Monday, April 25, 2011


Things have got to change soon. I refuse to live like this for much longer.

Why is it that when we zig when we were supposed to zag, zags therefore seem to become impossible from then on? I made mistakes, I get it, now let me try to fix them!

I hope it's not too hot this summer. I hope it's warm but crazy hot. Guess we'll see...

Friday, April 22, 2011

A book report

The Yellow Sign and Other Stories: The Complete Weird Tales of Robert W. Chambers. Chaosium Inc. ISBN: 1-56882-126-3

I read Robert W. Chambers short story "The Repairer Of Reputations" in late 1994 and it immediately became one of my favorite stories. Although it was written nearly a hundred years earlier, it felt fresh and wonderfully modern. It's a dark and twisted tale of a descent into madness that was like nothing I'd ever read before. The closest thing I could compare it to was Stephen King's gloriously sick novella Apt Pupil, but they are also very different in myriad ways. However, they both managed to make slides into murderous insanity seem giddy and joyous as a spring romance. I've re-read it many times over the past 17 years and I never tire of it. That book also had another of Chambers short stories, "The Yellow Sign", which was nearly as good as "The Repairer..." was. I was determined to read more of Chambers work as soon as I could find some.

Flash forward to about ten years ago, more or less. Chaosium Inc., which had published the book I had read the two Chambers stories in, put out The Yellow Sign and Other Stories, which has nearly all of Chambers "weird" horror fiction. I eagerly snatched up a copy when I saw it in the bookstore and resolved to read it as soon as possible. For many different reasons, it turned out to be nearly ten years before I got to it, I finished reading it a couple months ago.

At this point I should explain who Robert W, Chambers was. Chambers was a very successful writer of the late 19th/early 20th century. He wrote nearly eighty books, most of them bestselling romances in the style that was popular at that time. He was able to live a very comfortable life from the money his writing brought in.

He also wrote a few stories that fell into the supernatural fantasy or "weird" genre. These stories are very highly regarded by lovers of horror fiction and they inspired H.P. Lovecraft and others in shaping their mystical worlds.

So, how does The Yellow Sign and Other Stories rank as a book? Well, I have to confess that I was a bit disappointed when I finished it. It seems Chambers never did again quite hit the heights he did with "The Repairer..." and "The Yellow Sign." Many of the stories were enjoyable enough but seemed almost infantile when compared to those first two stories. There's too much repetition of hokey romance type plot contrivances in too many of the stories. Chambers obviously had a wonderful sense of humor but not one that necessary works well in a "horror" setting. A few of the stories have great moments of "WTF" strangeness but that's about all they provide.

But there were a few gems. I loved "The Maker Of Moons"; if updated to the present it would make a wonderful low budget, direct to DVD movie. "Un Peu d'Amour" is so damn crazy you just have to embrace it for what it is. And although it's beyond mild by today's standards, his story about a race of invisible women probably made a lot of his more "Victorian" readers blush with its implications!

Overall, I'm glad I read this book, just wish there could have been a few more stone cold classics to have come out of Chambers output.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Disappointment and other things

If you are born expecting fireworks your whole life, then everyday will be like the 3rd of July to you. If you expect passionate romance every moment, then life will be like the ponderous opening lines of Romeo and Juliet before the lovers meet. I don't know what to tell you to expect but sometimes disappointment is inevitable.

April is a strange month. Sometimes I've needed miracles around this time of year and been given them. Other times, I've just sunk deeper into the morass. Not sure yet where this April will go.

There was somebody...all I wanted was to make her happy. I still do. It's really the worst thing, wishing for the death of love. But even that's not true. I don't want my feelings to end.

Still trying to figure out a way out west. Maybe by writing all this stuff out, something will come to me!

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Scatter shots

There is one thing people need to understand about me...I contain both absolute hope and absolute despair inside me. It's always been this way, the brightest star, the largest black hole. I often wonder which will win out. And when.

Friday morning, I pulled into the parking lot at work. I was listening to an AM talk radio station but another station was "bleeding" thru. It was playing this:

Such a joyful the sun was rising and touching the trees with light, I wanted to just drive off, ditch work and hit the road, finally living the life I wanted to.

But of course, I didn't.

But maybe the day is coming when not only will I, I'll have to.

I won't let my dreams die. If they don't die, they'll kick at the stable doors until they break loose and stampede. Everyday, that moment grows closer.

Speaking of dreams...mine lately have been trying to tell me something. Last night, someone was lecturing about soil, how certain types can alter DNA so that murderous rages can occur in individuals. I've no idea if that's true but that's what the person in the dream was claiming.

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream in which there was a cult in town. The leader kept trying to break in my house and force me to join. It's always frightening, even in dreams, to encounter such blind determination.

I'm going to try to keep blogging more often. There's much I need to say.

Friday, February 11, 2011

New poem

Apple Pop-Tarts in winter

The toaster didn’t know

it was the late 70’s

the blue jays have their own calendar

and mark the days by knocking snow off branches

children lust for Christmas

and snow days

they still have faith

in the cleanliness of ice

and in the warm, florescent green innards

of store bought pastry


Brian Moreau