the echoes of New Years' past

Ten years ago, tonight, just after midnight, I asked my first wife for a divorce. Despite my motives, methods and meanings, many people, some of whom I treasure, were injured by my actions, and that is to my regret.

This evening my daughter, Peri, who was just married in September, called to tell me that for the past ten years, she has not had a nice New Years. Every year the echoes of that night have brought pain and anxiety. If I had the power to undo this, I would, for my daughter is perhaps the most precious person in the world to me. That this is only the second phone call I have received from her in years, just to remind me of my actions, and the pain she took from that, speaks volumes at how deep the scars must run.

I suppose that, over the last decade, much of my life has been driven by the notion of penance, of forgiveness for my sins. I'm not a killer or a child molester or a thief. Most people who know anything of me consider me an extraordinarily ethical man. I am just a man who bungled badly in his efforts to resolve a marriage that had descended into pain and isolation.

And every time I think I have put some of the sanity back into my life, reminders emerge of my failures.

Happy Effing New Years, eh?

8:21 pm, EST, December 31, 2006

Well, it is hours until midnight, and I have things to do.

First off, I am staying up until after midnight, West Coast (Pacific Standard) time. That way I can share the experience, if they wish, with my friends in California. I have my cans of Jolt ready, for caffeine assist.

Second off, Tag (who dropped by earlier to check out some of my new stuff and give his thumbs up of approval to Jaz) has bowed out of this week's show, citing his need to concentrate on some short stories he is currently working on...so I will be going solo. And I am in a musical mood, so anticipate something either warmly sensual or riotously rocking in the podcast tonight, or both.

Finally, I'll be working on some new manuscripts. I have a year to prepare for, and I want a running start.

Decrypting "Auld Lang Syne"

What the hell is "Auld Lang Syne"? Well, there's two answers to that question, depending on what you mean by it.

First off, the song. The song is an old Scottish folk ballad, restored and added to by Scots poet Robert Burns. Experts debate how much he added and modified, but certainly portions of it pre-exist him by hundreds of years. He never claimed to be the original author, and there are personal documents of his that reference his admiration for the original author or authors.

The second answer is to the question of what exactly the phrase "Auld Lang Syne" means.

It's Scottish dialect, fairly old, or should I say "auld"?

Right, "auld" is "old" , "lang" is pretty much the same as "long" and "syne" maps to "since".

The phrase literally means "Old long since" and is a traditional phrase used in Scottish writing, particularly poems and fairy stories, largely the same way we use "Once upon a time" or "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away".

So the opening line means "If we should forget old friends and days of long ago..." followed by an exhortation to drink to them anyway. Those Scots with their deep-friend Mars bars and public houses, a people with a great history as poets, warriors and cirrhosis patients with blocked arteries.

There you have it. Now go dazzle your friends and drinking buddies with your knowledge of folksong lyrics.

Life is a cup of hot jasmin tea

I was asked for input into what would be the final poem of the year (and the 97th post) in the Amomancer blog, and assented to the choice of my 2005 work "Perhaps there are yet panthers". Despite my disappointment in the woman who inspired the works that are practically synonymous with my reputation, the Panther Cycles, I respect that poem. It speaks to who I am, having come at a time of great disillusionment, but expressing the hope that there should be someone out there for everyone, including me.

Yeah, I mean you Jaz. Having garnered your sister's vote, do you think I will call it a day and retire my suit? Ha!

Yesterday I was asked who my favourite muse of all time was for my works. An unfair question. But one I felt like answering for the person who asked it, so I did. I think she was mildly shocked at who I named (Who was it? I don't have to answer that for you...but I will give you a clue, she was quite tall). She was further surprised when I was asked how many muses I've had and I told her that there have been but three significant ones, despite E.J.'s insistence upon there having been like 8 major muses and a dozen minor ones. A single poem, a single stone, does not a temple of Aphrodite make. I have not been as promiscuous with my flesh or my heart as those who would benefit from thinking so would tell you.

In a perfect world, a perfect world, I would have married my first real love, Psyche, and that would have ended the path, she was beautiful, wise and brilliant. A great kisser (that's important, you know), an earnest lover, intellectually passionate and of a sharp humour, she inspired some of my most elemental and enduring works. Without her I would never have become the poet, or the man, for good or for bad, that I am. I owe her infinite thanks. I measure all the women I have been inspired by against her, and most are found sadly lacking. No, it wasn't her, but I wanted to state that, right here and now.

The New Year is upon us, and it is a time for sober reflection, introspection and mid-course correction.

The hell it is.

I want 110% power on all engines. Next time you see a comet in the night, passing Earth and waving hello as it fills the eye and sky with wonders, that'll be me.

This is my moment of inertia.

Thanks to Jaz, Sarah, Peri, Elric, Dante, Brian, Jan, the guys in the band, Alan, Stephanie, Maggie, Jennifer, Robert, Tag, Chanda, Kristin, E.J., Nancy, Karla and everyone I am forgetting but will remember later.

One hell of a year, the bar has been set a bit higher for next year. And I'm already taking my running start.

Love, Death and Spanish Lessons

By the way, this is the 1,502 post made to this blog by myself or E.J. This means the "Spanish Lessons" post was 1,500. Wow.

For those of you wondering when the band and I will be shuffling some of the cuts we are featuring on MySpace under our page William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love, the answer is as soon as Jaz makes up her mind on which, if any, of the tracks from last week's podcast she'd like to see enshrined in the wonderfully easy to get to space.

My old friend Michael Burch has a marvelous site for poetry called The Hypertexts...if you go there and click on the link "For Darfur", you will find a selection of excellent works by various contemporary authors on the subject of that human rights (and human life) kill zone, including mine own "DARFUR (Jesus Wept)" and a link to I and the band's recording of same.

truth...or...daring to be true

Had a nice evening last night. No, not evening, night. Er, no...make that morning.

Long and silly story, which I won't bore you with, but I managed to, in my spare moments, write some scandalously good poetry. So, a little lost sleep is well earned.

One of my companions kept asking me if I was sleepy. I told them I'd rather spend time with them than sleep. I should have said, with that raised eyebrow that indicate "target acquired" that I'd rather sleep with them than spend time, but that might've been too corny.

Besides, she knew what was in my heart. In some ways it is nice to be an open book, to have not the little, petty, cowardly secrets that everyone else seems intent on having and keeping and sweeping under the rug. Yes, it is a little scary, but I like the line uttered by George Clooney's Major Archie Gates in David O. Russell's classic anti-war film "Three Kings": "The way it works is, you do the thing you're scared shitless of, and you get the courage AFTER you do it, not before you do it."

Confessing affection is scary, breathtakingly so (ask the Mad Gypsy).

What if the other person out of hand rejects you? It happens, it's happened to me.

What if the other person gets in for reasons other than the happily ever after? It happens, it's happened to me.

What if you take that leap of faith and not only release your desperate handhold on the rocks of the high cliffs above Kyrienar but press outward with all your might, so there is no hope of brushing a tree or outcropping of rock as you descend for a last ditch stab at survival, to prove how committed you are to this moment, to this paramour in (you hope) waiting? It happens, it has happened to me.

I could live the rest of my life alone, or living on "mosels and mould" and be a traitor to everything I believe in and preach, just as any Christian minister who gets up tomorrow in front of their congregation and praises the execution of Saddam Hussein is a traitor to their faith. The man was guilty, we know. But pragamatism, judgement and Christian values do not belong on the same altar. Read the Bible guys, especially those books after the Maccabees. But, I digress.

Or I choose to live within my principles and beliefs and religion of love and hope and passions immortal. I have spent almost three years in exile. The return of the poet-king was inevitable, but only on my terms. "I will take no pretender, again, to my bed".

Besides, my readers love this part, most rooting for the happy ending, some rooting for roadkill, like the people who go to NASCAR events not for the competition, but for the accidents.

I do a great flaming chassis impression...SCREEEEEEEEEECH!

Spanish lessons

Como estas?

(I am taking Spanish lessons. It may take years for me to get any good at it, but I have a patient teacher. And I am motivated to be an impressive student.)

K said I should

I had a nice chat with K this afternoon.

Oh, you know K, she's the old and mutual friend of Jaz and mine. She's deranged, but very wise and an excellent BS detector, a good sounding board (and, I hear, a wonderful dancer).

She asked me how I was doing, with the attention I'd been getting lately from my readers (trust me, you only see the tip of the iceberg here). I told her it was a bit disconcerting, sort of like the old Panther days, when the radiance of my passion and affection for one woman drew moths to the flame, cluttering the line of sight.

I told her I should just state emphatically to the world where I stand (which I would think is incredibly obvious to all but the most superficial of readers).

K said I should.

She's right you know. K's always right (except about politics, but I can forgive that).

But.

But, it is scary. To step out and off the ledge, throwing myself into the abyss. I know I will survive the fall, but the descent is still painful and terrifying. I don't much like either sensation, despite the surety of my durability. To place my trust and faith and dreams in the hands of one woman.

I've done it before and found myself, weeks or months or even years later, eviscerated by the jagged, ragged rocks of failed hope and shallow hearts. I am not a masochist. But faith is a powerful lure. Faith in a religion I myself am considered both a high priest and a heretic in, that of love.

So, let me state here, emphatically, that I am resigned and designed upon the heart and whims of Jaz. Read my works and listen to my recordings to your heart's content, knowing that it is to her, of her and for her that I write and I create. She is the mother of my thoughts, but my pen is the womb of this expression of affection.

That was every bit as scary of an admission as I thought it would be. Cross your fingers.

Beating E.J. to the punch

I'm making fun of E.J. by doing this blog entry. Seems he started to convert his blog, "Amomancer", to the new format here at Blogger...and after a few minutes of chugging along, the site told him "we need a few more minutes, we'll email you when we're ready".

So, for once, I get to post before him in the morning. Ha ha!

Nice evening, got to bed early, did not get my full Jaz fix, as a result. Sigh.

Grateful for all the comments and emails regarding the new works. I'm still debating which, if any, to swap out over on the band's MySpace site. Waiting for a few critical votes.

I saw a breathtaking picture the other day that inspires my thinking towards the cover design of "Inamorata"...we shall see how that plays out. I am pleased by the reaction to the latest CDs and the new book, although if it was a million-copy selling book, I would appreciate that a bit more.

Heard from my friend Saint Thomas, yesterday. Always good to hear from him...he has the most bizarre, but often dead-on, insights. I won't reveal what he said, but he should be charging me by the hour for his perceptions.

Wrote heavily over the last few days...extremely lyrical, romantic stuff with the occasional lapse into eroticism. Gee, so what else is new? That's the point, I'm back. My heart and art for one woman, that's all I ever have asked of this life.

Maybe this time...

Good Night, Jerry

Gerald R. Ford, former President of the United States and the only person to have served in that post never elected to either that office or that of Vice President, has passed away. He was 93.

He had a long and distinguished record of service in the Congress and was hand-picked by Nixon to fill the Vice Presidential role in the White House after Richard Nixon's VP, Spiro T. Agnew, resigned in disgrace over financial scandals.

Ford, who was often the butt of humourists from Chevy Chase to the British Monty Python troupe for his bumbling physicality and unruffled demeanor, pardoned the man who appointed him and declared "Our long national nightmare is over" when Nixon stepped down over the Watergate investigations. It is considered, now, one of the truly great acts of courage performed by a President in office and many believe that this act cost him his own term in the office at the hands of a public hungry for blood who felt that Nixon had somehow escaped justice (for a supposedly Christian nation, we are a hypocritically bloodthirsty lot).

He was also perhaps overshadowed by the public persona of his wife, Betty, who was an outspoken and high-energy woman given to commenting on public policy matters and family values within her own brood. The Betty Ford clinic, which she established later in life, became synonymous with addiction treatment for high-profile individuals.

Long before he entered politics, this unusual man had worked as a male catalog model and had been a highly recruited college football center for the University of Michigan, declining offers from the Detroit Lions and the Green Bay Packers to instead go to law school. He was charming and earnest, gentle and dignified, and perhaps the last major candidate to run for the office of the Presidency, during his failed re-election bid in 1976, to stay to the positive throughout his campaign.

Jerry, you will be missed.

the lyrics to this week's podcast numbers

By popular request, the lyrics to the three pieces in this week's podcast.

Playing with Fire

play
play
play with fire
the clay
the clay of desire

shaped by your hands
warm bonds and bands
that bring us together
whether or not we
caught the thought
the first time I laid
more than eyes on you.

fantasy and ecstasy
things only we know
kisses like snow
dancing on my tongue
moments wrung
from the wet fabric
of all the time and space
we can face
together
as we

play
play
play with fire
the clay
the clay of desire


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.


Long Stemmed Jasmin

would you cry for
would you die for
some long stemmed Jasmin?

find it in the garden
begging its pardon
I want to pluck it every chance I get

I know I want to pick it
and then I want it stick
far away from all the other hands

I'll find it where it's grown
I'll pluck it for my own
and never let it out of my sight

I want it in the day
I want it all the way
I want it all the night

would you cry for
would you die for
some long stemmed Jasmin?

find it in the garden
begging your pardon
I want to pluck it for my own


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.


Slitoris


I
am the blade
that laid
open your soul
I
am the blade
that played
you to control
the pain
the stain
the reign
of tears you cry
and I
become
your solitaire release
you try
to focus on
to shield
your tattered heart
you draw
your strength
at length
when your skin parts
and you see
the blossom
bleeding
off the ache
that kisses
miss
and pills
won't slake.
I
am the blade
that laid
open your soul
I
am the blade
that played
you to control
the pain
the stain
the reign
of tears you cry


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Inside joke

I'm working on a series of comedy short stories entitled "the Further Adventures of E & P".

It's an inside joke. That was an inside joke, as well.

No, really.

Good evening, Jaz.

Dance Away, Lightly

Patience is the hardest virtue to learn and to practice. You can lock yourself away from all your other vices, but patience is within and must be practiced, not to the appearance of itself to others, but to the realization of itself within you. Tough, some days, but rewarding as, with anything, in the practice you are made stronger. Right now I am somewhere between talc and diamond.

A new poem, written as I sit here, patiently.

Dance Away, Lightly

dance away lightly.
I will watch and smile
and see if you feel the soft brush
of a windblown kiss
on your face. a trace of affection,
sent to release what is in my heart,
not to bind yours,
for wild hearts seek their own counsel.
but my path is chosen.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

"I walk in the fire and run the cliffs, not because I wish my end, but because I seek my natural place in the universe."

Inspiration for my life

I recall when I was a child, how busy and magical Christmas was.

Now, as a divorced father, miles from his kids, the magic is not quite as apparent. I had the questionable sense to let my heart attach itself to someone a goodly distance away, so even the comfort of a good snuggle is not available to me...

So what does a poet do in exile? He writes. Some pretty incredible stuff. Thanks to my friends and loved ones.

You inspire me. In my own way, I grow stronger every day.

Answering a few questions

A reader/listener sent me a long-ass email, asking me about a few of the cuts appearing, not only on my CDs this year, but also one of the new pieces on From Out of the City, my podcast. I'm fine with answering questions, especially since I hate anticipating what people want to know (one of my former muses, the delicious "Truth" liked to suddenly, in mid-discussion, turn and say "Tell me a secret". I never knew what to say.).

The five pieces in question are:

Strange but Beautiful, from the CD NEMICORN
The question is "Who inspired this?" The answer is complex, but in its most simplistic forms it was "no one person". I have a muse I sometimes use, named "Abstra", who is an abstraction. And while the initial concept of this piece came from both the viewing of a statue H.R. Giger made from his late wife and from the young woman who ended up being the cover model for book RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE, the earnest answer is "no one".

Right Set of Lips, from the CD NEMICORN
The question here is "Whose lips?" And my answer is "the right set of lips". I've wandered down a few wrong paths in my life, but I have also touched and felt and smelt and heard the sounds of earnest passion and reverent affection that I know it is worth dying for. It is part of being the Amomancer, to be willing to, with gladness, die for love. Ask me in the moment, and I would bet the woman currently the fulcrum of my dreams knows all too well who she is.

Long Stemmed Jasmin, just released yesterday in my Christmas podcast
The question is "What does the title metaphor mean?" Simply put, the muse in question is quite tall with long legs...in past times it was not uncommon to refer to a woman's legs as "stems"...so I played upon her name and her legs to build the title and the metaphor for this poem and song.

The Texture of Your Tongue, from the CD NEMICORN
The question here is "Is this what I think it is about?" The answer is yes. Definitely yes. Oh God, yes yes yes yes yes yes. Actually, any lover will tell you that the Amomancer would rather give than receive, but that's not a proper topic for a public blog.

Love is an Howling Beast, from the CD THE NAKED READS
And the final question is "What is this about?" Inarguably about a lot of different relationships and their aftermaths, but primarily about my divorce from my second wife. It was emotionally brutal, though outwardly civilized in the time it occurred. I blame myself for having not worked harder and have pledged myself to, in the future, making sure I hold nothing back. Next one gets the world if she wants it.

There, are you happy now? I am...got those off my chest and got you some answers you may be happy with.

Merry Christmas.

speaking for myself

I can speak for myself, you know, E.J.

I appreciate the passions of my readers and listeners, and are grateful for them. But I do appreciate my privacy and my sleep.

The compositions I have recetly posted are of and for one woman, and although I appreciate the universal appeal of some of my works, it is for this singular audience that I labour. Don't be confused.

Merry Christmas, Joyous Kwanzaa, Happy Chanukah, a Great Solstice, etc etc. I am at peace. Be you so, as well.

what do you do with a grouchy poet early in the morning?

Not sure the whole story, but the poet is definitely pissed off this morning.

He was a little down about a call he was expecting Saturday night that never came...

...then he got a call last night that was, in his words to me, "Unwelcome".

People, don't take the fact the door is unlocked to mean he sent you an invitation. It's fine to call him at 1 o'clock in the morning if you are a long lost friend or lover, seeking to reconnect. If you are a current friend in peril and in need of an assist. If you are a current lover seeking some quiet, earnest solace. If you are an editor or publisher, needing to consult on a book or an article by or about the author, by all means.

Not a stranger, looking to play identity games.

He recognizes that by the very nature of his work often strangers read their identities into his pieces, identifying with him or his muses. Don't even bring up the psychosis of the fanbase during the initial "Panther Cycles" era...it was unpleasant in ways I can only imagine and it drove him largely underground and affected his relationships with his friends and family. He's a nice guy who hates being curt or rude or even strict and thus gets abused by people who think they're being clever or funny or sweet. Finally it gets too much and he withdraws.

If you are a publisher from the 425 area code, leave a message, he's not answering calls from there anymore. I'll screen those off his voicemail. He'll relent, eventually. Maybe. But for now...

James Brown is dead

One of the most dangerously innovative minds in music of the 20th century, the incredible James Brown, has passed away. The he did so on Christmas is perhaps a karmic jest on his place in the universe of the performing arts.

Influential in nearly all aspects of rock and rhythm and blues, impacting these forms of popular music in so many ways, both obvious and subtle, he was a remarkable figure.

Rest, Brother. You have left us a great and indelible legacy and will be mourned and celebrated.

The New Podcast is Up!

The new podcast is up for Christmas 2006!

From Out of the City for Christmas 2006 presents 3 new musical-poetic fusions:

Playing with Fire

Long Stemmed Jasmin

and

Slitoris

signs of life and a sneak of Slitoris

okay. got pinged at least. that's something. frustrating, as I was not around, but something.

here's an official leak of a stanza from "Slitoris"

I am the blade that laid open your soul
I am the blade that played you to control
the pain the stain the reign of tears you cry
and I become the solitaire release you try
to focus on to shield your tattered heart
you draw your strength at length when your skin parts
and you see the blossom bleeding off the ache
that kisses miss and pills won't slake.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

a hundred vectors at once

I am like a trapped animal, pacing in the cage, when I am compartmentalized. I've been in this sort of cage before. I don't like it. It diminishes me, not as an entity, but as someone who desires to be able to do what is necessary when it is necessary.

Removing options only antagonizes me. I am a natural worrier. When someone isn't where they said they'd be, or when they don't check in when they said they would, I go to Defcon 5, bracing for Gotterdamerung. It's a survival instinct.

Snarl.

I'll be fine, just itchy for a bit. Trying to distract myself.

I have to go check in with Tag for a bit, then finish the work on "Slitoris".

I listened to the final cuts of "Playing with Fire" and "Long Stemmed Jasmin" just a few minutes ago. I don't know about the normal readers and listeners, but they are both striking works in their own rights.

High points? The transition from the strings to the rock organ just before my voice kicks in on "Jasmin". And just about everything about "Playing with Fire". It may be a little underproduced, a little too raw...depending on my voice instead of the engineering tricks I've come to rely on...but maybe it was time.

Oh, and lots of cowbell.

"Play with Fire" in the can

"Play with Fire" (renamed from "Dance in the Fire" or whatever I was going to call it) is in final engineering stages...I like how it came out. This means of the three pieces for tonight's Christmas podcast, two are complete. I think this one came out well.

I admit I am throwing myself into "Slitoris"...I feel I owe it to the people impacted by this to give them something archival, something earnest, something both raw and epic. Imagine if King Leonidas of Sparta was a musician. Yeah, that far out there.

gnight, sort of

Brutal writing, editing and recording session just completed. Now, to bed...of course, there's about a 90% chance that won't last long. I keep getting these calls...

Not that I am complaining, at all. But it does play hob on one's sleep cycles.

"Slitoris" is going well, but it is intellectually and emotionally demanding, in the extreme.

Slitoris

How's this for an interesting twist: I'm doing a song about "cutting", also sometimes referred to as self-mutilation.

No, not about me. I only cut up my credit rating. But I have known many individuals who engaged in the practice, most common against young women with self-esteem issues, but not unheard of in almost any segment of the population. It is usually a form of self-treatment, using the focus of the pain or blood, or the endorphins released, to help treat depression or various other emotional perturbations.

I'm not violently opposed to it. I my experience cutters suffer far less damage and endure less health and behavioural consequences than social drinkers or recreational drug users. They also tend to grow out of it.

So, the release tomorrow evening should contain at least three numbers:

"Long stemmed Jasmin": A rocking brief number about passion in the garden of life.

"Dance in the Fire": A layered work of sexual tension.

and a rather shocking piece tentatively titled

"Slitoris"

Hmm...I seem to be going dark.

I have also decided to, in the new year, to contract with one or more of the music services I have been approached by to distribute tracks of my works. If there are any you prefer, or you have experiences with, drop me a line. I'll be making a decision presently. The early pieces I will distribute will also be up for debate. I am sure you'll have an opinion.

Bono Vox, of the knights of the round table

I see where Bono of U2 has been named an "Honorary" Knight by Her Majesty(why honorary? Because since he is an Irish citizen, he can't be an official knight...I guess this means he won't be out in armour with a broadsword, killing Saracens, anytime soon).

This hearkened me back to a few years ago when Mick Jagger was made a knight and Keith Richards called the whole thing "rubbish". There are actually a lot of people who turn down the offer of a knighting, for whatever reason...this list includes Kenneth Branagh, John Cleese and David Bowie, three guys who it isn't a shame to hang with.

Honor Blackman, the actress best known as Pussy Galore in "Goldfinger" is also know to have turned the honor down when it was offered, as was actor Albert Finney and author Aldous Huxley. About 2% of those offered the honor turn it down.

But, in any case, congrats to Bono, who has proven that a man with a conscience and a microphone can move mountains while the rest of the world seems content to watch children die so that they don't miss this week's NASCAR highlights on Fox News.

Keep it up, brother.

To do list for early 2007

1) Professional manicure.
2) Drop another 25 lbs.
3) Make triply sure those damn books are out of print.
4) Serious roadwork.
5) Lock down the World Record attempt.
6) February 12th...never again.
7) Revise Radio City of Legends to a leaner, more professional focus.
8) Burn a few bridges.
9) Build some new ones.
10) Kiss someone deserving of a passion lambent.

I accept the fact that there isn't enough time for the roses. Now, to pluck the proper orchid.

The Gods of Love ride and rise again

Slight modification to an early announcement.

I sent my rough of "Long Stemmed Jasmin" to the guys in the band. They flipped. They loved it. And they're pissed that they aren't involved, so we're making some changes in the instrumentation...and may even be adding a few additional tracks and creating a little multi-song jam for Christmas Eve.

By the way.."Long Stemmed Jasmin" (the song) kicks ass. Much like the muse who inspired it.

We're going to hammer out what numbers we want to do and start laying tracks...er...as of a few hours ago.

The Gods of Love ride and rise again!

long stemmed Jasmin

Just got out of a recording session for my Christmas single: "Long Stemmed Jasmin". No, it has nothing to do with Christmas, but it will be a gift. My brain is melting. I am working to integrate words and music and strings and synthesizers and drums like I never have before. I think I am approaching my own event horizon...the lip of reality where nothing escapes...

And that's always a good thing. When you run out of muscles to stretch, barriers to crack and where there are no more memories or marvels to be made, time to admit you're waiting for the worms...which has never been and will never be my style. An old lover told me that mediocrity was like poison to me. (Wink) Must be why so many people make me sick.

I'll post the thing late Christmas eve here and at Radio City of Legends, and probably on my podcast...want to melt some brainpans...and I still have about 6-8 hours of work before I am satisfied with it, if all goes to schedule. It's tough to predict..."Strange but Beautiful" fell together in one take. "Glass Roses" took forever until I was happy with it...still am not 100%.

The Christmas we get we deserve

(I deleted this entire post...who needs one more curmudgeonly rip on the season, hm? )

An Eclipsing Thought

this came to me, just now, as I lingered over a photo of someone...precious to me.

An Eclipsing Thought

an eclipsing thought
not
what
I had expected
when the unprotected
seed of yesterday ejected

taking root in the barren soil
the spoil
that toils
to make me forget
that which I would set
in stone and bone and jet

as monument to the fewer
newer
truer
gods of love who leave
to kiss the stones and grieve
for a moment I've yet to receive


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I'm awake...shoot me...

Interesting day, yesterday. A lot of phone time logged with fascinating people...including my daughter, Peri. Slowly we are rebuilding the trust lost during my second marriage. Slowly. We both want to get there, and we will...it will just take time.

Also, ran through about 1,000 minutes (it seemed) reconnecting with my old friend K and a very delicious friend of hers named Jaz. Yeah, that Jaz. K loves to talk politics. Jaz likes to be playful. Needless to say, the conversation was all over the map as the phone changed hands.

I have been reminded that I did leave off at least one very deserving Christmas or Holiday-themed movie off my initial list: "The Nightmare Before Christmas". Love that film...I recommend it highly, and used to have a crush on the character of Sally.

Hey, you got a problem with that? Voiced by Catherine O'hara, she is dark, sweet and sexy (if slightly frayed and easily described as anorexic in frame).

Need to recoup my energy levels this morning, feeling a bit sluggish...but emotionally good. There'll be some great writing this week and weekend.

The Greatest Holiday Movies

I'd like to see what other films are considered as amongst the greatest Chritsmas or Holiday-themed movies of all time. My top ten list would have to include:

1. Love Actually
2. A Christmas Story
3. It's a Wonderful Life
4. The Santa Claus

But what other films? "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians"? "Home Alone II"? "Black Christmas"? "White Christmas"? "Holiday Inn"?

C'mon, let's get some opinions.

The best Christmas movie, ever

Sorry, guys, (isn't it great to be talking about something besides poetry once in a while?)...

LOVE ACTUALLY is the best Christmas movie.

You have a cast with Keira Knightley, Hugh Grant, Billy Bob Thornton, Emma Thompson, Alan Rickman, Liam Neeson, Colin Firth, Laura Linney, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and half the planet.

You have the world's worst wedding DJ. A backpack full of condoms (I'm not kidding). Lobsters and Spider-Man at the Nativity. Denise Richards playing the friendly little sister to Shannon Elizabeth, who is deferred to by Elisha Cuthbert, January Jones and Ivana Milicevic as "the sexy one". We have thighs the size of tree trunks. Airports. The world's most sexually aggressive secretary. A festering turd of a record. The Bay City Rollers used as background music at a funeral. Chocolate biscuits. Hugh Grant one-upping Tom Cruise while dancing through 10 Downing Street after telling off the US President. We have gratuitous nudity. A send-up of Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video. And good advice from your Uncle Billy: "Kids, don't buy drugs. Become a pop singer and they give them to you." And Aurelia in her underwear in a freezing cold pond full of eels.

What could be more Christmas?

Christmas answer

In response to an email from a reader in Connecticut:

My favourite Christmas or Holiday themed movie is "Love Actually" with Bill Nighy, Hugh Grant, Emma Thompson, Alan Rickman, Keira Knightley, Colin Firth (I really identified with his character), Liam Neeson, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Kris Marshall...and half the competent actors working today, it seems at times. Watch for Billy Bob Thornton's hilarious turn as a US President who is full of himself and seems half Ronald Reagan, half Bill Clinton.

My favourite Christmas or Holiday themed song is "I Believe in Father Christmas" by Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Beautiful and cynical, but with a slight message of hope. "Hallelujah, Noel, be it Heaven or Hell, the Christmas we get we deserve."

The thing I like most about the season is so many people step and act like they are supposed to be acting 365 days of the year. The thing I dislike the most is that it is only, for most, a temporary change and they turn back into bastards at New Years.

What do I want for Christmas this year? I can think of a wish list of several things, most of which are unlikely, improbable or just plain out of reach. I hope to get a card or email or letter from at least one lost or misplaced friend or ex-lover, letting me know they are alive and doing well. I'd like a call from my daughter. A kiss that reminds me what I've forgotten and makes me forget what I don't need to be worrying about.

Tuesday morning this and that

I am delving deep inside myself to write a new musical and poetic composition before Christmas. If I seem withdrawn or neglectful, I do apologize. I have been told I am occasionally insufferable when the muse is upon me (ah, but that she were...I do some of my best work with a muse upon me...).

I am donating, at the urging of someone whose faith, respect and affection I am trying to garner and keep, blankets to the local animal shelter. I realize there are thousands of major and minor organizations and causes one might give time or resource to this time of year, and I am in no way suggesting that any is more or less deserving than the other. But if you can find it in your heart to see to some of the poor critters that do not have a home in the cold months, that would be very kind of you.

A gentleman who bought a copy of THE NAKED READS at last Thursday's launch party contacted me to request a second copy...seems he had ripped and burned his own copy for his girlfriend, and she liked it so much that she wanted a "legitimate" copy. Good for her. My creditors are pleased at her integrity. And it sounds like he's joined the long list of testimonials from people who got laid from this CD. I apologize for any uptick in population growth this release causes, truly. (Checking under my bedclothes) The curse of the magic gloves endures.

The Good Book gets Better

If you haven't yet invested the time and energy in reading David Plotz's Blogging the Bible I would encourage you , heartily, to do so. The author brings real down-to-Earth insight to his plain language discussion of the Bible, telling the stories without the 17th century colloquialisms that have obscured, to modern peoples, the history and wonder of this book.

He is still trudging along in the Old Testament, but I am having a great time following along.

Get Naked for Free

The new show is up. This week's "From Out of the City" is actually the entirety of my CD, THE NAKED READS, available as a free download.

Get it here.

Enjoi.

Inamorata

The response to my suggestions earlier today of some of the projects for the new year has been gratifying and overwhelming. I am grateful the fans feel comfortable addressing what they want and that they care so passionately.

INAMORATA will be a reality. Will it be the book I put out before the Frontiers in Writing conference in Amarillo? I don't know...depends on my emotional stamina (my lovelife is a strange and beautiful thing at this time) and a few other factors that could push any of the other projects forward or backwards.

I do promise that certain key poems in LOVE GODS OF A FORGOTTEN RELIGION and FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER will certainly make the leap as those two volumes go out of circulation, and you can probably guess at least a handful of those, but the vast majority of the volume will be material previously unpublished in book form.

Also, INAMORATA will have at least two things in common with my blockbuster THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES (TCPC): Size and content volume. I plan to make this an oversized volume with 300-400 works.

Editor? I haven't decided yet. I have found being my own editor for a few volumes very exhausting, so I will probably seek a new editor. Candidates, the line forms here...

Cover model? I have a few candidates already. She'll have to be something to stand alongside the likes of Jillian Ann, Ann-Michelle and Sarah Chadwick Spiker. I also want to do internal illustrations, as in TCPC and I want a cover that combines the eroticism of the original, unpublished cover design of TCPC with the archival beauty of RONIN. A challenge. But a life without challenges is an illusion.

Beyond that? Not certain, but I had to pick up a new project with the wrap up of the two new CDs and the 2 new books in the last few weeks. I am nothing if not a workaholic.

Rewriting the histories

Continuing the changes in the new year:

4) I have ordered a complete and detailed review of E.J.'s official, if fluffy, analysis of the Greater and Lesser Muses.

This revision, to go live no later than January 1, 2007, will make essential corrections to the histories and dedications. Some idols will fall from greater to lesser. Some are going away.

Too much baggage, and the ancient histories blur and smear. I want to make sure the designations are consistent with key passages in my memoir, some of which E.J. has not previously had access to. I will make the corrections and instruct him as to what to do.

If you are a former muse and are reading this and are curious as to what time and distance has done to my clarity of vision, you should check back later than January 1.

I am not going to continue the practice of "filling my belly with morsels and mould".

some early resolve on the new year

Okay, time to start revealing the changes coming up.

1) A major reduction in public appearance. I'm too much the control freak to cede control for my appearance schedule to anyone, too busy to maintain a writing, editing, recording and publicity machine all at the same time. And this is just not the market, where I am located right now...so, until I get out of Dodge, I'm cutting back on my public reading schedule.

2) I've said I was going to do it before, but this time it is for real, no getting talked out of it. LOVE GODS OF A FORGOTTEN RELIGION and FROM AND UNEXPECTED QUARTER are being taken out of print. There's too many little things about the both of them that bug me and I don't want either book being an introduction to my catalog. The best works in them will perhaps be recycled into later volumes, but for now, effective January 1, 2007, I am asking iUniverse to cease production and distribution on these two lovely volumes.

3) I am re-evaluating next year's publication schedule...I have a lot on it and I want to make sure it is not only a busy year, but a quality year. I am considering a couple of poetry books, including one in devotional form, a textbook on poetry and, last but not least, a novel I have previously written and am now rewriting as I no longer wish it to be farmed out under another author's name. That's right kids, I am not ghosting anymore. Those of you close to me know I have done this a few times in the past, to help others out, to write material that might confuse people when coming from my pen, even to serve as a parting gift to an ex-lover. No more. It is intellectually dishonest and just plain wrong. People should not take credit for the work of others.

So, there's the start. A few new leaves, a few windblown pinecones and life goes on. See you in Texas in June, California...well, that's later...or sooner. Secrets aren't lies.

body of the golden erotic

If you have never gone to my dear friend, little sister and sometimes protege Mari Laureano's blog, body of the golden erotic, you should.

Trust me.

Headphones on, recharging my soul

I just got back from a visit with my boys. I love them so much and they are great, just great. I also got to witness the launch of the Minotaur rocket from Wallops. Didn't go there, it was visible from hundreds of miles away.

Right now I'm seated at my World Domination Control Panel, disguised as a Mac Mini, jacked into iTunes and listening to pieces as the whim strikes me.

First up? Marvin. The great Marvin Gaye and his magical "Sexual Healing". Yeah. That's it. Yeah, sometimes the crusading monk in me almost lets me forget the joy of intimacy, of passion, of romance. But not all the way. Once in a while Marvin reaches out and drags me back to the reality.

Next up? Cat Stevens' original version of his "The First Cut is the Deepest". Wow. Everytime I hear this song key moments from my life press outward, reminding me of where I have been and who I have been with and what happened, every moment, wound into a flash of epiphany that rivals any near-death vision.

I feel like Ultra Man too long from the sun right now, time for the tonic. Joe Cocker, live, with "When the Night Comes". You can feel it crawl on your skin.

I made some decisions, on the road for eight hours, today, my own voice my lone companion. I'll get to those in a day or two. For now, the golem rests.

That's weird, I intentionally clicked on one of my own pieces, "Brisant Revelations". I am considering revising the intro to my podcast and use the bass line as a fanfare for the show.

The golem needs to rest now. Turn off the brain and rest, schmuck. Turn off the brain. No, turn it off. That's it...no, put that thought down, you'll just hurt yourself with it

Saturday, December 16

I got sucked into a practical joke yesterday. It actually was fun. I can't tell you what it was, but I can tell you the principals were Jaz and her friend, K.

Part of me felt bad because I had to play a role for a little bit, and you all know how I feel about deception. And, I suppose, on a philosophical level, the jest was distasteful. But, it was fun and afterwards everyone seemed to enjoy it, even the victim, who has sworn to get even, I imagine.

I'm off today to visit my boys. It looks like good weather and smooth sailing. I should be back this evening.

Stay out of trouble and be excellent to one another.

And Jaz? Thanks for the new picture (smirk).

Oh, and to those who thought my placement of the launch of the new book RONIN in the TEMPLE OF THE APHRODITE on December 14th, the Festival of the 47 Ronin, meant I was going to commit suicide? Duh. grow up. Too much life left in me to throw it all away on memories of a faithless lover.

This glass samurai has some glass roses up his sleeve, yet.

Sex Cookies

The title was suggested by an online friend, the content is pure DeVault.

Sex Cookies

Taking the crisp edge between my lips,
tasting the warmth
left behind by the careful cookie cutter
of emotions
left soft and delicate like
cinnamon dusted
on the tops as they baked
in our hearts and minds,
an illusion of sweetness,
filling us with willing dreams
to be taken with the crumbs
and a glass of warm milk
on nights when there are
better things
to do than sleep.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

after the party

The official launch party for RONIN in the TEMPLE OF APHRODITE is now one for the history books...and no, I did not commit ritual suicide as some wags had predicted, so let's keep rolling and build some speed heading into the new year.

A special shout out to dynamic Daniel S. McTaggart, who kept positive through an emotionally grueling evening. Anyone who survives one of these things should get a government pension and a medal.

Thanks to Mike and Lori at the Book and Bean for their tireless devotion and to those who showed up and took part in the event.

Thanks to Kristin and Jaz for helping me get mentally ready, and to Sarah, for being such a kick-ass cover model.

As to me? Not my greatest performance ever, but I wasn't completely wrecked over it, I had my focus and I did my service. Being the nit-picker I am, I know where the tweaks have to go.

a twist that's hard to resist, persists

If an outsider were to ever write a bio of me, I'd hope it would be Barbara Holmes, whose presence as the legendary TwisterB at AOL's Writers Club lended a certain authenticity tot he proceedings.

Recently I reconnected with her and my friend, upon reviewing my recent works had this to say:

"the muse is back, you're writing up a storm so when are you going back to California?"

She knows me all too well.

late report

Not the best turnout I've ever seen, but still, we moved some books and had a time...a few people showed up we hadn't met before, others we knew. Acquitted well the muse.

Matthew Sweet's "Girlfriend"

The reinforcing message and the drive of this song is good.

If you haven't heard it before, I recommend it...the studio version is solid. The live version is magical...

"I wanna love somebody.
I hear you need somebody to love..."

Jaz in black

Leaving for Fairmont in a few moments. Have my final instructions from my muse, have my attitude fairly well on tight and am listening to my music...getting pumped...

I will try and leave word later this evening on how it all went...maybe even blog from the cafe during a down spell.

a bit of irony

I've never been a very good pimp. I mean that...haven't you heard that it's tough out there being a pimp?

(chortle)

Yeah, when it comes to doing publicity, I suck. With E.J. in Venice and the existing low-level apathy of the local media to anything resembling words written on a piece of paper, getting ink and microphone time here has always been a pain. You can send twenty press releases, but the odds of actually getting picked up for any given event are long. Longer than a national title for the Mountaineers in football this year, at this time.

I used to get bent out of shape over it. In California, no problem. Hell, in Mississippi, where I was really just passing through, they put me on TV and the local schools all had me in at one point or another. But here, for some bizarre reason, nothing. Clunk. Thunk.

It's not like I asked the prettiest girl in school to the prom and she turned me down (actually the prettiest girl in my high school senior class didn't go to the prom...everyone figured she already had a boyfriend and a date, so no one asked). It's more like I asked the girl next door I knew in high school is she wants to ride along to the 25th reunion (which, my class, the legendary slackers that they are, didn't even have) and she didn't answer, just stared off in the distance and started talking about something irrelevant to her life, your life and the school you went to.

I picked up this morning's local paper, which includes their weekly entertainment section, and just about every article in that section is a reprint of a wire story. Sorry, Britney's panties (or lack thereof) lost relevance to me a long time ago. Hold it, they never were relevant or of interest to me.

What will the turnout tonight be? I don;t care that much...I have half the planet telling me to bail on this state and go where I'm treated as an adopted child, I get the name and the inheritance and know I'm wanted. I think they are, in part, like those warning Robin William's character in "What Dreams May Come" not to linger too long in Hell, that he may end up trapped there. Maybe if enough people put up with the apathy...it does seem silly that so much of our local media isn't local, but syndicated, wired and piped in from outside sources, as if we didn't really think there was much to offer here.

Oops, gotta go..Lex & Terry are on and I rarely miss them. (Irony)

Game on. Thanks Jaz. I like the collar.

The Golden Apples

The Golden Apples

The race is run with feet so fleet
we blur and blue the lines we cross,
runners racing for their purpose, yet,
distraction takes the toll of whim, sweet
and filled with a hidden profit or loss
we cannot discern, our imaginations set
upon a fulcrumed fantasy of love's glint
that draws us to the side once too often
for us to overtake the challenger heart
that made the contest more than a sprint,
more than a merry footrace that would soften
a suitor's suit and reward us from the start
with the pure and purposeful joy of youth,
the light and flighting, fighting pursuit of truth.

..

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

A moment's reflection

It must be the season, I have found myself twice, in recent days, on the receiving end of rather decent indecent propositions from women of my acquaintance.

Both are young, bright and quite attractive. Beautiful? One is, the other would be more labeled by me as "pretty".

I polite opted out of both. Why? I'm still on the quest, and having fixed myself, for the time being, to one Holy Grail that may be the answer to the riddle of the mystery of the quest, I am not about to blow it for a few hours of hip spelunking. (Cute term, huh? Mine own invention.)

I haven't lost the passion, or the drive or the hunger. I just want to fulfill the promise, if at all possible.

"I will take no pretender, again, to my bed."

And am quite content, though not happy, with the notion of maintaining a monastic existence until either I find someone worthy of my ardour, or until I pass from this realm.

"We have fallen. And have risen. And taken penance given, every mile."

Do elements of me want to kick myself in the ass? Absolutely. But these are not the elements of me that hold the reins. They did, once, when I was foolish enough to confuse sound for solid, dreams for diamonds, pretty words for pretty thoughts. I'm not that child anymore. And though, in some ways, I am still unfinished, even blisteringly raw, I am more of who I was supposed to be decades ago, before I lost my way.

I've proven this to myself, again. For now, I sail towards the star I chart in the heavens.

"Alone at the rudder, I seek no new portage. The winds of an old rage shall yet drive me East."

on the (J)az(z)

The muse asked me what I do to get ready for a reading. I gave her a long and complicated description of the rituals.

But in reality, it is much like being a lycanthrope, watching the moon rise. You feel it more than make it happen...it comes, like a quickening of the pulse, a pounding in your ears, like that change in your stride when you see a particularly attractive woman walking ahead or remmber having met her before. It is feral, and instinctive, natural and not always a change towards what you'd want to be, but a shapeshift towards what you really are.

And I am, to be honest, always glad when the moon sets. That Jaz is helping by coaching me on visualization for during the reading is a good thing. En couer raging in so many levels. (She got her Christmas present yesterday.)

On a not completely unrelated note, had an interview at work for a major promotion and a phone interview for an interesting project management position outside of my current company, both yesterday. I should be vomiting blood from the stress, but I am too much on the (J)az(z) right now, emotionally locked in for the reading, I could lose an arm in a meat grinder or win the lottery and I wouldn't really feel it until Friday morning.

Hello, again, Jaz's sister (I think we have now achieved legal limit of references to my current muse in a single blog post, so I will stop). Have I mentioned she has very lovely eyes? I meant the muse herself, I'm not sure about her sister.

Subliminal advertising

Okay, sorry if I seem a bit detached, just trying to get all my ducks in a row for THURSDAY NIGHT's shindig. Tag says I should engage in subliminal messages in the blog in order to persuade as many people as possible to ATTEND AND BUY MY BOOKS AND CDS, but I think that would be wrong.

If you have a chance and are in the neighborhood, it will be DECEMBER 14 FROM 6-10PM at THE BOOK AND BEAN in FAIRMONT, WV. YOU really should, if you ARE in the area. I understand that Tag will be unveiling A whole new aspect to his performances and I plan to take it cLOSER to the heart than I have in some time. IF YOU can make it, we'll see you. DON'T worry if you are a few minutes late, ATTENDance for every minute is not mandatory.

This may be your only chance to readily get copies of my most recent CDs and books, as well as Tag's books, before the holidays.

Barter

A new poem.

Barter

What shall I barter for your kiss?
A look, a word, a prayer just heard
at the edge of your awareness?
Shall I play at the earnest suitor
or calculate, like a computer,
the most direct path to your arms?

What shall I barter for your smile?
A thought, a phrase, a parted haze
in problems that perplex and hex your day?
Would you have me play the fool
or command, as one whose rule
is absolute, the necessity of your joy?

What shall I barter for your bed?
A vow, a dream, a crown of gold
hammered from ores I've dug with my own hands?
Hands of metal made precious
not by their market value
but by their evidence of an honest heart?

What shall I barter for your years?
My kiss, my smile, my bed and more
as means to capture and keep this dark lightning?
Amomancies bright and blessed
that curl and swirl to form a pearl
that you may wear as evidence of me?

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Three days until I...do something

As the CD and Book Release Party bears down on me, I am noting I am becoming increasingly irritable and restless. There is, within me, an element that despises public appearances.

It's not that I hate my public, it's that I have, deep inside me, a seventeen year old boy, lacking in self-esteem, who always feels awkward when eyes are on him. Add to this the absence of a present muse, someone to lock in on during the performance parts of the evening, what I always refer to as my anchor.

I mean, I can always "go there" emotionally, but without a physical link I sometimes feel isolated and raw. Since I am currently, emotionally bound to a muse who can not be present (it's a long drive from California) and I would feel dishonorable focusing in on another woman, the performances on Thursday will probably be raw and unpredictable. Like the infamous performance during the Southern Poet's Reading Tour at the Fairhope Arts Center.

Now that, everyone who attended will agree, was a great reading. I disconnected from the audience, turned inward, and ripped open a lot of hastily stitched emotional wounds to bleed for the audience. It was a catalyzing performance, maybe my best ever. I tend to measure all other performances by it (although it wrecked me for several hours, it did bring out the nurturing side in a friend who would later become my wife for a season).

With the emotional landscape of the new books being so intense, I can only hope for a good disconnect. I'll just be interested to see how raw I am afterwards, as that will tell me how real my performance was.

Good morning, Jaz.

Wiki editor wanted, yesterday

Well, E.J. just called and is all P.O.'d...seems he is tired of trying to satisfy the critics of the Wikipedia entry about me. I told him to forget about it months ago. He sees it as his holy crusade to satisfy the people who don't like the article and to get it accurate and complete. Unfortunately, that balance seems difficult.

If there is anyone out there who would like to take a whack at the Wiki, be my guest, it might keep him sane. I really don't care what's there when you're done, my ego is intact...I just think it is a no-win situation when people snipe, but give no actionable criticism (I think E.J. would make the changes in a matter of seconds, just to cut his stress level). I'd be happy if the whole damn thing was deleted...I think encyclopedias are for dead people, I still have a few laps to go, I hope.

Yes, I said I was stepping away from the blog for a few days, but I can't have E.J. losing his mind over some juvenile pissing contest, now, can I?

So, someone, or all of you, fire away.

passing along a note

I just got this from the big guy, he said I could reprint it here.

"My friend,

Even you may not be aware of this story, but it will, in part at least, explain
my knee-jerk reaction to the current situation regarding "Not Jaz".

Years ago I ran a BBS (Bulletin Board System) in Northern Virginia. A young
man came on the board one day, just looking around, and we struck up a
friendship, online. He also had his older brother and his sister come online,
and I became at least passingly acquainted with them all.

A "family crisis" occurred not long after that, that got I and my wife at the
time pulled into it. Then I discovered that this young man, his family, the
crisis, and identical crises that had broken out in the same form but under
different names on BBS's all over the area were the actions of one young man,
named Richard, who was a student at the University of Maryland.

I and my wife had actually had Richard over to our house at one point during
the crisis, before we discovered his game. I learned his full name and address
via a sloppily discarded letter under the car seat when I went to adjust it.
No problems occurred from that visit, but we suddenly became aware of just
how dangerous it is to let strangers in, especially those who do not wish to
reveal their real identities to you.

I have, ever since, had a very strong aversion to the identity games some sad
souls play online. When you encounter me on the web, via email or chat or
blogging, it is me, not some character I dreamt up. I demand the same from
those I let into my life.

As a result, there are few greater sins in my rulebook than identity
obscurement for malicious purpose.

In my time online, dating back two decades, I have encountered people
pretending to be long-lost friends, ex-lovers, famous writers and even
me, myself. That there are people who have that low of a self-esteem
that they cannot bear to be themselves is truth, and sad truth at that.

But then, that there are those who would kill you for a cup of coffee is
truth as well, and just as much not cause for celebration or tolerance.

I hope this help explain my current rage.

William F. DeVault"

Okay, I think that is that. I hope. Hey, don't blame me...

E.J.

The Poet is Taking a Break

I was in bed. Asleep. Blissfully dreaming about...no, I can't say that here.

Then the poet calls. And he's pissed off (I can say "pissed off" can't I?).

So, kids, here's the game. He's taking a vacation from the blog. At least for a few days. I haven't seen him this cranked about something in some time. I don't take my relationships as seriously as he does (he places his relationships and his poetry side by side in a little alcove right next to God and the survival of the entire human race) and I'd be in an unsmiling mood. Plus, he has all the pressure of the CD and Book Release Party coming up, with the specter of this crap to distract him.

I am sure he'll be back, and I am supposed to let him know about comments posted, and to clean up the obviously bogus ones.

I guess he will be taking emails, and he told me he slipped his phone number to the real Jaz, for emergencies. Obviously he has a backchannel to her, and he's going to ground.

Wow, when he gets mad, he gets mad, eh? Um...is he supposed to foam at the mouth like that? I see he's been using a teeth whitener.

Can I go back to sleep now?

roused to act

Ever have an infestation problem? You know, something that there are many, many of and you don't know where they are all hiding? Me, too.

I've had to waste valuable editing and writing and recording time cleaning up my blog. Why? If you've been following this little mindgame, you don't need to ask. But in a nutshell, I'm getting overrun by comments from someone who persists in pretending to be someone she is not.

But I am losing patience.

Jaz: Hang in there. You had a rough evening yesterday and I am sure reading the BS that a mindgamer wants to play is not fun. I've tried to go through and plow up the obvious crap in the comments. Any others you see that are clearly not yours, let me know.

NJ (Not Jazz): Stop. Now. You know you are not Jaz and you persist in sending out these illusions. You are either inexplicably cruel or somewhat delusional. Back off, you don't want me angry. I can assure you of this.

I will probably just have to take this discussion, and perhaps even this blog, offline. Unfortunate, but perhaps necessary. Such behaviours forced me to withdraw from the world of the AOL Writers Club when half the world seemed to want to pretend they were "the Panther". I suppose, as a writer, I should be flattered that there are people who identify so strongly with my work that they stalk me in cyberspace.

You should have had to deal with the problem in Los Angeles. A major slice of the reason why I chose Morgantown over LA as my retreat target after the insanity of my second marriage was the fact that I would have less problem with the more ardent admirers here. Smaller town, less problems.

Guess it is time to quit running from my problems and confront them. Guess its time to get off my ass an on my feet and stop figuring the world will sooner or later punch itself out.

California, I'm coming home.

cleaning up the carnage, as best I can

This is what I get for going to bed: 8 gazillion emails, IMs and comments. Now you know why I don't like sleeping. I resent it, it takes me out of the flow of life.

Tag, thanks for all the kind words, man. You are a friend and you can fly wing anytime. Just be careful, my aim is sometimes off when people make me nutso.

Jaz, you are a unique creature. That others envy you (and I don't blame them, not because of what I feel but because of what you are, even if it is obscure to you sometimes) does not diminish you. The second agreement of The Four Agreements teaches that what other people do or think or say is from them, not of you. If someone calls you a name, or think bad things of you, that doesn't make those accusations or that name true, it is an expression of who they are, what they think or are willing to accept as true. Some people are so delusional or deceitful that they can't get through the day without a notebook in which to write the details of the lies they tell themselves or others (I actually knew someone like that once...). You are who you are, and that person, that Jaz, is perfectly fine by me. That's my endorsement. Remember, there are people out there who don't like ice cream, so the fact that you are a bowl of pink lemonade sherbet wth fresh raspberries and strawberries may not please them. That doesn't mean I would pass such a delight by.

Sophie Tucker had a good rejoinder to that, oft quoted by the Divine Miss M.

Me, I find myself in my normal space, playing champion on so many levels it boggles the mind. But that stirs the juices, it gets me, if you pardon the expression, "Jazzed". I don't really work well unchallenged.

K. good person and good friend and the one individual perhaps more int he middle of everything than everyone else combined: Thank you. But this is still all your fault. And for that, I thank you.

E.J., where the fickity fickity frack were you while all of this was going down?

Inquiring Minds, part 2

I had to post this note, once I got permission.

This is from Pam Fries, a friend I've known since Junior High, who encouraged me to put out "The Naked Reads" (and she says her husband wants to thank me for the side effects of listening ot it...I am gratified. Perhaps not as well as he is, but...what can you do?), and I dedicated that CD to her. She has joined the Jaz-teria and wants to know more....here's her note, unretouched:

"William,
Thank you for the dedication! Of course, I have already played Naked Reads 4-5 times..and I must say I had a wonderful idea. The Nemicorn is great also, but what I really want to know is...I believe you know what info I want.
So, is this reciprocal, physical yet, tell me all!
Oh, I know you don't tell ALL, but a smidge would be nice. And must you hide identities still? Since, everyone knows who YOU are, Great Poet and all, is the sweet lady to remain hidden?
Awaiting word, Pam"

Pam, thanks for the fabulous note, and letting me post it. We shall see, there are reasons behind the obscurities. It preserves her (Jaz's) right to distance herself from the works. It protects her identity from my more ardent fans (we already have had people trying to portray themselves as her, what next?). It lets her see just how benign and positive most people's reactions are while still evaluating whether or not she wants to take me seriously as a suitor.

Vampire etiquette, remember. Oh, and occasionally Pam signs her comments and notes "Rondalaire". It's an old joke between friends.

O Holy Night, from "Studio 60"

This MP3 for the rendition of "O Holy Night" performed on last Monday's "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" by musicians representing the Tipitina's Foundation is now available for download, either via this link or through the actual link on the "music from the show" page for "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" at www.nbc.com.

Enjoy.

The musicians featured in this piece are:

Troy Andrews, Trumpet
Kirk Joseph, Sousaphone
Roderick Paulin, Saxophone
Frederick Shepherd, Saxophone
Stephen Walker, Trombone
Mervin "Kid Merv" Campbell, Trumpet
Bob French, Drums

(Legal stuff: O HOLY NIGHT, a musical Christmas tribute to the city of New Orleans. Arranged by WG Snuffy Walden, Patrick Rose and Randy Kerber. © Warner Bros Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved.)

The following text is the mission statement for the Tipitina's Foundation, from their website, www.tipitinasfoundation.org.

"The Tipitina's Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization, has worked diligently to uplift the music community of New Orleans. After Hurricane Katrina devastated the city, the Foundation responded by rebuilding New Orleans' music culture. Initially, the Foundation addressed the immediate needs of our exiled musicians and allowed them to carry on with their lives. Now the foundation is using the legendary music club, Tipitina's Uptown, as the center of its relief efforts by hosting a newly-opened Music Co-op Office that allows musicians to conduct their business activities during the daytime, free legal and accounting seminars, free music lessons for music students, regular Master Seminars, and help with housing information. An important aspect of the rebuilding process has involved finding replacement instruments for both professionals and music students alike. So far the foundation has given away over $500,000 of new instruments. Through these efforts, the Tipitina's Foundation is saving the musical traditions of New Orleans."

As someone who has lived and loved in that area, I encourage your support through such organizations and efforts, particularly over the Christmas season. Yes, there are grander causes to fund and greater evils to overcome, but pull what wagons you wish, just in the rights direction. Don't let the music die.

The Return of the Virtuazzi

So, the virtuazzi are back (virtual paparazzi), seeking the identity of Jaz, hm? I have received numerous requests in the last few days for more information, we may be on the verge of a hunt not dissimilar to the classic "Hunt for the Panther" a decade ago.

I even have two interview requests under consideration, how's that for aggressive? I have to tell you, though, without direct permission from the lady herself, I will say and do nothing outside of existing comments and my poetry. It would be wrong to put her in an awkward position. I remember when the Panther gave an interview, then decided she didn't look very nice in it...she got very bent out of shape and came screaming to me to "fix it".

Sorry, I don't "fix" the truth (check my memoir after I die for evidence of that attitude), but I did take the link to the interview down off of my site. I don't believe in rewriting history, no matter how embarrassing, damning or complicated it may be.

So Jaz can catch her breath, see what she wants to do. I can be a bit of the human tidal wave. Who knows? Maybe for her this "relationship" is just a playful flirtation and subjecting her to closer scrutiny would invade her privacy and tick off her real-world friends/family/relationships? I would hope not, but I have been played a fool too often by my own open heart to not consider "evidence of thorns". (A quote from my poem " waiting for the pentecost".)

So, cool your jets. Maybe the curious will get a Christmas present. Maybe I will. Maybe I'll tell, just a bit...but only by permission.

Saturday, almost noon

Okay, Yahoo Messenger is finally working right. Anxiety attack over.

I visited a website with a message board for Crimson Tide (Alabama) fans. They seem a little angry at Coach Rich Rodriguez. Why? Because they believed the leaks from "unnamed sources" that told them he was going to be their new football coach. Man, do I want to have the swamp land real estate concession at a Crimson Tide game. Unnamed sources tend to be unnamed sources because they are not in the know and are unreliable.

I hope you guys get a great coach and do well. Meanwhile, WVU is going to win a national title sometime in the next two years.

I am getting together with Tag today to work on the program for next Thursday's book and CD release party in Fairmont at the Book and Bean. Hope you join us.

We should be rolling in with a fair number of copies of the new books and the new CDs, but they are always subject to prior sale. And, yes, as EJ reported, the holiday pricing at the store at www.cityoflegends.com is going away early next week.

Get some sleep, Jaz, you deserve it and you need it. And send me some more of your poetry.

When will Yahoo be done updating?

There's a message on my Yahoo Messenger service that comes up when I've been trying to use it this evening:

"The Yahoo! Messenger service has sent the following error message:

Yahoo! Messenger will be performing scheduled maintenance
on December 8 from 5:30 PM PST to 7:30 PM PST. During this
period, you might experience problems when using Yahoo!
Messenger."

Hitting the "OKAY" button under that results in a rapid flashing of some error message, from Yahoo, followed by nothing.

It's worth noting that it is now after 9:00 PM PST.

I went to the Yahoo! website to see what the story was, but their help system is not designed to let you know about systemic outages.

Argh.

The New Incantation

I am more than gratified at the supportive words from friends, peers and resders regarding my recent revelation of a new muse for my work. Jaz is someone I have known, casually, for some time, and it only came about recently that I had any reason to think f her outside of a distant, casual friendship.

Se is bright, talented, beautiful and charming, with a good heart and a desire to make a difference in the world. We have friends in common. We have interests in common. She inspires me to write, and the fruit of those efforts is good.

It is early to tell, too early to tell, where this is headed, if anywhere, but I am committed to seeing what comes and what can be made of it.

The New Incantation

The Amomancer begins the new incantation.
The portents are good. The magic is strong.
The air is still, still enough to let silence roar.
He can taste sweet night-blooming jasmine,
on winds, hot and dry, arising from the West.
Memories fold to make way for what comes.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Poke the Crimson Tide Supporter

The game is actually called "Poke the Penguin", but in honor of today's decision by WVU Mountaineer coach Rich Rodriguez to reject Alabama's more than generous offer to reverse his promises and reject his home, I thought I'd give you a little extra to it.

The Evil Overlord List

The Evil Overlord List is a compilation of things you should do if you are ever able to achieve the level of being an Evil Overlord of the Universe. The classic blunders to avoid.

I like it. I have, more than once, seen the bad guy in a movie get away with one or more of these tactical blunders...or, actually, not get away with it.

I had heard of it, and other lists like it, before, and yet still laughed until my face hurt, reading through it. When I do finally seize power, as is my birthrigth, I plan to throw a banquet in honor of its copiler, Peter Anspach.

And have him slaughtered at it.

Enjoy.

The Evil Overlord List

Coach Rod stays put

I now hear Coach Rod is staying. I stand by my previous assertion that it was a negotiating tactic to get more leverage to make a few changes in the favour of the inestimable Mr. Rodriguez.

Now, about that national title next year, with Mr. Slaton and Mr. White duking it out for the Heisman? Slaton can have it one year, White the other. You two decide.

email troubles

Confirmed. Sent myself an email from an alternate address...it hasn't arrived.

Aiiiiigggggghhhhhhrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!

Just south of Cognito

I am beginning to suspect that my mail servers for my domain carrier are down, temporarily...I have not received new email in several hours, not even spam. I can't even be sure if mail is going out.

Bummer.

In "10" Dudley Moore tells the bartender (Playe by Brian Dennehy) to tell a caller that he is "Incommunicado" which the hotel operator responds to by asking where "Communicado" is...).

Does Alabama need a Poetry Coach?

I was going to comment on the current identity issue surrounding Jaz, but decided not to, as I think she should be flattered that there are people who covet her status.

I was going to do a bit on National Poetry Month, reminding people I am open to discuss possible appearances and readings this spring during that month. That can wait.

But, I really wanted to remind the media that we are having a poetry and CD launch party this coming Thursday in Fairmont, West Virginia, for the new books (RONIN in the TEMPLE OF APHRODITE and PSALMS of the MONSTER RIVER CULT) and the new CDs (NEMICORN and THE NAKED READS).

I am going to be there...so is my co-conspirator on "PSALMS", the inestimable Daniel S. McTaggart, author of MIDNIGHT MUSE in a CONVENIENCE STORE. The cover model for "RONIN", Sarah Chadwick, will not be able to attend, owing to a previous commitment. But we will have performances of works, a playing of the CDs and books and CDs for sale and discussion. But, of course, if the University of Alabama offers me $2 million dollars and jobs for my entire entourage to come be their poetry team coach, I might change my plans.

What? Alabama doesn't have a poetry team coach? But they are an institution of higher learning! I thought all institutions of higher learning put the arts and education ahead of grey-market alumni-funded sporting events. Wow. So you mean the football programs don't pay for themselves? What about the expense to the state and local governments for traffic control and zoning variances and law enforcement and canceling Veterans Day Parades (like Morgantown did for WVU this year)?

What? You mean there are people who consider football more important than poetry, community policing, traffic regulations, the convenience of local residents, public sobriety, the virtue of their daughters and the celebration of sacrifices and service Veterans and string quartets? Wow. We should make sure those sickos don't get power or they'll destroy the educational system in this country...

Hold it, there's a knock at my door...

Hey, it's the NCAA hit squad...ack! Run! Run! (sound of gunfire)...

Honestly, good people of West Virginia, stop getting so worked up over the possible defection of Coach Rich "I will finish my career at WVU" Rodriguez. If you held the politicians you claim to love to the same standard of steadfastness, you'd have to impeach the current administration.

Which, in and of itself is a not-so-bad idea.

2:45 am

Hmph. Woke up from a pleasant enough dream. Can't get back to sleep...my brain is racing. Too many thoughts.

Go to make a blog entry...there's a message about a new login, via Google.

Not going to deal with that right now. Just one more thing to think about.

taking a new muse

So I have taken a new muse. (glaring balefully) You got a problem with that?

Well, I'm not particularly sorry, except if you are one of those who feel that my heart, my mind, my talents should warp to your wants and needs and beliefs. I apologize if you are in distress over this. I do not apologize for the vector, or the results of the vector. This is my nature, this is how God carved me and set me to the battlefield. I have worn and will wear many guises and disguises, but the Amomancer not only casts his spells with words of love, he feeds.

He feeds, not as some parasite or predator, but like the wildflower, drinking in the sunlight freely given. I am photosynthetic to certain wavelengths of beauty and imagination.

Yesterday Jaz joking made references to a line I'd just thought up, that I should use it on "someone". I told her I couldn't, that I am monogamistic when it comes to muses (yes, I know, there was a time...). She said she'd never been a muse before.

Someone should tell her she just hit the mother lode. Ask those whose paths have intersected with mine, even those who deny me when it becomes...inconvenient...to their perfidy. In those seasons they are elevated, consecrated and celebrated. Many who may despise the Panther for her conduct in our affair still sigh in secret to be laurelled such as she was.

I walk in the light. My shadows are within me, and I speak of them. Sometimes to the point of even boring myself. But this day, at this time, in this place in space and history, I am reborn, When I snap my fingers I no longer hear a crisp sound, but a sizzle of arcs of energy, my soul is filling and I bleed warm and vagrant thoughts.

Thank you, Jaz.

lightning in a long-legged bottle

I just composed this live for Jaz. She said I could share. It.


lightning in a long-legged bottle

I happened upon
lightning in a bottle.
a long-legged bottle.
capped perhaps
by a careless hand
who didn't understand
that lightning
needs to be free
to find its own level,
its own peace.
and so, sought to trap
the radiance,
the jazz, the power.
and in doing so, sapped
the light,
the beauty, the energy
to a level a fraction
of where it was
and should be
by the very nature of lightning.

so, I shield my eyes
and pry loose the stopper.
and pray she stays
at least in the immediate
vicinity
so that I may watch
her dance
between clouds and the earth.
between my dreams and my waking.
and never resent me
for placing her
in a bottle.
but smile upon me
for having set her free.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Imponderable questions chapter 6852.4

I've always loved the scene in Neil Simon's classic "The Goodbye Girl" where Elliot Garfield finally gets up the momentum to make his move on Paula and she protests loudly, even as she is starting to buckle to his charm.

She moans that she doesn't want to feel this way, this good, again. There's a part of her that knows that every time she gives into feeling this happy, this warm, this incredible...she gets batted down by the fates.

Boy, and all my life I've been accused of being Elliot Garfield, when in truth I'm the Paula McFadden character. Yikes!

(By the way, anyone out there know who was used for the still shot of Tony "Love Em and Leave Em" DeForest in the 1977 version of that film? I am curious and as a trivia buff, it is making me mental.)

Well, much to do before next Thursday's party at the Book and Bean. Much. Much.

Is it lovesickness only when you are feeling bad or is it also lovesickness when you are feeling too good?

all that jaz (a cycle)

Actually, these are just the two first poems to the new cycle. Why spoil you?

gravity web

you flit and flirt and twirl a skirt
I cannot see, for now,
except in my imagined memory
of a woman who seems to have caught me
in a gravity web.
pulling me closer
to fall, not to my doom,
but to meet perhaps at a point
between where I was
and where she was.
to find a common focus
around a point in space
we alone can define.


two left feet

two left feet
there's no retreat
but my how we dance
when we surrender to gravity
and take the plane of our insistence
into the horizontal
to dance our natured tendencies
where feet are left behind
for more central motions and emotions.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

as the skies darken

People who post comments under other peoples' names should realize that I can read the originating proxy.

And am unamused.

inquiring minds want to know

Who the hell is Jaz?

Jaz, in dark reverie

how shades your heart at distance kept
from memories o'er which you have long wept?
lovers fled and lovers lost
and lovers kept at spirit's cost.
memories burning with desire
barely lume this ancient pyre.
shall I dare to touch the flame
or even speak your chosen name?
are you a shade, a puzzle locked
a loaded gun already cocked?
or are you a portal through the stone
where I am chained, sins to atone?


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

New poem, by command and request.

I hate press releases

I hate dealing with press releases about my work or my books and CDs. My reasons are manifold. Including one related to that last sentence.

1) I hate being involved in my own promotion. The "champion" in me can only really engage all the gears if I am doing what I am doing for someone else (see "Muse"). Thus I have to struggle to not feel guilty.

2) Press releases invariably have to be ineloquent. Thus, words like "manifold", "ineloquent" and even "thus" are stripped from my considerable vocabulary.

3) I can't read editors' and publishers' minds. If I am writing a poem to woo a woman and I see a change in her expression on a key concept, expression or word, I can adapt. I get little feedback from editors. The last press release that was put out under my approval, the local newspaper ran sections of it verbatim under the "People You Know" column, along with news of someone getting a new title at a local fast food restaurant. Hey, at least they used it, and in a timely fashion. I have seen them print press releases, verbatim, for events at the local Barnes and Noble a week after the event they were to be advertising..

4) Once it is out there, it is beyond your control. That is actually a good argument for paid advertising, for marketing. At least there you control the message when you are paying for dinner. Think of it like hiring a hooker, you can be pretty sure if you pay the money you have a sure thing on your hands.

5) Given the choice between being the pimp and being the prostitute, I'd rather kill myself, as I am too much the romantic to survive, emotionally, being the latter, and being the former would invoke my self-destruction clause under the Nosferatu's Dream. I hate feeling like I am pimping myself every time I give a quote or an interview. Why can't reporters do their own legwork and actually read a poem or two? Recent studies have shown that many of the quotes in movie advertisements were actually written by the movie studios, then given to the magazines and newspapers, who in a lazy effort to save time and reporter salaries, just reprint the studio fluff.

6) Press releases rarely get you laid. Let's be honest and earnest. I like stuff that gets women riled up in a good way.

7) There are people much better than me at editing a press release. I'm secure in my poet. I know Larry Jaffe wasn't kidding when he called me "the greatest living poet" a few years ago. I have the quotes. As a poet, I'm a "master", a "living legend", the "catalyst poet of the digital renaissance" and "the god of sex" (oops, that last one wasn't about my poetry). As a press release editor I am some guy who doesn't want to be bothered by it all, but too cheap and controlling to farm it all out and sit back and let others run with it.

I am staring at the first draft of the press release about the book and CD release party on the 14th of this month, knowing it needs to go out to the Daily Athenaeum, The Dominion Post, the Times-West Virginian, Graffiti and the local radio stations (who won't read it anyway). And I am loathing seeing the final draft, loathing waiting to see if it appears in any of the local outlets, loathing the time I am spending writing about how much I loathe spending time thinking about how I loathe being involved with the publicity process.

I think I have issues with self-promotion. Which, if you are going to have issues with something, beats the living hell out of most aversions.

And the final score is...

WVU Mountaineers 41
Rutgers Scarlet Knights 39

Congratulations to the Big East Champion Louisville Cardinals!

No excuses...with Pat White out, the Mountaineers should still have been a good, solid team. Impressive poise and play from Jarrett Brown.

Playlist for Monomania

I get wired via music. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs, so I use music to amp me up before a public appearance. Yes, sex is wonderful, but it relaxes me...I don't need to be relaxed to perform, I need to be on the verge of exploding in gouts of electic violet flames, I need to be toying with a coronary.

I used to depend on the radio, but with the advent of the iPod age (thank you, Steve Jobs...when the histories are written, Bill Gates will be remembered as another robber baron, amoral businessman predator who got forced by tax laws to give to charity...you and Woz will be seen as the guys who ushered in the digital renaissance)...I jack myself into my own mixes, selecting the pieces by the mood I want invoked in me.

So now I am working on my mix for December 14th's launch party for the new books and CDs. The stock is ordered, I have no control over my publisher or the US Postal Service, I am tanned, rested and ready...now is the time to fill the parfait glass with what I want to serve.

I wouldn't dream of using my own recordings to the purpose. I still barely tolerate my own voice, even when I know I nailed it. So what songs am I putting on my list? Still preliminary, but here's a serious list of some of the top contenders, based on the attitude they invoke in me.

"Crash Into Me" by The Dave Matthews Band. Brings out my melancholy demons. It burns away my defenses and makes me malleable for the surface layers to be applied by the next selections. A song that makes me weep when I am caught with my guard down.

"Living on the Edge" by Aerosmith. Driving and actually with a malevolent prophecy. Brings the darkness just to beneath the skin, where I want it, so I can feed on the ego. This gives me the energy I need for the rest of the process.

"If" by Janet Jackson. Unapologetically erotic, with a driving rhythm (as good sex should have). A non-brainer straight from the loins. Again, a supplication to my darker self.

"Criminal" by Fiona Apple. A trick of the light with mirrors and smoke. I used to go to a lot of movies, by myself, when I first was divorced. I would sit in the movie theatre at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica and this song was always playing before the films there. When I let it in, it bends time and I regain the feral sadness of those days. I need that, the unemcumbered romantic, in some degree. The tear on the face of the assassin.

"Heart and Soul" by T'pau. What? Ye, I know. But this immensely listenable romantic piece of pop has the right blend of complexity, romanticism and rhythm to scrape away the last vestiges of the day to day as they rise to the surface.

"Fire Down Below" by Bob Seger. Pelvic rock at its best. Changes the way I walk when I listen to it.

"Slide" by The Goo Goo Dolls. Another emotional snapshot. Watching a lover dance. The energy, the beauty, the surreality of it all. The sorrow of lost opportunities, the joy in the moment. It reminds me of where and with whom I have been. It makes me grateful for life and love.

"Pope" and "The Cross" by Prince. The rhythm and drive of the former, the introspection, the spirituality and energy of the latter. The dichotomy that drives all great art: the flesh and the divine.

"Battle Flag" by Lo Fidelity All Stars. Disconnecting from the real world, powering up like Tony Stark at a wall plug, my armor of the illusions invoked by the power of the music matched only by the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. Adrenaline going into OD mode.

"When the Night Comes" by Joe Cocker. Time to seal it all in with a varnish of pure invincibility. There's something about this performance off of "Joe Cocker Live" that makes me feel like I am standing naked in the roar of the winds off the high desert in the Morongo Valley, like I am hardwired into the universe, indestructible and immortal. And that's what you need when you are about to face an audience.

Okay, I'm ready. The argent sergeant has slipped into his costume, his shell, his mask. Gimme the frigging microphone.

The New Look of the City

Still much to do and much to be considered, but I've finished putting up the rough of the front page of the new website...

The City of Legends

Check it out and let me know what you think.

Oh. Hi, Jasmin.

the morning after a lot of seed work is complete

Welcome to Project Mayhem.

I need to make a few final nips and tucks and then shove everything into seventh gear.