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From the brilliant HP Lovecraft Society, please enjoy a favorite of mine, "Little Rare Book Room" (Lyrics by Sean Branney and Andrew Leman, based on 'Little Drummer Boy,' written in 1958 by Katherine Davis, Henry Onorati, and Harry Simeone):

Come, they called me
The special book room
The rarest books to see
Librarian's tomb
Kept under lock and key
In terrible gloom
To save man's sanity,
It's pointless, we're doomed, thoroughly doomed, utterly doomed.
Necronomicon
The first I exhumed
From the book room.

Book of Eibon
So frightfully old
Vermis Mysteriis
A sight to behold
The Monstres and Their Kynde
With edges of gold
Could make me lose my mind
All covered with mold, fungus and mold, poisonous mold.
Kitab al Azif
Its horrors untold.
Still I am bold.

King in Yellow
Left me feeling glum
The Ponape Scriptures
I'd stay away from
And then The Golden Bough
My brain had gone numb
I read them all out loud
Well that was quite dumb, terribly dumb, fatally dumb.
Freed the Great Old Ones
Mankind will succumb.
What have I done?

Over on tor.com, Irene Gallo has been hosting a thread: Show us your tentacles: A Lovecraft art meme which captured my fancy. I really don't have time to be doing anything but painting my current horse book, but due to forces that seemed beyond my control, I seemed unable to resist the compulsion to draw a Cthulhu of my own... I did a rough sketch of a tediously unoriginal critter trying to be sort of creepy when I realized that I needed to just go with what I've become practiced and adept at doing! Which is, turn any kind of thing into a fairy (I've been doing almost nothing by sparkly fairy illustration since the middle of 2006). So, I am 'embracing the cuteness' and the result is Fairy Cthulhu:

I am now seriously behind where I had hoped to be today, but it was an incredibly fun digression. Now back to the coal mines.

Says Chronicle Books, "The Classic Regency Romance—Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem!" The publisher's blurb reads:

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies features the original text of Jane Austen's beloved novel with all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie action. As our story opens, a mysterious plague has fallen upon the quiet English village of Meryton—and the dead are returning to life! Feisty heroine Elizabeth Bennet is determined to wipe out the zombie menace, but she's soon distracted by the arrival of the haughty and arrogant Mr. Darcy. What ensues is a delightful comedy of manners with plenty of civilized sparring between the two young lovers—and even more violent sparring on the blood-soaked battlefield as Elizabeth wages war against hordes of flesh-eating undead. Complete with 20 illustrations in the style of C. E. Brock (the original illustrator of Pride and Prejudice), this insanely funny expanded edition will introduce Jane Austen's classic novel to new legions of fans.

I am very pleased this year, to provide the video (audio, really) above in addition to the lyrics below.

From the Scary Solstice collection (1, 2, or 3) of holiday music offered by the HP Lovecraft Society, please enjoy a favorite of mine, "Little Rare Book Room" (Lyrics by Sean Branney and Andrew Leman, based on 'Little Drummer Boy,' written in 1958 by Katherine Davis, Henry Onorati, and Harry Simeone):

Come, they called me
The special book room
The rarest books to see
Librarian's tomb
Kept under lock and key
In terrible gloom
To save man's sanity,
It's pointless, we're doomed, thoroughly doomed, utterly doomed.
Necronomicon
The first I exhumed
From the book room.

Book of Eibon
So frightfully old
Vermis Mysteriis
A sight to behold
The Monstres and Their Kynde
With edges of gold
Could make me lose my mind
All covered with mold, fungus and mold, poisonous mold.
Kitab al Azif
Its horrors untold.
Still I am bold.

King in Yellow
Left me feeling glum
The Ponape Scriptures
I'd stay away from
And then The Golden Bough
My brain had gone numb
I read them all out loud
Well that was quite dumb, terribly dumb, fatally dumb.
Freed the Great Old Ones
Mankind will succumb.
What have I done?

I really tried to avoid posting on the passing of David Foster Wallace. I have read nearly everything he ever wrote...much more than once (the bad habit of rereading one I've never been able to quit). I spent a summer, some time ago, (re)reading Infinite Jest, Finnegans Wake, The Wasp Factory and A Void (Perec's, La Disparition as translated by Gilbert Adair, keeping the original's avoidance of the letter "e") (I was in a masochistic mood). I am fond of complex, convoluted and challenging text. It is not always rewarding...and it is often quite painful...but there is always a chance of running across *greatness*. I do not think it is possible to find *greatness* in the easy to consume.

DFW never held back from playing with his craft. There was greatness and there was crap...and one person's greatness was often another's crap and vise versa (as is often the case, The Independant declared Bank's first novel, Wasp Factory as one of the 100 great novels of the 20th century, the Economist declared the same work "Rubbish"). I just finished rereading Girl with Curious Hair (a collection of short stories, first published in 1990). I first read it...well...about 18 years ago and again around 1996 when it was reprinted. It was interesting how different my sense of the collection is now vs. my "memory" of it.

There has been much written of him since his passing, and I include a few notated links that I think are interesting...and one counterpoint:

Howling Fantods - cornerstone DFW fan site, extremely detailed listing of related articles;
McSweeney - "Timothy McSweeney is devastated and lost" - remembrances by McSweeney writers, etc. (including Dave Eggers);
Harper's Magazine - is providing every article DFW wrote for them as downloadable .pdfs (if you read nothing else, read Shipping Out);
SFGate - Mark Morford offers a personal and *very* praising recollection;
and as a counterpoint...because it is useful, sometimes, for perspective -
Hackwriters.com - agree with it or not, David Schneider's review/critique of Girl With Curious Hair (and Post-modernism) is a good read.

I hate when a great mind goes away...more so where, as here, its passing is tied so closely to that subtle line between insanity and genius. The loss here is greatest for what might have been written...what we have lost by his passing, comforted only in that we will never know what we have lost. There are so many writers who could never write another word and I, personally, would not care one whit [e.g. (and while acknowledging that the following is completely inappropriate) does the world really need another novel by Nicholas Sparks?]. Though I had not read him recently until his passing, I really can't find the construct to voice my sense of loss. I think I will just go reread some essays and short fiction and be annoyed.

Speaking of rereading, tragic writers and...well...broken minds; I am rereading a collection of H.P. Lovecraft's short fiction and had just (re)started Call of Cthulhu when I heard of DFW's passing. Its opening appears to be a fitting close:

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

Continuing in the theme of my Ad Posters... here is Cthulhu advertising squid.
Hey, he needed a quick paycheck!



(as always comments welcomed, cuz i need to feel loved..!)

It has been too busy of late and I apologize for my silence, several quick posts to follow starting with:

The holiday music here is all brought courtesy of the fine folks at the H.P. Lovecraft Society. They offer not one but TWO collections of holiday music: A Very Scary Solstice and An Even Scarier Solstice. Each arrives with its own songbook, what more can one ask for. OH, I know, you can get both of them in a limited edition tentacle stocking (mine, from last year, can be seen to the right).

I offer, for your holiday pleasure, the lyrics of my personal favorite, the "Little Rare Book Room" (Lyrics by Sean Branney and Andrew Leman, based on 'Little Drummer Boy,' written in 1958 by Katherine Davis, Henry Onorati, and Harry Simeone):

Come, they called me
The special book room
The rarest books to see
Librarian's tomb
Kept under lock and key
In terrible gloom
To save man's sanity,
It's pointless, we're doomed, thoroughly doomed, utterly doomed.
Necronomicon
The first I exhumed
From the book room.

Book of Eibon
So frightfully old
Vermis Mysteriis
A sight to behold
The Monstres and Their Kynde
With edges of gold
Could make me lose my mind
All covered with mold, fungus and mold, poisonous mold.
Kitab al Azif
Its horrors untold.
Still I am bold.

King in Yellow
Left me feeling glum
The Ponape Scriptures
I'd stay away from
And then The Golden Bough
My brain had gone numb
I read them all out loud
Well that was quite dumb, terribly dumb, fatally dumb.
Freed the Great Old Ones
Mankind will succumb.
What have I done?

I know, I know, I posted the lyrics last year too...so what. It is great. I am going caroling in my neighborhood singing nothing but the Little Rare Book Room. Enough of this "good will to men" and "season of joy" blatherings...

HPLS has many other lovely holiday gifts, I highly recommend the Bibliophile t-shirt (no small praise as I tend to avoid t-shirts as much as possible). As I am on a bit of a Cthulhu run, I will also give a plug for a personal favorite of mine, Baby's First Mythos (I occasionally give this at holidays...and at every baby shower).

I am a Lovecraft fan. Lovecraft, who died unexpectedly, early and, most unfortunately, never knowing the power of what he created, died effectively penniless and convinced he was a failure. His first book (A Shunned House) had been printed, but not published when he died. As a result, though there are MANY letters by him (he was a prolific letter writer, as many as 20 letters a day) there is only ONE copy of an inscribed book...a set of loose signatures of Shunned House (shown here).

I will not rant about HPL (others do it so well). I will simply state that he died far too young (46) and thank him for creating a genre. I can not recommend reading his cannon highly enough (or early enough, I give Baby's First Mythos as shower gifts (thanks Nate)). I'll leave you to reflect on his passing with the opening paragraph of "The Call of Cthulu".

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

I have been rereading the Lovecraft canon and just absorbed Call of Cthulhu. I realized two things: first off, it has one of the truly great opening sentences and/or first full paragraphs; secondly, for better or worse, I realized I know it from memory:

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a dark new age.

A personal favorite of mine from my recently chatted about Scary Solstice collection, please enjoy "Little Rare Book Room" (Lyrics by Sean Branney and Andrew Leman, based on 'Little Drummer Boy,' written in 1958 by Katherine Davis, Henry Onorati, and Harry Simeone):

Come, they called me
The special book room
The rarest books to see
Librarian's tomb
Kept under lock and key
In terrible gloom
To save man's sanity,
It's pointless, we're doomed, thoroughly doomed, utterly doomed.
Necronomicon
The first I exhumed
From the book room.

Book of Eibon
So frightfully old
Vermis Mysteriis
A sight to behold
The Monstres and Their Kynde
With edges of gold
Could make me lose my mind
All covered with mold, fungus and mold, poisonous mold.
Kitab al Azif
Its horrors untold.
Still I am bold.

King in Yellow
Left me feeling glum
The Ponape Scriptures
I'd stay away from
And then The Golden Bough
My brain had gone numb
I read them all out loud
Well that was quite dumb, terribly dumb, fatally dumb.
Freed the Great Old Ones
Mankind will succumb.
What have I done?

For better or worse, I have listened to this so much over the last few days that I can not sing it all from memory...and have been...over and over and over.

Sorry for the delay in posts...several in the pipeline but things have been insane. The holiday was great fun. My boys and my new nephew (happily at the "eat, sleep, wail" stage of existence) where highly entertaining. People ate WAY too much (xmas eve dinner was our "traditional" lobster dinner (I love living in Maine) and xmas dinner was an even more traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, et al, event) and great fun was had by all.

My family has a long-standing tradition to over-indulge the whims and fancies of all involved at pretty much all gift giving holidays (and there are MANY, if you take the right approach (Bloomsday, for example)). This year was heavy on Cthulhu and friends. I received a wonderful gift from a client, a copy of Baby's First Mythos by C.J. and Erica Henderson...he had the Henderson's inscribe it and include and *wonderful* color sketch of Cthulhu draped over a cityscape and thinking, "Hmmmmm, city" (think, "hmmmmmm, chocolate"). Everyone should have clients who get them wonderful books.

I also received two pairs of bookish gargoyles from my wonderfully crazed father. Mom did her part, too. She discovered the wonders of the H.P. Lovecraft Society. As a result I found, lurking under the tree, the CD, DVD *and* script for A Shoggoth on the Roof (a slight adaptation of Fiddler on the Roof). Even better (and more in keeping with the holiday) was the exceptional "Unbearably Scary Solstice" collection...this included A Very Scary Solstice and An Even Scarier Solstice, complete with song books and all contained in a handmade "tentacle" stocking. I can not recommend these albums highly enough. Lyrics to some will likely follow. Finally, a great t-shirt with Cthulhu reading a book (undoubtedly the Necronomicon) with "Bibliophile" beneath.

I, of course, need about 3-4 days to recover from this "holiday". Sad...so very sad.