friend Lenny this evening. A great guy and one of my few remaining links to the old Los Angeles I was connected to...okay, the second generation LA. It happens. You drift away or redefine your circle of friends when you marry or get involved with someone...or move away.

Lenny has been solid and resolute and is just a great guy...we resolved to get together when I am in town next month.

I also ran into, in chat, my friend Barbara Holmes, known in the old world of AOL's Writers Club as TwisterB. We had a nice talk. I miss the camaraderie of that institution. It really took a hit when Wired Magazine decided to declare it the best place for cybersex on the web. Suddenly, we didn't have so many writers, we had a lot of people just cruising. It became oppressive.

I put up the new show on the Radio page at City of Legends. It features just my new piece with the band, "Right Set of Lips". Hopeful, romantic and even a trace erotic, it is wonderfully enhanced by the music. Gradually, inch by inch, the line between accompanied poetry reading and song is blurring...

If you want to hear it outside of the frame of the From Out of the City podcast, you can retrieve it at my page on MySpace http://www.myspace.com/williamfdevaultandthegodsoflove. It's worth the two minutes and change...

Would you rather be stabbed by Sharon Stone or Angelina Jolie

There was a season...when people were people, not echoes of movie roles.

I had a relationship with a woman once whose role model was Catherine Tramell from "Basic Instinct". I'm not kidding.

Not in and of itself a good sign.

Now I find myself gathering into orbit around a woman whose role model is the character of Lisa, Angelina Jolie's breakout-breakdown sociopath from "Girl, Interrupted".

Add to that the fact that the former lover also idolized Angelina Jolie's portayal of the violent, tempermental, addicted, doomed and fragile model in "Gia"...and you pretty much hit on my pattern with women.

No word on what my roles are or were supposed to be in these scripts. Yikes! I repeat. Yikes!

Please, keep the ice picks in your pockets until after I leave.

Spider women, Harlan Ellison and the illusion of control

I'm back.

Obviously. And again, feeling around the cautious minefield of exposition.

Several years ago, when a memoir project was first floated, I received a pleading note from a former lover, who had since married. She told me that she had never told her new husband about "us" and that he would be upset, so that it would be very nice if either I did not publish the book, or left her out if I did.

Hey, what sort of a monster do you think I am? I use my totems, in part, to allow those whose lives intersect with mine to remain at least somewhat anonymous. But, sometimes, owing to the size of the target, obscurity is not an easy option. In this case the woman was the editor and publisher of one of the larger poetry e-zines on the planet, and her name had been connected with mine in rumour and fact (that she kept everyone she ever knew away from her new husband is the truly remarkable feat of social engineering of the last half-century...he has to have been curious).

All I have ever required is to be asked to be discreet. Not threatened. Not challenged. I admit that the human mind is, at best, an imperfect photographic plate and sometimes details mix and run and fade and shift. And not just in my mind. I have had incidents recounted to me, quotes attributed to me, that I know I never uttered and never was present for. Just yesterday a manager at work complimented me on a story I had related in a previous class I had taught. The problem is, I have never had her in any of my classes, and what details of the story she told me bears no resemblance to anything in my memory.

So either she is confused or I am. I will bet on her.

When my muses, my totems, are public figures, such as editors, artists and lingerie models, it is tough to keep their names completely off the record, especially when they go on the record at some point, regarding our relationship. Anyone here ever recall the interview with The Panther that once appeared on my site? A few months after she gave it to a mutual acquaintance, a new boyfriend of hers, doing research on her, found it and was troubled by her casual attitude towards my divorce. She called me up, in tears, begging me to take the interview down, which I did. She was angry at me. For her public statements. About something she did. Somehow it was all my fault.

I'm not in this for blood, vindication or even a little personal payback. I can't tell the truth without sometimes treading on people's toes and sometimes they get angry. But not at me. At themselves. My Mother is fond of saying not to do anything you wouldn't do in front of her. Makes it tough on a honeymoon, but in principle it is a sound notion.

Harlan Ellision taught me that the greatest control you can have on your own life is to live so publicly and without shame for anything that you are un-blackmailable. He said that to me at the Pizza Inn in Morgantown, West Virginia, back when we brought him to town for a science fiction convention. He was sitting at dinner with me, my fiance (Psyche) and her sister, who was a few years later to become Arachne in my totem-muse pantheon. I learned a lot that evening about truth and the danger of veils. Some of it inadvertent. Some would contribute to the death of that relationship with Psyche and lead to the affair with Arachne. Some of it would take years to digest and learn from.

And yes, their youngest sister, Aurora, would also get into the act...but that was much later and an act of irredeemable stupidity on my part, even though botht Arachne and Aurora occurred much after Psyche and I had parted ways and she had swiftly married one of her graduate students. I understand they are still together. Good for them! I believe in mongamy and am sometimes bitterly disappointed in myself for not having been able to make it work.

Yet.

Never bet against an Amomancer. We will surprise you. And it will be public, is code-worded and totemed to the ceiling.

reopening DeVault

You're going to see some changes around here. Big changes. I can't announce them all right now, in part because I don't know what they all will be.

But I can tell you this blog is going to become more me and less a vaporous shadow of me.

I'm not, by nature, a dissembler. Nor am I, by nature, a liar. Or a coward. But times and forces have entered my life over the last several years that have made me compromise, conceal and obscure my thoughts, my feelings and my life.

That's not fair to me, as it means I have to live and present, if not a lie, at least a weak, homeopathic liquor of my existence. It's not fair to you, as you are a part of my universe, even as a witness.

So let's lay some groundrules.

No falsehoods. When I joined the Society of Friends, it was in no small part an attempt to help keep that part of me so often bent by the whims and wills of others into falsehood under control. I have largely found my way through from that.

No willful harm to others. I will use totems and code phrases, to protect the innocent and the guilty. The innocent can come to harm. The guilty can sue. Neither is a desireable place to be. If you are a part of my life and feel I am exposing you or making you subject to ridicule, I apologize in advance. Let me know if you have issue, I will seek to correct any false impressions I give. I am not perfect.

No grandstanding. You'll get the unvarnished essence of my life. Some days are boring and hollow. Some are of interest only to me. As such, you may find what I have to say of little interest. But just as that oddly shaped single-colour jigsaw puzzle piece does not give away where it goes, it does eventually fit into the picture and is necessary for completeness.

Let's start from the basics.

My name is William Francis DeVault. If you are reading this, most likely you are either related to, acquainted with or aware of me as the author christened the "Romantic Poet of the Internet" all the way back in 1997.

I have been married and divorced twice. My first marriage gave me three children, who are stars in the firmament of my heaven. The eldest, Peri, lives in Los Angeles and is getting married next month. I will be there, keeping a vow I made to her a few years back that, if I were alive, I would be there.

My sons, Elric and Dante, live with their mother, whom I will solely refer to in my blog as The Valkyrie. Our marriage dissolved under many pressures, after about seventeen years, but mostly my infidelity with the totem-muse I call The Panther who is the subject of my book THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, which I reccomend. As novel-length poetic diaries of a dysfunctional and destructive love affair go, it is the best. I and my first wife stay in touch, she tolerates my existence, as I did break her heart. But, she recognizes the role I play in the lives of our children, and as she has said many times, she would not have me killed as that would eliminate her ability to make my life a living hell. Charming.

My second marriage was to The Leopard, who was named appropriately, as in the end she could not change some of her spots and we parted, amicably at first, but elements have entered the mix since then to make things quite acrimonious. What those forces are I have no inkling of and I sometimes mourn the loss of her friendship. I find life a bit confusing and frustrating when I am not offered a chance to state my case and clear the air. Regardless, I hope she is happy, healthy and safe.

I have never fallen out of love in this life. Yes, never.

It is a curiosity to me, as so many people claim to be able to do so. Whether that means I loved differently, or they are just in denial, I have no idea.

I have, at this point, authored about 13,000 poems, and produced 9 books. The most recent one is currently in that awkward stage between completion and full production. I have my next six book projects already mapped out for me.

A slender young man, as I aged I swallowed my regrets and gained a great deal of weight. I finally believe I have a control on this and have recently shed over 40 pounds and intend to keep going until I am satisfied with my weight.

I currently live in Morgantown, West Virginia, where I grew up. I returned here during my second divorce, in part as refuge, in part because my father was about to undergo surgery and in part because I had just been honored by the Appalachian Education Initiative as one of 50 "outstanding creative artists" from West Virginia. Never mind that I had, in part, originally fled the Mountain State to establish myself as a writer and that my own high school has never asked me back to even guest speak in an English class, I still felt an obligation to be present.

I am currently not involved with anyone, although I have started dating again. It is difficult finding someone who can get past my emotional and intellectual defenses. This is a problem that complicates my life as I derive strength from my relationships and emotional satisfaction from my sexual relationships. I am monogamous by nature and I do not drink or smoke or do any recreational drug stronger than caffeine. I tried champage, on my wedding night of my second marriage, and spat it out. Perhaps a bad omen?

I work a day job, as most poets who have not won the lottery do. Mine is as a Trainer for a large customer services company. I have worked for larger, richer companies, and made nearly ten times the salary I now earn, but the people are decent, the atmosphere is congenial and this is Morgantown, not Los Angeles, San Jose, or Washington.

We'll talk more later. In the interim, you can always cruise over to my website The City of Legends and check out some of my writings, some articles about me and some soundfiles of myself and my friends reading poetry, and even my band "The Gods of Love".

Take care, God bless, and may U live to C the dawn.

Saturday morning and life is life is life

I can feel my voice giving out...been teaching too many classes over the last few weeks. Need to pull back a bit and let it recover, or risk losing it before Peri's wedding.

Otherwise, just piling so much on my plate I cannot think nor feel half the time. Busy. Busy. Busy. Anything else I might say at this point might be misconstrued.

An acquaintance yesterday asked me about the woman who was with me in my car. I acknowledged that, at the time she sighted me, there had indeed been a woman in my car...then walked away. I think this drove her nuts.

I am enjoying being intentionally obscure about my social life. I am not enjoying it when it is unintentionally obscure of its own accord.

It sucks to be me some days.

A late birthday present

Wow. Tired. But not in a bad spirit, it is all to a good end...attending Peri's wedding. It is just that time is getting short and I have to make sure everything is in place. And I suck at organization.

Had one of those "aha!" moments the other day. I was talking with a few younger male friends when this one not-unattractive female friend comes by and speaks to me.

"William, I missed your birthday last week!" (Did I mention she has an accent? Accents are yummy.)

"That's okay, I didn't make a big deal out of it."

"But I want to get you a present. What do you need?" She says this as she slides neatly beside me.

"Nothing. I'm good."

"Maybe you'd like some Viagra?" She asks this as she rubs up against me while the male acquaintances all begin to lose control of their lower jaws.

I look into her eyes and say "You know, a man doesn't need that with the right partner."

She giggles, snuggles up, then slips away.

The male friends watch her leave in her one-size-fits-some-all-too-well jeans and one of them turns to me and says

"I can't wait until I'm your age."

Yeah, youth is wasted on the young. Best birthday present I got this year was being reminded of this little fact. And of course, maybe I'll unwrap the proffered other present (something tells me the real offer was not some pills).

I got a fortune cookie the other day that read (I am not kidding) "Accept the next proposition you hear."

Who am I to argue with the fates?

The full interview

Before E.J. gets his shot, I figured I'd post the contents of a brief interview I told him he could excerpt for whatever devious purposes he needed to help promote the site and my works...

***

E.J.: Okay, let's talk about the songs.

WFDV: They aren't songs.

E.J.: There are words with music. I consider them songs.

WFDV: Then, your consideration is wrong. I put some music behind some poetry readings. Songs are sung. I don't sing.

E.J.: There's a moment or two on a few where that voice is not reading.

WFDV: (grin) You're hearing things. Get checked.

E.J.: Okay, those who wish to consider it all should check your MySpace niche for William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love. Let me know what you think. Are pieces like "Strange but Beautiful (The Faerie)" and "Joining the Machine" songs or just poetry readings with some music behind them?

WFDV: You'll lose, my friend.

E.J.: Let's talk about the non-songs, shall we?

WFDV: We shall.

E.J.: "Strange but Beautiful". Where did that come from...and who is "The Faerie"?

WFDV: To the point, you're learning. The Faerie is a muse, a "totem-muse" if you like, and you seem to be fond of that phrase. She's just this woman I know...

E.J.: The non-song, the poem, the choice of musics (which I presume you have control of as frontman for the band) all indicate an almost spiritual romanticism, a rebirth of the romantique, is it safe to say there is more dimension to this that many of your more recent works?

WFDV: More dimension? No. A more upbeat, positive and hopeful dimension? Yes. I'v spent my purgatorial bliss wallowing in pain, self-doubt and despair. Time to love again. Wounds are deep, but they heal. And, when we are not the architects of our own ruin, we need to get over the injuries and move on, lest we merely add to the psychic rape. I take my moments, every day, to wonder at the brutality of the human soul, I just don't have to live there.

E.J.: Uh. Yeah. And this piece is...?

WFDV: An earnest, reflective expression of an awakening affection and passion.

E.J.: Want to add anything to that?

WFDV: No. Move on.

E.J.: Of all these pieces, these non-songs you've put together since the launch of your podcast "From Out of the City", is there one or are there a few that truly stand out for you?

WFDV: Absolutely. I love "Strange but Beautiful". "Wordslinger" rips it. "Horizon" is wonderfully realized. I am very content with several others. I don't want to paint with one colour in one medium forever. And, truth be told, I like to colour outside the lines.

E.J.: So we should expect more?

WFDV: Much more. I am, to steal a title of an elder poem of mine "Bragi, awakening in his tomb". I'm not dead, yet. In the next few weeks and months, a whole new arsenal of works will emerge. My trip back to my beloved Los Angeles, next month, and the concurrent wedding of my daughter, Peri, will certainly have an impact on my emotions. Remember, it is on these very trips that I have met some of the most important people in my evolving pantheon. The future is nothing, if not exciting, inviting and a source of great wonder to me.

E.J.: Anything else to add? Want to plug a book or two?

WFDV: Nope. The books take care of themselves. I'm into nourishing their creator, now.

***

So there it is...this keeps him from editing and tidying it. Hope to talk to you all later. I am arranging for an interesting little contest for willing students this year, the first prize will be two complete sets of my works...one to the school library of the winner, the second will go to the actual winner. And a cash prize.

Stayed tuned for mor einformation.

archiving some of the poems

E.J. hit me with an intriguing idea...a poetry archive. So, I shall probably implement it before I go to Los Angeles next month.

I'm going to choose some of my poetry on my website The City of Legends to move to the archive, which will mean just they'll be de-centralized to a common repository one more menu pick below the surface. At the same time I will shuffle in some newer works, perhaps some pieces even that I will pull off of my pages at Authors Den. I have nearly two hundred there...might as well put them to use, y'know?

How many poems will be affected? Probably about 100. If there are any particular pieces you think should shuffle in or be archived, drop me a line.

Have a great day.

prisoner of the mountain

I was dashing off a few quick emails to old friends, when a line I scribed to my former lover and continuing friend, Brigit, caught my whim and the moment, so I built a poem around it. With your kind indulgence...

It is lonely, up on Olympus, this time every year.
The skies are grey, but a mystical, crystal clear
and I can see Valhalla, just o'er to the East,
hear the echoes in the valleys of some Asgardian feast.

Bast has passed into the West, to fill her barren bed,
Valkyries and mythic beasts have played their part, then fled.
The waters run in rivers known for stealing mortal thought,
to spill across the splintered stones that rose aloft for naught.

The marble, cold beneath his feet, the throne fits none too well,
an aging back the could attack the legions all of Hell,
but carries now not sword nor shield nor banner to parade
to mark the line where love divine unleashed a serenade.

In Golden Hearts, in fits and starts, the man recalls it all
and wonders how he found himself entombed within this hall.
Immortal prayers and well-worn stairs ascend to silent cell,
a tower of bleached ivory, to wear as hermit's shell.

The frescoes do not listen to him when he weeps and roars.
Chosen guardians, they are unmoved by mercy he implores
to strike him down or split the walls that he may slip away
and promise ne'er to e'er again dare to come this way.

But ancient walls have stood too long and well they keep their place
to serve as mock of timeless clock in ringing his disgrace.
He binds his hands in iron bands and strikes against the stone
to one day reach the shadowed breach and, for his sins, atone.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Rereading the Cliff's Notes on my lovelife

Nothing personal, my absence...just have been distracted and delayed at almost every turn. For some strange reason, to a certain depth, attractive women seem to be getting in my path. Not for relationships, either short term or long term, but to ask favours, seeks counsel, etc.

It's a weakness I have, playing the big brother, the Dutch uncle, the gender-neutral friend, sort of like the old Jerry Seinfeld routine about guys letting pretty girls merge in traffic. A part of your brain keeps telling you that if you show you're a nice guy, there will be reward someplace. Someplace.

I love it when a woman you have interest in decides you would make a good friend for helping her with her current relationship problems. Usually it is to give a fair and balanced opinion of their current boyfriend, their behaviour or to use as a sounding board while they vent about the sexual demands (or lack thereof) that he presents.

Shoot me. Just shoot me and get it over with.

I Feel the Need...

I saw a total of 31 signs yesterday and today, greeting the WVU students back. All were on commercial property, all were sponsored by and advertisements for beer companies.

So much for education. Let's get drunk. Nice message.

Sigh. Ever get the feeling you're the only sane person on the bus, and there's no driver? Daily, here. And people wonder why I go dark sometimes? I think any sane creature that is both sentient and possesses a soul has to be a little ashen-hearted at the society that festers around us.

Thus endeth the rant.

I am working on a new musical piece. I love "Strange But Beautiful (The Faerie)" which you can find on MySpace at the site for my band "William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love", but it is dark and introspective, and I think my mood needs a rock out...

Does anybody want to rock and roll?

I said "Does Anybody Rock and Roll?"

DOES ANYBODY WANT TO ROCK AND ROLL????!!!!????

Sorry, this is poetry...watch tomorrow for the results. Izzy...engage the hyperdrive. Something that kicks ass and doesn;t even wait around to ask for names.

Aphrodite, found!

Well, I can tell you the wordsmith is out and engaged on all 13 cylinders...I just got word that he has come up with a design for the cover of his much-anticipated book RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE and even procured a model for it. He has designed all of his book covers aside from his 1997 volume PANTHEON and even executed the cover for Daniel S. McTaggart's MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE.

No initial sales reports on his sexual healing volume 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS. I have to admit I figure it will sell well, if only for the title. It is a shame that a good marketing title is more important than the innards, but such is life when we live in a society dominated not by those who achieve, but by those who tell us about who we should think of as achievers.

The volume is not dirty or pornographic, but is graphic and frank in its depiction of sexuality as something healthy and healing between lovers, a balm I am afraid that has been avoiding him lately. He is so focused on his work and still, I fear, nursing the emotional scars of the brutality of his last major relationship that he is in no rush to burn again, although it is in his instincts to love, feel, merge with another.

A shame. Not so much for him, but for the poor woman who should be with him who is, undoubtably, settling for, at best, less than she deserves. I hope his return to LA remedies this travesty.

Samuel L. Jackson, stand up comic

Few people younger than thirty or forty recall that, before he was a character actor he was a leading man, and before that a character actor with some stand-up comic aspects to his appearances on talk shows. I'm talking about Burt Reynolds. Funny guy and very gifted.

Yesterday, whilst standing in front of the cinema, getting ready to see SNAKES ON A PLANE, it occurred to me that Samuel L. Jackson would make an...hmmm...interesting stand-up comic.

"I just flew in from Cleveland and...there were Motherfuckin' Snakes on the Plane!"

"And airline peanuts. What is it with them? You open up a bag, spill some on the floor, and a cobra slides up your pants leg. Do I really need another large, throbbing reptile in my pants?"

"And why do they call it the 'Mile High Club' when you get some in a plane's bathroom? Planes don't fly a mile up. They fly about 6 Motherfuckin' miles up. So there you are, six miles high, giving it to your girlfriend or having unprotected sex with a girl you just met on aisle F where the only tight fit is the two of you in a broom closet with running blue water (rimshot), and a bunch of venomous reptiles drop down and start biting you all over your bare asses. They should call it the 'Mile High Cemetary Club' and give out 'Frequent Die-er Coupons."

Sorry, just had to indulge the whim. Anyway, saw the film. It's fun. Hope it makes a truckload of money and they have a sequel...maybe SNAKES ON THE SPACE SHUTTLE? SNAKES ON A BUS (with Sandra Bullock)? SNAKES IN A MOVIE THEATRE? Now you're talking...

great, grey tomorrow

each day the hollow grows larger
and more profound

I can hear the echoes

the echoes

the echoes

fading into a distance still inside of me
offset by time and yet I can not determine
whether they are fading into the past
or a harbinger of a great, grey tomorrow


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Welcome back, Mountaineers!

I had a student the other day ask me how much her degree in Biology from WVU was going to be valued in the workplace, due to the school's reputation as a beer-soaked cesspool of academic mediocrity (her words).

I told her that many departments at West Virginia University are solid and carry good academic credentials, and the mere fact that many students who should have never left home come there to sow their oats (trashing Morgantown in the process, but local authorities don't mind as long as the students buy enough beer and condoms for the merchant base to thrive) only affects perceptions, not reality...and there are those who see beyond that.

She seemed content with that answer. I know many people who did get degrees at WVU and were not hampered by it. Yes, when a stranger sees you have WVU on your resume, at least until lately, there were only a handful of references they could think of: burning sofas, drunken partying, Jerry West and Kevin Pittsnogle.

It is difficult with the sensational and sports-dominated media to get attention for a good English Department, but this is just reality for many, many schools. Quick, tell me something about Oregon State or Texas Tech or Radford College aside from if they have a good team in some sport or the other, or have recently had a sensationalized story in the media about partying, vandalism or rape?

Media is all about what sells papers, not what bolsters excellence. Who won the Nobel Prize for Literature last year? Okay, who won the SuperBowl? What actor recently got arrested for DUI? And we wonder why we live in a graceless age.

Accept the fact that there are some fantastic students, some good people, sitting out there, getting ready to take on the world. The people who bust their asses in the classroom, who don't get arrested, who don't burn furniture to celebrate a sports victory that says nothing about their excellence or quality as a person, they aren't newsworthy.

But they're the ones who will be healing your children, building your cities, inventing great things and making our lives easier, better and more productive when the party animals are burned out bystanders living in a trailer, complaining about how life gave them short shrift.

The real Mountaineers of old blazed trails, opened up the West for the masses, explored wilderness and protected settlers from harm. And the real Mountaineers of today aren't found in a bar, playing beer pong and watching a football game. They're blazing trails in the classroom, opening their minds to receive knowledge to impart to a new generation of open minds, exploring truths most of us don't know and can't understand, and protecting us from the ravages of our own destructive tendencies against our bodies, our culture and our environment.

Let's goooooooooooooo, Mountaineers.

Friday morning...a little sleep helps

Wide awake and feeling a bit more human today. Last night's visit to B&N helped...I stuck to the background and let Tag shine...his reading is this Saturday and I think he's ready.

I delivered the Guinness paperwork to Chanda at B&N, it is in her hands now. I met two instructors from University High School, one of whom was interested in inviting me to speak with their students. It would be ironic, after a fashion. I graduated Morgantown High, who are fierce rivals of UHS, and have yet to be acknowledged or invited by that school, despite the fact that I have spoken with them in the past. Most authors have little trouble being accepted locally, more rouble t a regional level, and finally few get an international stage. The model seems flipped in my case. Locally I am practically anonymous...

Might be a bit of a slap in the face of the Mohigans, but "...love the one you're with". They had their shot. Apathy is unbecoming of a suitor.

I wrote a new piece last night, during the reading...would love to share it with you all, but as a gesture I gave it, hand inked, dated and signed, on the naplin I wrote it on, to the CRM at the bookstore...maybe I can get her to transcribe it for me?

Finally, this Saturday there's a big to-do at the plaze where the Barnes & Noble sits, they are going to bussing wave after wave of university students to the plaza to shop for their dorm space fillers. I have held out the notion of donating some copies of "PANTHEON" to the cause of the giveaways they'll be doing at the store.

feeding on myself

Strange day...the day after my birthday, truly strange. I made some good connections. Found out some important, and generally positive stuff.

And came to the conclusion that I am in this all, alone. There are days I feel like a fraud, the "Romantic Poet of the Internet", the "living legend", the "Amomancer". I feel like the burnt body, near death, crawling with one good arm from the carnage of a life, having to depend on his will to live, alone, to make it to...to what? A painful and ultimately futile recovery?

Yes, the talent is there, the intellect, but it is like I am slowly peeling away the inside of a hollowing ball to convince the audience that it is full of something that no longer remains. The machine runs, the output comes out...

but there is nothing going in to fuel it, to be processed into the magic elixir of love and hope. So, it feeds on itself.

I feed on myself.

Is everyone a self-parasitizing organism? I don't know. Perhaps they are and just some/many/most/all are unaware of it. Maybe I am like Neo in the Matrix, awakening in my cell, seeing the illusions shatter and splash and dash themselves out in the raw air of truth, only to be ultimately flushed away, discarded.

The debris of what, in the end, was an illusion.

a moments musing

Well, I am getting my ducks in a row for my trip to California next month. I plan to return, but you never, ever know for sure.

I have seen too many things ravel and unravel of their own accord, the best attitude and strategy is one of adaptation.

The moments right after the completion of a book project are strangely sad. There is a sense of accomplishment, but also a sense of loss, of purpose misplaced and misplayed. I shall survive, though.

I have walked away from wonders. I can do anything I am willing to make the barter for in efforts.

Off to Barnes & Noble for the open microphone event. Later!

B-Day + 1

Okay, it is the day after the birthday...time to get back on track. Lots to do...I think I'll drop by Barnes & Noble tonight during their open microphoe event and shake things up.

In a page right out of "Pretty in Pink" I didn't hear anything from my daughter on my birthday, but she is in the middle of the plans for her wedding. It just is a bit surreal.

Pre-sales of "101 Great Erotic Poems" are over. I wasn't impressed, but the book may have to find its audience, I have every confidence that once it is avaialble through all the online bookstores it shall...

Well, things to do, people to see...

(ahem)

happy birthday to me
happy birthday to me
happy bithday happy birthday
happy birthday to me

Yep...made it another year. Now, for my next miracle.

what I want for my birthday

I have been asked on several fronts what I want for my birthday, and, invariably, I answer the same way: Buy one of my books.

Why? Truth is I make very little off any one sale, even less off of THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS, but it also adds to my sense of accomplishment, to my sense of immortality (and it gets the notice of the media more, sales drive attention).

So, if you want t give me something for my birthday, and you are not a lovely lady in close enough proximity to deliver it in the flesh (now THAT would be a birthday present), let me suggest...

The cheapest possible of all routes?

101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS if you are of my newsletter subscribers (or you sign up, quickly), just $10.00

For about $15.00 you can get the same volume if you are not a newsletter subscriber, for the same price you can get THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS.

For $11.95 you can get a copy of my breakthrough CD, THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB.

For $17.00 you can have INVOCATO, my "best of" collection.

For $25.00 a copy of my hardback 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS, a very nice gift if you are of that inclination.

And for $29.95 we see THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, nearly ten dollars cheaper than it is through most online and brick-and-mortar bookstores.

Of course you can order most of these through your favorite merchant instead of my CITY OF LEGENDS BOOKSTORE, but you don't get the autograph and the shipping may not be free.

So, if you want to see the poet smile, that's what I want for my birthday. Or, your sister.

one day and counting down

With only a day until my birthday (and the release of "101 Great Erotic Poems") I'm so busy it is almost out of control (but if you know me, you know that this is a good thing).

After these many years and two ended but successful marriages (by American standards, not mine...I should have married Nancy and never strayed) I've got a lot to ponder, but until I get a relationship to absorb my emotional side, it is best to keep very very very busy, so as not to think too much.

Later, all...

Don't forget to check out the new podcast... here.

And only one day left for special advance ordering for " 101 Great Erotic Poems".

Live and Alive

The new podcast is up and roaring at

Radio City of Legends

It features three new works by myself and the Gods of Love, including

"Strange But Beautiful (The Faerie)"

"The Texture of Your Tongue" from "101 Great Erotic Poems"

and

"The Thunder Out of Valhalla (We Owe Debt to Memory)"

I think you'll want to hear this for yourself.

Night, all.

gnight princess

closer is better...

Finally go the technical issues sorted away, so later tonight we should have my birthday podcast up and flying in the 'City...stay tuned.

Now to go and be as charming as possible to a certain young lady...

podcast delay, but keep holding your own

I was going to surprise you all with the new show last night, but a slight technical problem at archive.org has delayed that.

But that's...okay.

Today is August 14th, or what used to be celebrated at the day between my and Psyche's birthdays (hers being August 12th, mine the 16th...yeah I share mine with Madonna and Frank Gifford, which means, astrologically, I'm screwed. ah, well).

When we get the new program up, later today...I think you'll be impressed...the three pieces I and the boys (there are no girls in "The Gods of Love" but I'd be willing to listen to anyone who wants in, we could use some broadening of the talent pool...and some sex appeal (sorry guys)) put together are a wide display of our sensibilities, and while I like the full-speed-ahead rock out that is "The Thunder Out of Valhalla", I admit that "Strange but Beautiful (The Faerie)" has my heart. And the third piece "The Texture of Your Tongue" merely stands as not-so-mute promotion for "101 Great Erotic Poems".

This has been a very emotional time for me, with the books, the countdown to my daughter's wedding and my birthday, but it is all good. It has allowed me to reconnect with some parts of me that had been woefully underserved until of late. I am grateful to the Fates, the Norns, the Muses and a way-too-young-for-me woman for placing my feet back on the road.

Sometimes the best hand that destiny can give you is a backhand.

an early review

I just listened to the files he sent me for this week's "From Out of the City" podcast.

Can I say "Holy Shit" here? No?

Okay, then. Holy Crap. Three pieces, with The Gods of Love, for his birthday.

"The Faerie (Strange but Beautiful)" (my Lord, the piano music is perfect accompaniment to his reveries), "We Owe Debt to Memory" done like you could never have imagined it, with gut churning classic rock sensibilities, and from the new book "The Texture of Your Tongue"...R-rated, but oh so literate.

I think he's back...he's no longer running the cliffs. He's building his own out of the ether. He should drop weight more often, it gives him testosterone (like he needed it already).

Oh...and I've seen the book (you know "101 Erotic Poems")...if this is foreplay, I don't think we'll survive "Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite". I'd move all breakable objects at least twenty miles out from ground zero and fireproof everything. Oh, and hide your sisters, girlfriends, wives and daughters.

I asked him what he was listening to as he edited the book...he told me "'Requiem for Soprano, Mezzo Soprano, Two Mixed Choirs and Orchestra'...it's the sound the Monolith makes in '2001: A Space Odyssey'". Uh, right.

Keep all bones away from him, he's evolving. And he is definitely not from around here, anymore. And by "here" I don't mean any geographical point on any map. I mean this universe.

core dump on a Sunday morning

Step back a few magnitudes and let's look at the world. We have the Christians backing Israel in their many-dead-and-dying fight with Hezbollah (Hizbulla? Hepsibullu? Haphazmatmatmat? Pepsi-Cola? I don't know how to spell this anymore, it is like when everyone started coming up with their own way to spell Mallomar Kaddafy-duck's name...)

I respect Israel's attitude, and it is fair (tongue in cheek) to equate every displaced shepherd with a rock to throw with the German Nazi war machine of the 1930's. Paranoia is a political necessity in that country, born as they were on collective international guilt for allowing a genocide. But, morally and theologically, they live under the Old Covenant, which permits violence in the name of God. Christians live under the New Covenant, which does not. Never has. Never will, no matter how much television talking heads and ministers who drive Mercedes would have us believe to their own bank account benefit.

We are not supposed to accept, excuse or support violence. And out attitude towards that issue more clearly defines our relationship with God and our witness to others than all the church attendance and WWJD wristband buying you can achieve.

But we do, just as our new Crusade in Iraq continues to daily cost the lives of our sons and daughters, fathers and brothers and spouses. I am truly, truly, disappointed in our (lack-of-)leadership in Washington. We have, in the absence of a Cold War distraction, became the arrogant and not overly bright bully the whole world can agree to loathe. And, you know, just being a jerk doesn't make you right.

It just makes you a jerk.

I love this country, I love the principles it stands on and for. I love the fact that it evolves and changes and grows and adapts like no other nation in the history of the world. But when the evolution is driven, not by reality but by mentally ill people who don't even have a vague notion of the founding principles of the American Experiment, we become a people who run the risk of being vilified in the history books as proof that Democracy is a bad idea that brings out the pettiness, greed and anger in even the best of people.

On an unrelated note...Sigh. Family squabbles bore me. I don't like them, I think they are wastes of emotional energy, and I earnestly believe that most of them are just plain prideful tempests in a teacup. There's one right now going on about the invitations to my daughter's wedding. I am staying out of it, even though the whole issue is about my "billing" or rather, my "non-billing" on the invitations.

Does it bother me to be relegated to "non-entity" in the scheme of things? Yep.

Am I going to make an issue of it? Nope.

This event isn't about me, I wish those people on all sides who think they had a vested interest would just shut up. I'm the injured party, if there is one, and if I can keep my own counsel, the bystanders should just zip it. Every bit of spare money I can generate is going in on this, but not to buy a producer's credit. The relationship I have with my daughter and my ex-wife is a complicated and contentious one, with finger pointing still going on behind the scenes by everyone who doesn't know half of what they are talking about, but CO2 is a cheap fuel...so they talk.

Well, enough of that crap. Yes, E.J., I am, circumspectly "seeing someone". No, you can't talk about it. Shut up, and fire up your mixing console, we's making some music.

rebounding

Hey, seems like it has been a while, hm? Be patient...I'm still pretty worn down, but I haven't forgotten you out there.

The book took a lot out of me, then some other projects, as well as real-world issues, sort of finished me off. I'm fine, just low on stamina. Physical and mental.

Gratitude to a lover on her birthday

Happy Birthday Nancy (Psyche). You were the first to beieve in my gifts, the first to love me in three dimensions. You made me what I am today, in all the best senses.

You are missed as an element of my life, but I am certain that you are proactive and strong enough that, wherever you are, you control your life and are happy and safe.

In the end, isn't that all we really should want for those we love?

Sorry I have not been more talkative, audience in general, over the last few days, I have been incredibly busy. I promise I will sit down in the next few days and share...

update

too tired to be coherent

...the what?

Advertising slogans submitted for consideration for "101 Great Erotic poems"...

"You know you want it"

"Get your DeVault on."

"Lust means never having to say you're sorry."

"The other pink meat." (Particularly risque, but I like it...worthy of becoming a "meme to an end"...(cute, huh?...not quite "Snakes on a Plane", but memorable))

Thoughts? Concepts? Perversities? The most worthy comment on the topic of the advertising slogan OR the best alternative slogan come up with by next Wednesday, midnight, EDT, gets a free copy of the book....

buried alive in a reverie of your touch

Hmmm...what do you do when you find someone so damn enchanting, but dare not make your feelings known for fear she will reject you and cut you off from even her friendship?

You write poetry.


I listened to your issues
and held your gaze to say
"It's all going to be okay"
like a good friend should

all the while living
a waking dream
of your eyes
your mouth
your skin

and what I would do
with
to
and for you
if allowed out
of this cage


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

August 10th...six days to...just another day

Six days until "101 Great Erotic Poems" is unleashed. Wow. That soon? Still, just another day. Yes, the book will sell like hotcakes, but it will ultimately just be another entry in the glut of literature and near-literature and fad cookbooks that fill the bookstores.

Buried to my shoulder blades working on various other projects, the early work on the next book, the birthday podcast, the trip to Los Angeles, the mystery of an attractive woman, and everything in between. Life goes on.

I see where there may have been another terrorist attack that has been foiled. Excellent, except for the media circus that now ensues that emboldens other dangerous people who feel they can learn from the detailed public dissections of how the case was broken. We live in an era of sensationalistic, and often wildly inaccurate, journalism. The 24 hour tabloids, er, news networks, need fodder...and if it isn't a photogenic teenager going missing in a tropical locale, it's just one more attempt to wring political fodder from the grief of international tensions and violence.

Still am ambivalent about taking my birthday "off". It is tempting. What do I want for my birthday? World peace. Massive first-day book sales. A really good kiss. And a bit of divine intervention would be...divine.

playing with free flash toys

Okay, so I am random right now...bite me.

Here's an item I picked up at Free Flash Toys, which has some really nifty stuff...I picked the colours on this lamp...


Click Here to get this from FreeFlashToys.com!

or how about a refrigerator magnet toy where you, yes you, can change the message until the next person changes it....


Click Here to get this from FreeFlashToys.com!

cool, huh? yeah, well...

Crash space in a great silence

Over the weekend I sent an email to 41 old and current friends and acquaintances, looking for ideas and suggestions about who to crash with when I go to LA for my daughter's wedding and offering a bounty of signed copies of "The Compleat Panther Cycles" to those who put up with me for even a single night...

I don't mind hearing "No"...I do mind not knowing if anyone read the question...I have received 2 responses. In 3 days. K Callan would be shocked...

I'm not perfect in that regard...but 5% return rate after three days? Egads...

going for the gold?

Just got the pack of forms from the Guinness World Records people, have to sit down with the Barnes & Noble people regarding the process.

Life just gets more interesting by the nanosecond.

We are looking into webcasting the event.

Bleah.

pimping myself out

I'm selling one of my first-day editions of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES on eBay. If you're interested, you can take a look at it here.

I know I'm starting the opening bid low, but I like the action (and the notion I might actually lose money is always intriguing.

Actually, when there were first-day orders last year for the book (like I am doing this year for 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS) I held back a few, but signed and dated them for the release date. I'm just clearing out some shelf space...getting ready for the big move, well in advance.

Getting my Meme on, Part One

Well, Nordette, damn you very much...you've got me on what is tantamount to a blog chain letter. And, media-whore that I am, I dare not refuse. I'm going to be a total jackal on this one and let you know that I believe in what Benjamin Disraeli said "When I want to read a good book, I write one."

So, forgive me if a few of the titles below are self-referencing as I join the chain of memes.

1. One book that changed my life?

The Compleat Panther Cycles. The writing of those works and the events that inspired them changed my life. The publication of that book raised the bar for me and all poets going forward. It is my cornerstone and, perhaps, my tombstone. But, I have been honest, earnest and true to my heart and my art.

2. One book you have read more than once?

An Incomplete Education by Judy Jones. A marvel of a book, outlining everything you'd have learned in college if you'd stayed awake. This should be a recognized substitute for a four-year degree. Well written, educational, and my favourite gift book to give to others (aside from one of my own).

3. One book you'd want on a desert island?

See #2.

4. One book that made you laugh?

Shut Up and Eat Your Snowshoes by Jack Douglas. The former writer from "Rowan and Martin's Laugh in" wrote a fantastic account of his life when he and his wife and son moved to a remote cabin in the wilds of Canada. I would sometime reread it to help me relax and go to sleep. Before I discovered sex.

5. One book that made you cry?

The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien. I hate farewells.

6. One book you wish you'd written?

The Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore. Good enough for a Nobel. The monolithic poetic genius of the 20th century at his mightiest and most brilliant. William Butler Yeats wrote the foreword. Yeah, the foreword. How cool is that?

7. One book you wish had never been written?

Anything written by Anne Coulter. Too much hate in this world, already. The good side is, by exposing the Right as the hate-filled army of madness it is, she is giving the Left back the country.

8. One book you are currently reading?

Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite. I have to, as I edit it. I am so damned. It is eating me alive, but it is necessary. This one will probably eclipse The Compleat Panther Cycles as my landmark book, but I may not be sane to realize it.

9. One book you have been meaning to read, but just haven't gotten around to it?

An Inconvenient Truth by Al Gore. But I have seen the movie. Twice. And dragged friends to it.

10. Now, tag five people... (Give me a few hours to find a collection that will not be repeats of people already used by others...)

wabbit season

Book season, actually. I've opened it up by unleashing a special deal for advance orders of my new book 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS For more information, you need to check my store at my website The City Store.

You can thank me later.

tapping on your screen

The poet sent me some sound files to process for the podcast tomorrow and a statement to put on the blog:

"I realize a lot of people have been concerned for me lately. Rest assured, I am well and strong. As to my personal life. I am emotionally vested in someone at this time and look forward to the future with great clarity and joy. Buy more of my books."

I have no idea who he is speaking of...no details. Maybe he'll tell us more later. I, for one, am going to listen to those files with great intensity and comb through his recent writings.

feeling the cold

When I was a child, living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I used to like to go outside when the snow as thick and deep on the ground, in just shorts and a t-shirt, and lay in the snow. It felt good, feeling the powder compress under me, the cold turning to wet cold against my skin, and the sense of my heat draining from me. I know that had I laid out there for too long, there could have been adverse consequences, but I was never that stupid. I enjoyed the sensation of being alive it invoked in me.

I have lingered too long in a cold place, and must return to the heat, if I can find it again.

One of my favourite characters in cinema is Joe Gideon, the avatar of Bob Fosse that should have won Roy Scheider an Academy Award. He's a creative artist who has allowed his art to consume him, destroying his humanity, as he becomes more and more addicted to the energy he gets from his disastrous life to fuel his creativity...his only source of joy remaining.

I was reading the transcript of O'Connor Flood's remarks as he presides over Joe's death in the finale of All That Jazz and it occurred to me...I'm not Joe Gideon, but I was always afraid of being like him:

"Folks, what can I tell you about my next guest?

This cat allowed himself to be adored, but not loved.

And his success in show business was matched by failure in his personal-relationship bag.

Now that's where he really bombed.

And he came to believe that work, show business, love, his whole life, even himself, and all that jazz, was bullshit.

He became numero uno game player, to the point where he didn't know where the games ended and reality began.

Like, to this cat, the only reality...is death, man.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me lay on you a so-so entertainer, not much of a humanitarian, and this cat was never nobody's friend.

In his final appearance on the great stage of life - you can applaud if you wanna -"

It's like running through a bog, but...I have to want it bad enough to deserve to get back on track. The character of Joe Gideon gave up too easily. It is easy for the creative artist to become self-absorbed and self-destructive. I've avoided almost all of the traps, but in order to really take it to the next level, I need an external energy source again. I am sapped.

And while I can, from moment to moment, find reserves, they are fleeting things and it is damaging to rely on the stored emotions I have banked so much of. I could list a thousand here, each more potent a source of power than any weapon or machine made of the hands of mortal men.

And yes, I am afraid that if I ressurect the machine without some joy outside of myself, outside of the creative process, it will overpower me, becoming a juggernaut dedicated to its own power, rather than the earnest, if impaired, path I have charted for it. Too many compromises. No more. No more.

We shall see what happens.

a peek under the covers

With the new book due out momentarily, I thought I'd at least treat you to a few sneaks....

The cover, which I have published early mock ups of on this blog, is a distinct imitation of the cover of my 2002 volume "101 Great Love Poems", with the substitution of a pink jade icon for the golden heart. (Forgive the crappy scan, I didn't feel like going to find the good one)

Yeah, read into that what you will, two covers, two references to women I never even kissed. Sad.

Originally I was going to dedicate this book to Brigit, who owns a major portion of my libido, years after our last touch, but after much soul searching I decided to...

well, that's a surprise.

To avoid too much in the way of leaks, I kept the blurbs to existing generic references. No leaks on this one, there's enough pressure on me. How much pressure? I'm crapping diamonds...how's that?

All in all, it's a handsome book, but not one for the kiddies. I did not put a "Parental Advisory" notice on this volume, as I did with last year's "The Compleat Panther Cycles". Why not? Any parent who doesn't read far enough to see the word "EROTIC" in the title will not look close enough to see the warning. Duh.

It makes a good bookshelf companion to "101 GLP", but I did cache away some emotional energy for "Ronin...".
That's the legacy book.

I need a nap.

I gave all I had in another bed...

Used up all of my wisdom responding to the last comment...so I'll shut up for now...

a miner for a heart of gold

The other day, an acquaintance of mine who knows my devotion to speaking the truth, came out and asked me how many women I had been with.

I answered, honestly. The reaction I got was disappintment on two levels. The first, that the number was so low (after all, I am the "Romantic Poet of the Internet" and should spend every weekend up to my eyebrows in nubile Lit majors) and the other was disappointment that it was so high. That was mostly from me.

I am not a bedpost-notcher. I earnestly wish I could look history in the eye and say "one" in answer to that question. That I cannot is one of the nagging aches in my heart. I believe in monogamy. That I have twice failed to achieve a lasting realtionship in marriage, the first largely through my own fault, does not shake my faith in the institution, anymore than the blustering self-righteous perversion of the Christian faith by our current administration diminishes my belief in God.

I am...disappointed. In both ways, from both sides. There is that shaded part of me that wishes the number was substantially higher, that I had taken many of the opportunities offered to me and lived life like a beer commercial.

But I have seen that aspect of me when I let him out to play (one more reason why I do not drink...I think he would find a crevice to slither through while my brain would be fighting off the toxins) and for the most part I am just sad I could not seem to make it work, thus far. I still have unshakeable hope, if not faith, that it can still happen in my lifetime. I just need to find someone able worthy of my efforts, strong enough to not play games and true enough to believe in herself and me.

In my experience, a rare and fair combination. But to quote the immortal Neil Young "I've been searching for a heart of gold...and I'm gettin' old". I'm not trying to make it happen, and will not consider my life a failure if it does not.

But, wouldn't that be something worth writing about?

heavy is the sky

E.J. says I'll relent. Maybe he's right, but I have to be honest.

After I fulfill my current obligations, for 6 more books, I'm planning on retiring. Not from life. From writing and editing and publishing. It has been a brutal and bruising battle, and I honestly feel I've won more than I've lost. I've done what some would have said was impossible, helped bring poetry back from the brink of extinction. Along the way I've salvaged a few souls, saved a few lives, inspired a few worthies, slain a few dragons and met some incredible people.

But, all warriors should quit the battlefield when they feel the ennui take them. Just as a lame man eventually takes to the chair, his pain too potent to be endured by will alone, I am grimly tired. The edits for '101 Great Erotic Poems' took a lot out of me, and 'Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite'...well, let's just say I am not looking forward to that process. It will be my darkest time, it will bend me, perhaps in ways inexplicable and unrecoverable.

I have accomplished many things in my time. I have fought an earnest battle, and have earned some solitude. I'm hanging up the blue and red suit, the cape and boots...and going to try and get out as a human being, a role I am unfamiliar with. It will be a challenge, learnig to live as a flesh and blood entity.

Until the last book rolls, I will continue to blog and podcast. I will keep active in all aspects of my creative endeavours, but when the last volume falls, don't expect me to be as easy to find. I will walk away as completely as possible.

The dust has promised not to mark my passing.

But for now, let us celebrate life.

Shadowbox Dragons

I used to wait
by the gate
reliant on my own defiant energy
and patient for the epiphanies
that not everyone is dealt
to the felt of the casino of life.

and eventually.
eventually.
I lose faith in my projected shadows
as the grey lights barely touch me
anymore, sore from a thousand aging scars
earned in burned fingertips.

but resolutions bring
revolutions
if you are sincere and fear nothing
but the stagnancy of memories made
in the sheltered corners of recollection
in a boneyard where I once stood guard.

I am tired of waiting
waiting for
things that maybe never were to begin with
and now are shadowbox dragons
to be feared only by the ignorant
who believe their own mythologies.

like a disease
only dreamt
and you wake up. whole. and in control
of what was, or could have been, or should have been
a question quested and tested
and eventually bested by the better judgements.

so I place my hands
on the gates
and press outward, feeling the hinges groan
as they do what they were built to do.
as I have done. and now, it is time for new adventures
away from the stench of the boneyard of memory.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

searching for...?

Curious patterns emerging lately in the serach arguments being used by people invoking the FreeFind option on my website at www.CityOfLegends.com. But that's part of what makes life interesting...is it someone unknown to me, an old friend looking fo an angle for a re-emergence, or someone I know developing a new angle in their approach to me?

Only time will tell...and maybe not even then.

Sanity is slowly returning after the marathon editing sessions for "101 Great Erotic Poems". Slowly. It is complicated by a new muse evidencing herself in my works...she is lovely, but I am being circumspect and cautious. I have no desire to be made a fool of by my own raging testosterone.

That has been done enough in this life.

Have to go...will talk more, later.

Faeries, Gods and Goads

The new podcast is up, available from Apple's iTunes Music Store and, as always, Radio City of Legends.

This one features four (count 'em, 4) new poems:

"the faerie: Oona"
"pretty pretty soul"
"The Goad"
and
"Non Plus Ultra"

as well as an absolutely rocking slice from The Gods of Love, based on my classic poem "Horizon".

Acid dance? You bet.

Happy Birthday to my father, who is 83 years old today. Love ya, Dad.