tinhuvielartanis: (Funky Bald Molina)
This is just my opinion, mind, so feel free to disagree. And feel free to make your own list. I'd be interested to see what you include. I'm using Wikipedia to provide info on each book. It may not be the best source of info, but it's easy and I'm lazy, so shut up.

  • The Illuminatus Trilogy by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson: The penultimate conspiracy theory book. I haven't read it since 1993, when I lent the book to someone who promptly moved to Louisiana. It will absolutely rock the foundations of any belief you hold sacred. I contend that The Invisibles would never have come into existence had it not been for this book.

  • Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban: aka "Shriekback required reading." Set at least a couple of thousand years in the future, the remnants of humanity in England are barely recognisable as such. The plot follows a young man, Riddley Walker, who has experienced some major moments in a very short period of time. He shot what may be the last wild boar in England (this is referenced in the Shrieks' "Beatles Zebra Crossing"), his father died leaving Riddley to be his tribe's Connexion Man on the ripe age of 12, and he discovers he is dog frendy. The book is written phonetically to reflect the English of a post-nuclear holocaust future. It takes a couple of pages to get used to reading it but, long after you've finished the book, the slang sticks with you. This book was heavily influential in the making of Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. The children in that movie speak Riddley-speak.

  • Pilgermann by Russell Hoban: Beautifully written, as are all of Mr. Hoban's works, Pilgermann tells the story of a European Jew travelling to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage, and the places and people he encounters en route. The language of this novel creates a certain spiritual uplift in the reader, or at least it did for me. Russell Hoban is a master of poetic prose, painting his novels more than writing them at times.

  • The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien: It's my belief that one cannot fully understand the scope and wonder of The Lord of the Rings without reading The Silmarillion. It's a difficult book to read, but well worth the effort. This tells the story of the creation of the world and the birth of both Elves and Men, and it's a collection of the myths and legends of the First and Second Ages of Middle Earth. Tolkien's most personal and beloved work, The Silmarillion was never completed by him; rather, it was compiled by his son Christopher. Like most true myths, The Silmarillion was ever changing and, therefore, never ready for publication, at least in Tolkien's opinion. He began working on it in 1914 and he was writing on it until the day he died.

  • Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams. This trilogy, consisting of The Dragonbone Chair, Stone of Farewell, and To Green Angel Tower rivals the literary pageantry of The Lord of the Rings. Tad Williams has the ability to create such sympathetic characters, you may actually find yourself brought to extreme states of emotion throughout your reading experience. The main character, Simon Mooncalf, is thrown into the adventure of which he'd always dreamt when he was nothing more than a castle scullion, and he soon finds out that adventure leaves a lot to be desired when it also entails threat of death, going hungry, and being cold and alone. Fortunately for Simon, he finds some very good friends on the road, and this ragtag group work to save the world from a power-sick king, a malevolent monk, and a race of angry Norns, led by the undead Storm King. Breathtaking.

  • Imajica by Clive Barker: a book every Pagan should read. This is Clive Barker's best book. Period. The story is about John Furie Zacharias, aka Gentle's attempt to reconcile the Five Dominions of creation, fulfilling his destiny as a Maestro. It follows his journey through the Dominions along with his assassin lover Pie Oh Pah, and the discoveries he makes during his journey, culminating in a reality-shattering confrontation with his father, the god Hapexamendios. Based on a dream he had, Clive Barker's passion shines through with every word in this book. You haven't truly read Clive unless you've read Imajica.


I think that'll do for now. Now go read!
tinhuvielartanis: (Dubya)
From [livejournal.com profile] polypolyglot: I'm glad that you're reading the S.M. Stirling Emberverse books. Are there any other apocalypse-themed books you'd like to recommend to us?

As far as fiction is concerned, I highly recommend The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It's pretty much the bleakest novel I've ever read, which rates it high in my Gothic world. In regard to non-fiction Alpaca Liptic reading, I would suggest any books on the year 2012 and survival guides like how-to books on gardening, hunting, and defending oneself against angry mobs of hungry humans.


From [livejournal.com profile] sapphirescarlet: What's a good pick-me-up now that the Red Eye Grande is gone?

Politics. Watching the political drama during an election year in the United States is enough to get your blood boiling like three Redeye Grandés drunk one after the other.


From [livejournal.com profile] booraven22: Zombie George Bush tries to re-take the White House.

He lurched toward the front door, flesh dripping off his cocaine-saturated bones like dried syrup on an unwashed IHOP platter. The wet slapping of his rotten feet scared off a feral cat lurking in the shadows of the well-manicured shrubbery. The odour emitting from his dessicated body was not much different from what he smelled like when he was alive, so no alert was sounded since the Secret Service guards had long since become desensitized to that particular stench. When he finally reached the doors of the White House, Zombie George Bush rattled the handles and pounded on the wood, moaning a demand that he be granted entrance, that he was the only true leader of this country.

The door slowly opened, revealing the new President of the United States. In his hand was a railroad spike, which he swiftly plunged into Zombie George Bush's forehead. The tip of the spike exited at the base of his skull. Zombie George Bush stiffened, then crumpled at the President's feet.

"Why on Earth did you do that?" the First Lady asked, wrapping her house coat around her in reaction to the horror before her.

"It's the only way to kill zombies," the President said. "You have to destroy the brain, although I was afraid it wouldn't work on this one, considering who it was."

Both the President and First Lady laughed at this as they watch the Secret Service arrive to clean up the mess. Closing the door, the President led his wife back into the White House. It was going to be a busy day tomorrow, trying to right all the wrongs George W. Bush had enacted upon the nation and the world, and it was late. At least now, the world was safe from Zombie George Bush thanks to Barack Obama and an inexplicable railroad spike that just happened to be lying in a foyer of the White House.

And we all lived happily ever after.
tinhuvielartanis: (Here is the news!)
To the best of my knowledge, these are all the books I've read so far this year.

  • The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams

  • Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams

  • To Green Angel Tower by Tad Williams

  • Dies the Fire by SM Stirling

  • The Protector's War by SM Stirling

  • A Meeting at Corvallis by SM Stirling

  • Red Dragon by Thomas Harris

  • The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris

  • Hannibal by Thomas Harris

  • Mister B. Gone by Clive Barker

  • Rulers of Darkness by Steven G. Spruill


Just today I began reading The Sunrise Lands by SM Stirling and will probably reread Weaveworld by Clive Baker simultaneously. Although I'm ashamed to admit it, I don't remember a thing about Weaveworld. All I remember is reading it in 1991 while listening to an unlawful amount of Shriekback. It just occurred to me that I also read Cabal around this time whilst heavily listening to Go Bang!. The movie made from Cabal, Nightbreed, boasts a score written by Danny Elfman. Yet another ghoulish connection in Tin's Funhouse of Horror.
tinhuvielartanis: (Barry Interview)
I'm pretty much a wreck. Yesterday, I got what I thought was just a bill from a radiology office and the doctor who read my MRI, but it also had a code, 784.0, in the diagnosis section of the bill. Aunt Tudi pointed it out to me late last night. So I got online to see if I could find anything and I was directed to severe headaches and multiple sclerosis, often in association with multiple sclerosis. Shit!! So now I'm worried and will remain that way until I see Dr. Pilch on 6 August. What if I have multiple sclerosis? What do I do? Can it be treated? Will I be able to continue work? Shit!!

**deep breath**

In other news, I finished Hannibal and now I'm pissed off all over again at the movie. Why didn't they hold true to the book and have Clarice join Dr. Lecter in his world of beauty and perfection? There was nothing left for her at the FBI and she knew it. The movie makes no sense. Were the filmmakers concerned that the fans would have a problem with Clarice and Lecter becoming an item? If so, they were so out of touch. The people who went to see Hannibal were fans of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. They would have cheered the new couple on! Idiots.

The next book I'm reading is Mr. B. Gone by none other than Clive Barker. I expect I'll be in for quite a ride. I may listen to lots of Shriekback while reading the book. When I first started reading Clive Barker, I had gotten into Shriekback, so the music and his words have merged as one in my mind. Maybe that's why I became so fearful of Barry. Who knows? "Night Town" is a very good soundtrack to Cabal, the book on which Nightbreed is based. To me Midian is "Night Town."
tinhuvielartanis: (My Muse)
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to set aside any serious Cadmus-related projects for the duration I'm reading Hannibal. Some characters tend to overshadow my psyche to where I don't trust myself when I'm writing one of my own characters. Hannibal Lecter is one of these big no-no's for me. Another is John Doe from Se7en. It should be of note that I've always related both Hannibal and John Doe to Barry Andrews. In fact, the emotion that is communicated on screen by Clarice Starling when she receives the surprise letter from Hannibal in the movie of the same name is exactly how I felt when I found that unassuming note from B in my old AOL inbox almost a decade ago ~~ that ice water down the spine fright and excitement, tinged with curiosity and enthrallment. I grokked Clarice in that moment in time. Not to say that B is anything like Hannibal Lecter; rather, my phobia-driven impression of him is akin to the vision of Hannibal that Thomas Harris has conjured. Same goes for John Doe. Kevin Spacey, by the way, has been the primary choice to play Barry Andrews in an XTC biopic by members on the Chalkhills mailing list. Personally, I think this is because of his portrayal of John Doe. I could be wrong.

But, as I'm wont to do on this subject, I'm babbling, so I'll shut my virtual trap now.

In related news, I was thinking how cool it would be if the coterie of writers who've formed a loose alliance here on LJ collaborated on an impromptu Round Robin, each of us contributing one of our characters for a fun little story. Why? No reason why, really. Just for the hell of it. Something to keep our collective creative juices dripping. Think about it.... a story involving [livejournal.com profile] booraven22's Angelica and Jaden, [livejournal.com profile] morriganwind's Morrigan or any number of her Pagan Vampires, and Cadmus (or Orphaeus or Kelat, for that matter). Anyone else wanting to contribute would donate and write their own character and we'd see where the tale took us. It may be fun. Hell, it may develop into something beneficial to everyone involved ~ a LiveJournal novel written by friends and fellow literary sinners. Just a thought.

In the meantime, I'm going to take a break from developing The Blood Crown and editing The Chalice until I've completed and digested Hannibal. I'm about a third of the way through the book, so it won't be long before I'm sludging through the muck of my own twisted mind again.
tinhuvielartanis: (Caveman)
Since my gbs, I've become slightly lactose intolerant. This doesn't bother me, really, but it does place those in my vicinity in quite a precarious position, especially if I ingest large quantities of dairy products. Milk-based foods are pretty much my favourite and a day doesn't go by that I don't shove something that came out of a cow into my face. Lately, though, I've been aggressively craving dairy, particularly cheese. The main source of my protein for the past 48 hours has been Aunt Tudi's extra sharp cheddar cheese. The cheese goes in and noxious fumes come out. Aunt Tudi now has a permanent green hue around the edges of her person. Even the dogs, who thrive on gnarly aromas, are avoiding me with enthusiasm. The only discomfort I've suffered from all this is having to maintain a modicum of civility at work instead of letting it rip like the natural woodland beast I am. By the time 2 PM rolled around, I felt like an over-inflated balloon on the verge of being pricked by a needle. I came home and that was it. Aunt Tudi and the critters have been done for, but I can now breathe easy and am currently having my supper, which consists of a large chunk of cheese and a handful of vegetable crackers. It wouldn't surprise me if Dubya sent his brute squad to my house to beat me senseless for being a weapon of mass destruction. Or maybe Al Gore would send over a herd of environmentally concerned hippies to chide me for eating another hole in the ozone layer.


I need to wax my eyebrow. It's been April since I did anything with it and it has once again become my unibrow. A little bit of wax on the bridge of my nose and a stripe of wax underneath each side to give me that Elf arch should do the trick. It's just a matter of actually doing it. If I don't soon, I'll be featured in the next Geico adverts, griping about how Cavewomen are sheisted even more than Cavemen, and demanding a fresh plate of roast duck with mango salsa.


If my name had been Erin Brokovich, I would have adopted "Go" as my middle name.


Aunt Tudi taped a Law & Order: Criminal Intent that guest-starred Joan Jett. Now that Jeopardy is off, we're gonna watch that and, then, I'm crawling off to bed to gas myself into a stupour. Hopefully, I'll sleep better than I did last night, which sucked on the slumber front. If I could sleep as well at night as I do in the early morning, I'd be one well-rested and happy individual. Unfortunately, I don't. As soon as I really get into sleeping, it's time to get up and go to work. That's a sorry way to be, but such is life in the Insomnia Zone. Something tells me that I'm gonna sleep pretty good tonight.


To encourage sleep, I'm going to read some before turning out the light. I checked out the book Hannibal by Thomas Harris from the library. I read it once before, back in 2001, on my way to NYC for the taping of ELO on VH-1 Storytellers. I got so caught up in the book that I almost missed boarding the plane back home in Detroit. I was sitting right there at the gate and didn't even hear the announcement that boarding had commenced. They made the last call for boarding when I realised I had like five minutes to make it on board. Imagine my chagrin had I missed my flight home and had to explain that I had lost myself in a book about a serial killer and cannibal wooing an FBI agent. I still get embarrassed by the thought of it, seven years after the fact. So, anyway, I'm rereading the novel since I just recently read Red Dragon and The Silence of the Lambs.

I love these books and I adore the character of Hannibal Lecter; however, there's one thing about Harris' writing style that gets my goat. The man has issues when it comes to keeping the story in tense. One sentence will be in past tense, then the next will be in present tense. I'm thinking this is intentional, and probably done for stylistic purposes, but it's frustrating for a grammatical purist like myself to see a published writer play fast and loose with the language, not that I'm a shining beacon of the Queens English by long shot. It just torques me that Mr. Harris is a successful published author whose novels have been committed to film when it appears as if he can't string two proper sentences together and keep them in a coherent time frame. And here I am fretting over my wee tale, certain that it'll be rejected for not adhering to the modern moratorium on so-called purple prose. Gah.
tinhuvielartanis: (Tarmi)
I've begun reading the third book in the Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn trilogy. It's been 15 or so years since I read Tad Williams' fantasy masterpiece, so a lot of the story had been lost to me. That's one reason why I re-read some books: I forget the intricacies of the plot and want to revisit that world. I should be amazed at how much I'd forgotten about this story, but I'm not. Tad Williams has woven such a beautiful literary universe, there's no way that anyone could remember everything about it, especially after over a decade has passed since initial reading. I'm truly astounded and feel as though I'm enjoying the books more this time around than I did back in the early 90s.

If you like fantasy literature and are fond of Tolkien-like epics, I strongly recommend Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. It starts out a little slowly, with Tad Williams giving a lot of description and food-dragging in regard to bringing on "the action," but that just adds the character Simon's described boredom and frustration at his place in the Hayholt and in the world Give the story a chance and trudge through it, don't give up. It's worth every word.

To Green Angel Tower is over 1000 pages long. When I pulled it out at work, a lot of folks were ga-ga over the obvious girth of the book. They were like "Are you gonna read that entire book? How long will it take? Do you even have a life? Are you insane? Are these books any good? Don't you read romance books?" And I could go on. But I won't. Because I'm not sadistic. Heh.

One thing that really astonished me was Tad Williams' Sithi. They have so much in common with the Tarmi, these books only added to my firm belief that we both are pulling from the same ancestral memories of an alien race that shared/shares the Earth with us Earthlings. There are too many of us humans who come up with tales, song, poetry, and art that reflects an almost cellular knowledge of these incredible beings. It's just all too coincidental for my taste. There's something more going on here. I hope that, someday, everything will be made clear to us all and that the origins of our collective memory will either return or be brought to light in a manner that will leave no doubt to anyone that these individuals did actually exist (or still exist).

[livejournal.com profile] popfiend

Apr. 22nd, 2008 10:12 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Darth Geek)
Thank you! Llew was very pleasantly surprised and has something for the first time in years: an actual library! You're a lovely soul, mister man. Lovely. I owe you many coconuts.
tinhuvielartanis: (Default)
[Poll #1163022]


Unless the Mighties smile down upon me, my session here will end in 15 minutes. Damnation! I want my computer back! ::falls over on her tummy, kicking and flailing her arms like one of the many brats she despises so::   Something has to be done, I swear to the Goddess in Her boundless patience.  My computer must return to me safely.  Now.  Immediately.  I don't do patience well.  I know this is a lesson for me to learn, to study and examine about how useless I am when it comes to not getting my way.  But now is not that time to learn that lesson.  Now is the time for me to have unlimited Internet access, dammit.
tinhuvielartanis: (Frustration)
I feel like I'm trudging through Dies the Fire. There are some books where it will take me 50-100 pages before I'll really get into it, because I'm missing the book I just finish and, like an immature git, taking it out on the new book I'm reading. I'm on page 180 of Dies the Fire and I'm still having issues getting into it. Honestly, I feel like SM Stirling is beating me over the head with the whole Wiccan thing. I've been a round a lot of Wiccans, Pagans, and Witches over the years and none but the fluffiest of bunnies talk like Juniper and her Clan MacKenzie. Once those bunnies either grow up within the Craft or grow away from the Craft, they stop talking like that. I'm catching myself talking to the book, saying things like "All right, already, we get the message that Junie is a Wiccan. And you're using the phrase 'blessed be' wrong, so shut your literary pie-hole, can'tcha?"

Yeah, I'm a little disappointed. I was hoping for something a bit more substantial, what with this being an Alpaca Liptic story, and I'm actually going to see the book through to the end, hoping that the vision of a world irrevocably Changed will be redeemed to me. But I doubt I'll seek out the sequels unless something drastic changes my mind.

By contrast, Llew is really enjoying the book. He started it last weekend and is devouring the pages. I'm only ahead of him by about ten pages and that's only because I've been taking the book to work with me and reading during the day. I guess this is the perfect example of how one man's trash is another man's treasure, although I wouldn't necessarily call Dies the Fire trash. I sure as hell wouldn't call it treasure either.

Thomasina

Jun. 23rd, 2006 01:16 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Alien)
Okay, this will make no sense.....even to me.

I was meant to read The Invisibles. If I wasn't certain of it before, I am now.

For me, everything is connected. I always trace the connections from one thing to another, to see how something led me to where I am now. Some of the connections are mind-boggling. For instance, I can connect my meeting Barry Andrews to hearing the song "On the Turning away" by Pink Floyd back in 1987. Pink Floyd to Syd Barrett to the Cure to Shrieback to Barry and Pink Floyd to Syd Barrett to psychedelia to the Dukes of Strasophear to XTC to Barry Andrews. Everything is connected. Everything means something and everything happens for a reason. I believe this.

When I was a child, I saw this movie on TV that touched me so deeply, I seen see the patterns of my life repeating the plotline of this movie even today. It was called The Three Lives of Thomasina. It's about a cat that supposedly dies at the hands of her little girl's father, who is a vet, but is brought back to life by the Witch who lives up the mountain. This Witch has a way with animals and has dozens of critters living with her and around her. I always wanted to be this Witch woman. Now, with over 30 cats and a reputation for being able to heal animals, I think I've realised my dream.

No one else ever remembered or knew about this film until I met my Soulmate, who remembered it quite well. He always wanted to meet a woman like the Witch woman in the movie. He wanted to live that kind of enchanted life. At that time, I knew we'd met for a reason. There were a lot of moments like that between us, defining moments that told us what our souls already knew. We shared past lives. We shared common philosophies. We shared a most improbable movie that no one seemed to remember.

Now, once I was led to Shriekback and started buying their albums, I began what I always end up doing with anything that interests me: research. The basis of my research was the liner notes on the back of the insert of the Dancing Years album, where I saw that Barry Andrews had gone on from Shriekback to form a group called The Illuminati. So I went to the library and got my mind blown. Instead of finding Andrews' Illuminati, I found the Illuminati, and I was immediately sucked into every conspiracy theory known to humankind. At the same time, I had become a dedicant in the Temple Hecate Triskele and I became active in the local counter-culture, helping to publish a subversive newsletter and participating in many protests and demonstrations. I introduced myself to Robert Anton Wilson.

Nine years later, I began hunting for fellow Shriek fans online and I found Michelle, who mentioned King Mob to me. In fact, a lot of Shriekback fans were keen on King Mob and the Invisibles. Fine. I checked into it, but never read the graphic novel. I figured I'd get to it someday. Well, that someday ended up starting while I was in England. [livejournal.com profile] falkenna had the series and couldn't stress enough how I needed to read it. So I began. So far, so good. I could relate to everything in the books. Every possible conspiracy theory I've studied is touched upon in The Invisibles, even the 2012 end date. I've been quite simply amazed by it all. Then, I read this, in the last volume of the series:

Edith Manning: The film you were rambling about the other night; the one you said explained everything. Don't let your cleverness get the better of you, Mr. Lang. Take care, dear.
[INSERT]: RVM MODULE REFERENCE: In the taxi, Mason remembers the name of the movie. "Thomasina." In the hotel room with Edith and Gideon, Mason Lang explains: "It's about this ginger cat who dies and comes back to life and her name in the film is "Thomasina," even though ginger cats are generally male, I always thought. Anyway...that's...."


Full Circle. That's the only explanation. Morrison had my attention before. Now? I'm all eyes and ears. It was like a trigger. A lot of what I am today is because of "The Three Lives of Thomasina," and now this revolutionary graphic novel seems to be speaking to me directly, saying that the movie explains everything. It's too much of a coincidence. That's why I don't believe in coincidence.
tinhuvielartanis: (Frustration)
I was so excited to get this book but, now that I have it, I'm afraid to read it. I keep getting the feeling that, once I read this book, I'll realise how thoroughly crappy my own book is, and then I'll have to ritually burn it and then jump off a bridge.

I've had the book for two days and all I've done is peer at it fearfully, then walk on by.
tinhuvielartanis: (PSA)
I got to thinking about American culture earlier and it occurred to me that we are the human equivalent of the Warren of the Shining Wires in the book Watership Down. This warren was the one inhabited by the very healthy, sleek, well-groomed rabbits. They wanted for nothing, but there seemed to be an unspoken horror just beneath their veneer of paradise. And did it really matter that, every once in a while, one of their number would disappear. All that mattered is that they were well taken care of. So their poetry was a tad bleak and their outlook was a wee bit....Gothic....they were well taken care of. We in America are too pampered, too sheltered, and too used to getting our way. Eventually our Warren of the Shining Wires will turn into Efrafa, but we'll still be knee deep in denial that there's something terribly awry with our society. There's something wrong with our own being sent off to the snares (Iraq) and commanded to kill innocents for absolutely no good reason other than the promise that the good carrots will keep on coming. And we should know that only certain rabbits in our warren get the really good carrots while only the least deserving of death get the snare. We need to give up hoping for the good carrots and grow our own. Stop striving for an American dream that doesn't exist and resisting the world of which we are a part. It's time to wake up and escape the deathtrap that is our delusion.

I wish I still had my copy of Watership Down. The copy I had fell apart, I read it so much. But I really wish I had a copy of Silverweed's poem at least. I think it pretty much sums up the underlying attitude of the American psyche, the knowledge that a disaster is pending combined with the refusal to give up the excess in order to survive and strive for a more meaningful life. I'm as guilty as any Shining Wire rabbit. I live in excess as much as any other American....well, maybe not as much. I'm still on dial up and I don't have an SUV....and my house isn't humongous like most American homes. And I don't go out to eat every other day. But I'm still living in excess compared to others out in the world. It shames me and scares me for myself and my family. So I talk about it here, but do nothing about it otherwise. Guess that makes me Silverweed.
tinhuvielartanis: (Alpaca Battle Cry)
The Crazy Aunt pressured me with great stalker-like zeal to read The Celestine Prophecy in 1995. It was in this year I was coming to the realisation that a New Age Fluffy Bunny outlook wasn't as spiritually fulfilling as I perhaps had hoped it would be. While newcomers to the Trad were flitting about like airheads on crack, I was coming to grips with the fact that there was a darkness in me that demanded acknowledgment, even investigation and embrace. I was reading Dreaming the Dark and the book that would come to be one of most important volumes in my life, Mysteries of the Dark Moon at the time Crazy Aunt approached me with the groundbreaking novel that would alter the world's spiritual perceptions! This was actually the first indication to me that Crazy Aunt was indeed fucking crazy. She later proved my suspicions of her mental state a short few years later. What a loon that woman is..... But I digress.

The Celestine Prophecy!

I read it. And it was the Last Straw. Something within me just popped and I took my first steps away from the New Age Lie. I'm certain I'm not the only person The Celestine Prophecy drove to the Dark Side. The crap writing alone should be enough to inspire lemming-like suicides amongst the literate population. Now, I'm all for thought-driven manifestation. In fact, I am one of the few Pagans who believe in the existence of Satan. I believe that Satan manifested after centuries of keen focus by millions of fearful Christians who gave more power to the concept of Hell than they ever did the promise of Heaven. But the idea James Redfield is promoting, that faith-driven "Insights" can serve to manifest a better world, a virtual utopia......I'm sorry. It's not gonna fucking happen unless the Human Race is radically altered on every level.

We've been sent prophets, teachers, gurus, even saviours according to some belief systems, but we continue to get it wrong. Instead of embracing a thought form that would help manifest a kingdom of heaven, we consistently embrace the fear of ourselves, renouncing the dark and thus giving it power over us. We manifest our monsters and render ourselves powerless to effectively fight them. In my humble opinion, the Human Race is incapable of achieving the lofty ideals portrayed in The Celestine Prophecy. Instead of using our so-called mind power to make vegetables grow in Peru, we are working quite diligently to try to make manifest every horrifying Endtimes prophecy known to the Collective Consciousness. The rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem is us.

So, if there were a Celebrity Deathmatch between The Alpaca Lips and The Celestine Prophecy, I'd put my money on the Alpaca Lips and scamper off to my bunker with my ill-gotten gains 'cos, honey, that New Age Fluffy Bunny bullshit ain't gonna get anyone anywhere but crushed under the jackboot of reality. Perhaps I'm sharpening the big teeth of the monster that will be our undoing because of my beliefs, but I can't fathom Humanity, in our current evolutionary rut, overcoming our baser nature and achieving even a remote fragment of the Celestine fantasy.

Yick...

Nov. 27th, 2005 04:02 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
I have some sort of stomach flu. It started last night and has been horrid today. I haven't eaten a bite all day, yet I'm still dry-heaving. It's bloody unpleasant, I say!

I'm taking the day off from writing today, if I continue to feel like this. My thoughts aren't the best-directed today. I've already met the 50k quota and the rest is gravy. I'm adding Beautiful Pets as an introductory chapter for Cadmus. This should make [livejournal.com profile] falkenna very happy. I was thinking about adding The Embrace of Cadmus as well, but I've pretty much decided against that. It's a stand-alone story that wouldn't fit in with the rest of The Chalice.


A few days ago I got The Stand on DVD. The Stand was the second book by Stephen King that I'd ever read. The first one was The Shining. I've read tons of Stephen King, but The Stand remains my favourite book to this day. I think it's because this is Stephen King's version of the Alpaca Lips and I have a weakness for Alpaca Liptic stories.

Anyway, I read The Stand in 1980 during my two week stay in West Virginia. I was enthralled from start to finish, and was particularly intrigued with the character of Nadine Cross. For some reason, I always felt a kinship to her. I could easily see myself being promised to some infernal entity who would turn my hair white overnight. The most disturbing part of the film adaptation is Laura San Giacomo's performance as Nadine, especially when she's brought out of the desert by Randall Flagg. "We are dead and this...is...HELL..."

And then there's Randall Flagg. I was totally in love with him when I read the book. The cover of the paperback I had proudly displayed his dark visage and I was fascinated with him.



Come to think of it, he looks an awful lot like Darth Maul on this cover. Hm. I remember losing myself completely in those intense cat eyes and marvelling at the power he wielded in the story. Maybe that's why I related to Nadine so well. Maybe I'm damned.

I like Jamey Sheridan, but I have never been able to reconcile with his being cast as Randall. That's just me, though. I guess Stephen King was pleased with Mr. Sheridan since he had a lot to do with the filming of his own book. No one knows a person's characters better than the person who created them. So I accept it, but the Randall I see in my mind's eye looks more like the book cover and nothing like Jamey Sheridan.

As for The Stand and The Stand, I find myself hoping that the Avian Flu will be like Captain Trips. We seriously need to have our arses whupped by something so small we can't even see it. It would be a horrible thing to happen to humanity but, given our behaviour over the past few centuries, we more than deserve it.


I'm currently sipping a Welch's sparkling grape soda to try to get my stomach to settle. This is the best damned grape soda I have ever had the pleasure of splashing on my happy little tongue. There is a party going on in my mouth right now. The stomach is still squealing and gurgling though, so I'm taking it slow.


I got a picture of Motley not long ago. Her eyes don't usually glow like this, but I think I have a cursed camera. She's quite affectionate and very sweet, but she's also very sick. It looks like her anus is prolapsed, which isn't a serious thing with kittens or puppies. You just poke their buttholes back in and they're fine. But the cause of this I think is a little more serious. She has some serious gastric issues and she's also chugged up like Smidgen and Shmoop were when we rescued them.

manx bebbeh )


I just heard from Todd. He's safely back in Portland and texted to let me know. He'll be calling later on this evening. If the chance ever arises, I'm going out there to visit with him. It'll just be him and me, no family or any outside influence. We'll watch Pink Floyd's The Wall and cast a circle to share some peace in sacred space. Someday.
tinhuvielartanis: (Magic)
And you know who you are.

[livejournal.com profile] clumsycake sent me a list of little-known "facts" about the world of Harry Potter. This is one of them:

Lily Potter's maiden name was Evans.


Rawk!
tinhuvielartanis: (glasses)
Ealdthryth turned me onto this list of of books. Here's the link ~ Censorship, anyone?
and here's a list of the books I've read:

Subversive Hellions like me read these devil books )

Profile

tinhuvielartanis: (Default)
The Cliffs of Insanity

October 2016

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9 101112131415
16 171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 17th, 2025 06:27 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios