Thanks, ANNA MARTIN.
“Come back you fools!! DOGS AREN’T DANGEROUS!!”
And it’s past midnight!!
I remember the film adaptation’s voiceover saying near the end that “General Woundwort’s body was never found.” I’m not scared. I have a certain rapport with the truly most terrifying fictional “rabbit” of all time, Donnie Darko’s “Frank.” (He appears in my mirror from time to time.) That tall prognosticating hare would PWN Woundwort and his entire Owsla.
Pictured: BROMANCE.
Click here for Michael Stone’s article over at “Progressive Secular Humanist” about the controversial new textbooks approved by the Texas State Board of Education:
[EDIT: I see now that the article is dated from November? Once again I arrive late to the party …]
I’m quite happy to say that the good folks over at Aphelion Webzine today featured my poem, “Iphigenia’s Womb,” in their wonderful free online magazine for fantasy and science fiction fans. The poem can be found here:
http://www.aphelion-webzine.com/poetry/2015/06/IphigeniasWomb.html
“Iphigenia’s Womb” was first published over in Dead Snakes in January 2014. I am grateful to Poetry and Filk Editor Iain Muir for allowing me to share it today in Aphelion, as it might now be enjoyed greater numbers of fans of Greek mythology.
The piece is an allegory to the death by burning of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon. He sacrificed her to the Gods to appease them after an offense, as the deities had sent strong winds to beach the Greek warships ready to set sail against Troy. (Of course, the poem is also about other things.)
If the imagery of the burning girl bothers you, then consider this — there are various versions of the story. In one, a giant bird appears from the heavens to dive down and rescue young Iphigenia clean away. It’s the kind of deus ex machina we occasionally see from winged saviors in fantasy; think of both the eagles in J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings,” as well as the wayward seagull in Richard Adams’ “Watership Down.” (“WHERE’S YOUR WHITE BIRD, *NOW*, BIGWIG?!?!”)
Thanks again to Mr. Muir and the Aphelion community! 🙂
Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;
He cannot join his image in the lake
So long as he assumes he is alone.
The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone,
Are always up to mischief, though, and take
The universe for granted as their own.
The elderly, like Proust, are always prone
To think of love as a subjective fake;
The more they love, the more they feel alone.
Whatever view we hold, it must be shown
Why every lover has a wish to make
Some kind of otherness his own:
Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.
I cracked a thoughtless joke online about this last night — I apologize. I’m only now realizing the breadth and seriousness of China’s penetration of federal employees’ information.
Many friends of mine are federal employees. I hope they are (and will remain) unaffected.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/06/04/politics/federal-agency-hacked-personnel-management/index.html
… because the talented Michael Ealy is apparently playing his character from the newly cancelled show in the upcoming “The Perfect Guy.”
I’ll see it. I’m a fan of this guy. I’d love to see him play a calculating KGB agent in a Clancy-esque thriller — someone in the tradition of Felix Cortez from “Clear and Present Danger.” Or, if Hollywood is remaking everything, why not give us another iteration of “The Jackal?”
“You must be master and win, or serve and lose; grieve or triumph; be the anvil or the hammer.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
So this is a little strange …
A woman who I do not know on Google + is “adding” and following every single man she can find with any variation of the name “Eric Robert.” (Google + remains the poor man’s Facebook, despite its designers’ ambitions. “Adding” is a lot like following someone on Twitter.)
So I am being monitored along with no fewer than 31 other guys named “Eric Robert,” “Eric Roberts” or “Eric Robert” with a following surname. I won’t state her name here … for all I know there is a perfectly logical reason for somebody monitoring every Eric Robert on the Internet. (Is there such a thing as an Eric-fetish? Or is this maybe an online “bot” programmed to locate a lost sibling?)
All I can think of is the Terminator finding every “Sarah Connor” in the phone book, and then acting like the most inconvenient door-to-door salesman ever. (If the gender reversal for this analogy is consistent, does that mean that Summer Glau will knock on my door, and Lena Headey must then barge in and fight to save me? Because I am more or less on board with that.)
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Image: “The Legend of St. Francis,” detail, Giotto di Bondone, circa 1297, image selected from Wikimedia Commons
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 