Unca Harlan's Art Deco Dining Pavilion

Archive - 3/7/2004 to 5/27/2004

Unca Harlan's Art Deco Dining Pavilion

HARLAN: Do forgive me for joining in the Happituyah Chorus a few bars late as I deliver my hopes that your 25,564th day on this earth was a very happy one.

But let me tack on an addendum: My wish that the 25,565th be even better, that the one after that be happier STILL, and so on and so on, until you are as old and as celebrated as Moses.

Happy Birthday, Harlan Ellison

Though we've met only a few times, I feel you are a friend. Your writings have inspired me over the years. So much so that a sentence from the movie "As Good As It Gets" seems to sum it up nicely:

"You make me want to be a better man."

Peace and Love and Happy Birthday!

Alan Coil

Still 5/27 in my mind
Happy Birthday, Harlan!! Thanks for all the stories and wisdom. All health and happiness to you.

HE reference in new book from Disinfo
List #57 in the newly released "Disinformation Book of Lists", written by Russ Kick, is entitled "11 Quotes About Sex".

Quote #6 on that list reads as follows:

"Love ain't nothing but sex misspelled."
- Harlan Ellison

The book can be ordered at www.disinfo.com, and Russ Kick's website (www.thememoryhole.com)is filled with bothersome information your government would rather you not be aware of.

Happy, well, you know

Harlan, the outpouring on this board is but a fraction of the appreciation and good wishes due you for your contributions to our letters and our imaginations.

"... and many, many more."

Harlan,

Best wishes on your 70th birthday. It's been more than thirty years now since "Paingod and Other Delusions" and "Dangerous Visions" grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and made an Ellison reader out of me. I continue to be beguiled by your unique fusion of profound seriousness on the one hand and a playful sense of fun on the other. Never doubt that you have created an enduring legacy through your work. Just glance around the pavilion and know that the remarkable hearts and minds that regularly gather here all bear the imprint of the Ellison corpus. May that legacy continue to grow in the coming years as your body of work continues to expand.

Steve J.

Happy Birthday, Harlan. In honour of the occasion, I'll note that Angry Candy is now the most-often-replaced book in the Stover library because when I loan it out, it never returns. And as long as I can keep finding copies of it, I'll buy more.

Though I should get friends with the same good taste but less cheapness, I suppose.

Cheers, Jon

Happy 70th Harlan:
May you continue to entertain and provoke for years to come.
Cheers, Colleen

Mr. Ellison:

Please have a very happy birthday and have many more. I really enjoyed the book Troublemakers.

Danielle Reeston

Department of Redundancy Department
Harlen: You are among that rarest and most mysterious breed of beings, elusive, more precious than diamonds and gold -- a good man and a good friend. Happy Birthday, sailor, and a zillion Howdy Doody pins.

Much Love,
Doc

Hi, I just peeked in here and lo an behold it's Mr. Harlan Ellison's birthday! Happy Birthday, Harlan! Thanks for making my world a better place.

-John

Happy Birthday!

Many Happy Returns!
A wish for a happy birthday to you, sir! May there be many, many more. Susan, does he act more like a kid the older he gets?

Stand Back....

I don't know who this impostor from Cleveland (the Mistake by the Lake) is, but all I have to say is this: GET YOURSELF INTO REHAB, YOU @#$%$^&! ALKIE!!!

Sheesh. And people wonder why I have a reputation for being crabby. Grumble grumble.

Anyway, here's a PROPER Blinky the Clown happy birthday to one of the greatest writers breathing air today:

(This is done in a very vaudevillian style - just so ya know)

Happy berf-day to you,
Tappity tappity tap....
Happy berf-day to you,
Tappity tappity tap....
Happy berf-day dear Har-lan,
Happy berf-day to you!
Tappity tappity tap-tap.

Pant-pant-Wheeezzze.

Not bad for an *pant* old fart, huh?

And to think those bastards cancelled my show back in '98. mudderfuggin' bean counters.

Blinky

Happy birthday Harlan, I hope you are having a terrific day. I'm very much looking forward to seeing you and the lovely Susan in Atlanta. Take care. Roger

THERZ A DOINZ A TRANSPIRIN'

*WELL, BLOW MAH CANDLE - HARLAN'S TURNIN' 7! HAPPENZ T'THE BEST OF US AFTER ALL!

...birthday gifts...nifty birthday gifts...since he already has so many fuckin' toys I dunno WHAT to get him! Maybe I could pass off this empty 2 lb. container of Alta Dena Low Fat Cottage Cheese I have sitting here. It even says, "Does not contain the growth hormone rBST"; now, you can't beat THAT. I'll just push it as a novelty item. Yeah. Yeah, that'll work. I'll get this thing wrapped and shot in the mail right away! Thank god THAT was easy.

...and guess who ELSE Harlan is sharing a birthday with: Godzilla!

In response to his anniversary, they are re-releasing the original 1956 Japanese cut, Gojira, in theaters across the country...and I iz very interested in seein' that. THIS was the ACCURATE account of the Lucky Dragon Incident.

(BTW, I happen to be a total sucker for the scene of Japan’s youth praying for peace juxtaposing Dr. Sarizawa's reluctant decision to use his devastating weapon; genuinely beautiful. The composer on that film was brilliant. Even the great isolated ominous footsteps effect of the beast was actually part of the music score)

***ANIMALS! ANIMALS! ANIMALS!

A comment about the film ANATOMY OF A MURDER, which I'd looked at again recently: In an early scene there is a heavy-duty phallic rivalry between Jimmy Stewart - try to imagine that! - and Ben Gazzara; Stewart, who plays a talented attorney, plugs a loooooooooooong see-gar in his mouth and stretches a wide "cocky" grin across his face as he drills his violent, gruff client with questions (at this point they're playing mind games with each other), in effect, suggesting Gazzara's imposed impotence, i.e., jail - his helplessness to "jump into action", as he'd always been used to - against Stewart's imagined opportunities he now has with Gazzara's tormentingly sexy wife (the stir of Gazzara's anxiety and jealous rage).

This point occurred to me last night when I lost the chance to hit on one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen in school. I felt very much like Gazzara, unable to do a damn thing about it.

Life sucks!

Happy Birthday
One more voice pinging in the chorus, maybe slightly off key but with heart : Happy Birthday To You, and best wishes for many more!

Birthdays and regime changes
Well of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY Harlan. I'm sure you have only reached this advanced state so the annual ritual spanking from Susan goes on that much longer. Make sure to give him that one extra one for luck for me Susan. ;-)

Still haven't found that PERFECT Rod McKuen Hallmark card but when I do I'll be sure it wings its belated way to you. Should arrive in about as timely a fashion as the BLB's did.

*************************************************************

While I'm here, have some tasty links on me from my good friend Kenton.

See you all in the Ministry of Information interrogation rooms.
Tap twice if it's you and you still have some of your teeth. ;-)

- Barney
--------------------------------------------------------

Kenton Sem wrote:

Al Gore gave a brilliant speech yesterday that let Team Smirk have it with both barrels. CSPAN has been repeating it, so if you get a chance to watch it, do so! He eloquently states the detestable facts, along with plenty of quotes from the ever-growing list of generals and other military personnel, extremely knowledgeable and now ex-advisors, etc., who decry in no uncertain terms the bungling, arrogant, Machiavellian "tactics" of the regime under the first non-
elected U.S. President.

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?
tmpl=story&ncid=578&e=11&u=/nm/20040526/pl_nm/iraq_gore_dc

He even touches upon born-again Dubya's pinheaded fundamentalist
vision for world domination (the Crusades are mentioned, and not as a joke) and the fact that the current regime is dismantling the system of checks and balances that actually has kept this country from becoming one nation under Darth Vader for a couple of centuries.

I especially like the part where he rails against crucifying those idiotic soldiers (however much they deserve it) for instituting pro-torture policies set by the administration. He doesn't call for Dubya, Rummy, Condy, etc. to be tried as war criminals right along side of Sadaam as he should, but at least Gore calls for their resignation.

Now if only Kerry has the guts to make a similar speech.

Oh, by the way, one of the major headlines this morning on CNN was who was winning on American Idol. Maybe this country deserves Team Smirk after all...

- Kenton

The Gore transcript from yesterdays speech;

Transcript:
http://www.algoredemocrats.com/

Impeach Bush, Nader says
The New York Times [article cut]

http://www.iht.com/bin/print.php?file=521793.html

And one more for good measure...

Noam Chomsky says:
"If George Bush were to be judged by the standards of the Nuremberg Tribunals, he'd be hanged."
But what does he know?
http://informationclearinghouse.info/article6235.htm

Also...
More photos and video of prison abuse:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5032107/
Check out the pic of Brig. Gen. Janis Karpinski.
She truly is the Princess of Darkness!

Don't worry Rumsfeld is on the job:
Rumsfeld bans camera phones
http://news.com.au/common/story_page/0,4057,9643950^401,00.html

And now:
Rape at Abu Ghraib
"There is one photo of an American soldier having sex with an Iraqi woman. And there is the by now infamous story of how American soldiers harnessed a 70-year-old woman and rode her around, calling her a donkey."
http://www.villagevoice.com/issues/0421/mondo2.php

Remember this?
Bush: "I mean, he is a torturer, a murderer, they had rape rooms. This is a disgusting tyrant who deserves justice, the ultimate justice."

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/3326311.stm
Speaking about himself? No, Saddam, of course. So now that the shoe is on the other foot do the rules still apply???

And now the Prince of darkness...

Richard Perle
"I would be the first to acknowledge we allowed the liberation (of Iraq) to subside into an occupation. And I think that was a grave error, and in some ways a continuing error."

Is this the first admission of guilt from a Bush insider?

Read more:
http://informationclearinghouse.info/article6254.htm

In the end it's all worth it since we are all so much safer:

Ashcroft: al Qaeda 90 percent ready to attack
Terrorists will 'Hit the United States hard'

http://abclocal.go.com/wjrt/news/052604_AP_r2_impending_terror_attack.html?DCMP=EMC-wjrt

The Covert Kingdom: Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Texas:
http://informationclearinghouse.info/article6242.htm

Conservative leader blames gays for Iraqi prison abuse -
decries `decadence' of gay weddings
http://www.washblade.com/2004/5-21/news/worldnews/iraq.cfm
I've seen some of those gay wedding cakes and they truly
are `decadent'.

Have a great holiday weekend. Many won't.

- Barney Dannelke

From the province of Uk! I wish you a happy 70th birthday.

Now go and bathe in the blood of virgins or whatever you old dudes do to keep going.

FAQ

This Ellison Pisher
Haa--aaapy friggin' birfday to yoooooouse
Haappy friggin' birfday to *urp* yooooouse
Haaaappy friggin' biiiiiirfday to you friggin' little pisher Ellison
Haaaaaappy friggin' birfday to youse!

*snnnnnngg*

*kack*

*ptui!*

Awright, Lee, where's dat twenny ya promised me? Don' make me hork on yer shoes!

Blinky

***Happy happy birthday Harlan!! My two wonderful pug doggies share this date of birth with you. They are one year old today. I knew they were special!!
Love,Deb*

Dear Harlan- You've taught me a great deal through your writing over the years. Stories like "Delusions for a Dragon Slayer" and "The Deathbird" have made me consider the ethical duties that come with taking space on this planet; inasmuch as I've followed those hard lessons, I'm a better person for it. Thank you for that; I hope you keep teaching us for many years to come.

Sorry for the second post, but my subject line was cut short. It should have read, "Happy Birthday d-d-d-dudeskie (that's Russian for "d-d-d-dude").

Happy Birthday d-d-d-dudeskie (that's
Here's wishing you a happy 70th, Harlan. This may be the only message board on-line with an actively participating septuagenarian, AND the only message board where most readers will know the definition of septuagenarian. Thanks for enlightening and entertaining us all.

Jake

Happy Birthday, Harlan
I've heard that you used to be 69, but now you've gotten over it. Have happiness.
--JCH

Harlan,

Have a slap-happy birthday, and roll with it.

D.

hippo hippo birdie two ewe
Happy Birthday, O Superlative Sir,

And, as Winnie the Pooh said, "Many happy returns of the day."

Yr humble newbie,
Elijah "The Ypsi Kid" Newton

Happy Birthday, Harlan
Keeping in mind that to me you'll always be that enfant terrible I met in the sixties, here's wishing you a joyful 70th b-day.

Seventy?

Nah. Still an angry young man at heart.

Froh Geburtstag, Buon Compleanno, Happy Birthday...& Best Wishes.

Harlan, you have been and always will be a pip!

Thanks for the 30 years of reading and listening enjoyment!

Happy Happy!

yr. pal, Todd

Happy B-Day
Harlan, here's hoping your day brings you as much joy as you've brought to us, even though I know that's impossible.

Thank you again for everything.

Harlan:

If I lived near you, I'd come over and mow your lawn (if you have a lawn).

Floyd:

Thanks for the link. I've also heard it pronounced as AH-BOO-GREHHB. I see now that this pronunciation is probably correct.

Frank Church writes:

>>After the preceding years, I learned and read about great culture, and trained my ear to hear music better, my eye to see a painting with more scrutiny. Sure, I have comfort food needs in my artistic taste, but mostly I search out stimuli of a high esthetical bent.

Frank,

After all this training I will assume that you would, as you state, hear the music better. One problem I have with this is that even though YOU recognize the aesthetic value of a certain piece of music or other form of art, the question remains as to whether or not the artistic item has aesthetic value. Let's say we're talking about a certain piece of writing that brings about a response in you. The writing stimulates you and brings you a sense of satisfaction. However, for someone else, the writing does nothing. While reading, you have a pleasurable aesthetic experience. But someone reading the same thing gets zip. You might say that this other person got nothing out of the writer's piece because they lack aesthetic principle--they haven't trained themselves to see and hear, and you judge them to be an aesthecially "untrained" philistinian patron of moronia. They are not in love with the piece, with art, with culture. But do they need to be? I will assume that you will agree that they really do not, since you also write about the value of personal taste.

The philosopher David Hume stated that aesthetic quality does not exist in the thing itself: It exists in the minds of those who contemplate it; and each of those minds perceives a different beauty. To Hume (but not to Plato) beauty was non-objective.

Kant asked: how are judgments of the beautiful and the sublime possible? How is one's claim to validity in the area of aesthetics justified when each claim is subjective? There are no arguments that can constrain anyone to agree with a judgment of taste.

Thus, even with years of training, I am still basing my judgement of the aesthetic value of the piece on my own narrow, subjective feelings of pleasure. You might counter by saying that one has to be in a particularly receptive state of mind (or be able to practice a suspension of the will, ala Schopenhauer) to gain true appreciation. I would then be remiss if I didn't ask whether this state of mind _exists_ in objective reality: Is such a state really something special, or is it merely the product of an ordinary (but sincere) concentration that's well within the reach of anyone with normal intelligence?

The debate goes on.

By the way, what qualifies as aesthetic value? Must art have aesthetic value in order to be art?

Happy birthday, Harlan.

Someone said you get better every year. I figure it's probably more like every other year, let's be realistic. Here's hoping this one turns out to be the best of them all.

Brian, sorry to wreck the anticipation, but Mr. Ellison merely received my HERC order for the interesting “Night and the Enemy” and was signing that. Gotta be.

Adding my voice to the chorus of 'Happy Birthday...'

We know the rules: no cards, no gifts, no nothing that's a huge imposition on yer time. But Happy Birthday, Harlan.

Yes, a blanket "Thank you to all" is fine with us.

Now will you tell us WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SIGN THE OTHER DAY?

Raising my glass in your direction
A very happy birthday Harlan, and many many more. You inspire us all.

QUOTATION FOR THE DAY
"When people say I'm 70, I say it's a confounded lie. I'm twice 35, that's all. Twice 35." ---Alfred Hitchcock


With my very best wishes. Always.

Harlan, you're a great man and a great writer. You've inspired me muchly. Thanks for all the great words, and for sticking by your principles.

B-day Greetings
Happy '39th' birthday, sir!!! *wink*

:::wonders how 50 came up so fast and bit her on the butt of her encounter suit:::

Warm salutations
Happy Birthday, Mr. Ellison! Thank you for the many years of your entertaining and educational craftsmanship. Cheers!

Many Happy Returns
If I may join the chorus - happy birthday Mr. Ellison!
Best,
Jes

I clearly remember reading an issue of ALGOL, seemingly yesterday but not, in which Andy Porter wondered if science fiction could survive Harlan Ellison's immanent fortieth birthday -- and lo, the man today turns seventy. How did this happen? (And how did I turn from eighteen to 48?, but that's for another time.)

Happy Birthday, sir.

Thank you for your ongoing effort to remind us that there is a higher standard, that instead of being lazy and reading formula space opera or watching formula television, that there is still original, challenging fiction out there if we but make the effort to look for it; that instead of being lazy and typing formula space opera or formula television, that we can create original, challenging fiction if we but make the somewhat greater effort to *write* it.

Thank you for the all the years of continuing to set that standard.

And for the years to come.

Happy Birthday, Harlan!
Harlan,

Just wanted to chime in here and wish you a very Happy Birthday, and many more to come. Hope you're relaxing with good food, good friends, cool gifts, and that the cares and concerns of the world can lift from you for at least one day -- and preferably many more.

-- Jon

P.S. And, as a semi-meaningless bit of trivia, I noticed on the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com), you share a birthday with (among others) actors Christopher Lee, Vincent Price, Joseph Fiennes, Lee Meriwether and Louis Gossett Jr., and writers Dashiell Hammett, Rachel Carson, John Cheever, and Herman Woulk.

I just thought I'd relinquish my place in the shadows just long enough to wish Harlan a happy tenth x 7 birthday. Very few writers inspire me as forcefully or as viscerally as Harlan.

Thank you, sir.

---Peter

Allow me to add my congrats on your birthday, Harlan.

Harlan, happy birthday, ya old coot. No rocking chair for that man, unless it is equiped with a rocket launcher and his typewriter.

Best wishes oh curmudgeonly one. Susan, avoid the candles on the cake, don't want your smoke detector goin off.

--------------

Rob, I'd grab ya by your ears, but it would be no use. You are like a mop that just leaves streaks, no matter how much you rub.

--------------

Happy birthdayyyyyyyyyy toooooooooo youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, happppyyyyy birttthhhhhdayyyyyy toooo youuuuuuuu.....

Have a great birthday, HE. Hope you get the toys you wanted...

Happy Birthday, Harlan!
Looking forward to seeing you and Susan at a signing on your 140th!
(Wait, that means I'll be 110...Geezus!)
Dan

SIR HARLAN,

Happy 70th.

By the way...THE WHIMPER OF WHIPPED DOGS is a fantastic story, but I was wondering. Is New York REALLY like that?

(NEWSFLASH: Mr. Benjamin A.A. Winfield was discovered dead on the morning of May 28th, 2004. His body was in an indescribable state of mutilation, with the head twisted a full 180 degrees and a book entitled ANGRY CANDY shoved up the rectum...)

Happy Birthday, Harlan. Thanks for the serious inspiration.

a voice in the chorus
Happy Birthday Harlan! You keep getting better with every year...

All the best,
Peggy

What to think of the man who knows everything...



_______ Birthday, Unca Harlan.

Warm Regards,

Neal

Lordy, Seventy? Whoda thunk it! Not just you, any of us. If you've concern about the years, think about all the scum, swine and ne'er do wells you've left in the dust. You stand on the merits of your own success, rather than the many who choose to make themselves bigger by mounting the faults they see in others.

Long, successful and satisfying life for a decent man; the best gift of all. You've and others have said it: The best reward is living well, non?

From myself, Mel and the loinfruit, our best wishes for your birthday.

Scott

Happy 70th Birthday, Mister Ellison! My Dad turned the same age this year and danced through the night. Boogie on, HE, gift us with more glorious yarns...

YoYo!

Harlan, the world's a better place because of you. Happy Birthday and thanks for everything.

-Keith

Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday, Harlan. Here's to 70 more.

James Palmer

Happy birthday, Harlan.

Take care,
Bill

For some strange reason...
...I feel moved today to contemplate how glad I am that I live in a world that has a Harlan Ellison in it and how delighted I am to know him and count him among my friends.

It's as if this day had some special significance.

Tony

Happy birthday, Harlan!

BEST WISHES
HARLAN: Add my best wishes to the bunch that'll be crowding the board today. You don't look a day over 69 (really). Here's to another 70.
--Dorman

Happy Birthday!
Happy birthday, Harlan!

I'll just sign Cindy's card cuz there's no way I could build a better Hallmark than that.

I confess that I was one of the many who misremembered Harlan's birthdate, but my excuse is that my girlfriend's birthday is May 27th, and her name just coincidentally is Susan, and she cohabits with a writer, and she is an Ellison fan, and, any more, I'm easily confused, my memory is not what it once was, in large part because I have not lived as virtuously as Harlan.

Dave Clarke,

This link has a somewhat informative pronunciation key http://slate.msn.com/id/2100290/ for Abu Ghraib. It also has an audio file for download.

In Texas it's 12:11am.
If you go by this I'm a bit late; http://www.timetemperature.com/tzoh/painesville.shtml

It's official by my clock, if a bit early by yours.

God bless you, and God bless Susan for loving you the way you've always deserved to be loved. I swear that's why you're here with us now.

Allow me to be the first...

Happy Birthday, you.
:)
Cindy

P.S. I've known for 23 years it was the 27th.




LYNN!!!!!!!!
I've been thinking about you for the past three days, wondering where you've been and what you've been about that you've neglected your friends here so sorely.

I AM GLAD YOU ARE BACK!!!!!!!

It ain't been the same without you!

Cindy

Since we're on the subject of pronunciation, did anyone catch Bush's Army War College speech? He said the words "Abu Ghraib" at least twice, and out of his mouth it sounded something like "AHBHU GA RUB" and "AH-BOO GARIB." My understanding is that it's pronounced "AH-BOO-GRAYB." Personally, I'd try to figure out the correct pronunciation BEFORE I got on TV.

DC (Still pondering Frank's response)

Britney Spears, my genzine, Hugo ballots, American Idol, Iraq
Wanted to ask everyone to check out my genzine CHALLENGER at www.challzine.net, especially if you're Hugo voters. Issue #20 will be out soon -- lots of Ellison natter, ca 1970.

Wanted to say that Fantasia really deserved the win tonight on AMERICAN IDOL, reviving my faith in vox populi that suffered when Clay Aiken came in second last year and which was smashed flat when LaToya London got the boot three weeks ago.

Wanted to say that the only thing that could restore America to its moral status in the world after the prison disgrace is the replacement of our witless, worthless executive branch by brighter, better people, and yes, John Kerry is better and brighter, by far.

Wanted to say that though Britney Spears can't sing and is spastic on the dance floor, I could still stare at the kid all day and all night for a week. But then, I'm a nose man.

Dan: this country is led by a man who says nook-yoo-lar. Grammar mavens don't have a hope.

My particular pet peeves this week are: people who say gro-sure-y instead of grocery, and, correct me if I'm wrong, isn't anesthesia pronounced WITH the "th" sound? I keep running into people who say anesTEEsia. I think they're confusing it with Anastasia.

Britney Spears IS a talented performer. However, to me she represents the "image is more important than music" direction that the industry is taking.

Paraphrasing: "Musicians in the 1970's were uglier than musicians today, but they made better music." -- Kid Rock.

Which, of course, leads me to American Idol: Please understand that when all is said and done, AI is a game show. Sure, the winner (in fact, most of the top ten finishers) gets valuable exposure and a shot at a record contract. But it is up to the artist to take these opportunities and make a career out of them. Whether Clay Aiken, Ruben Studdard, Kelly Clarkson, et al have long lasting future careers is ultimately up to them. If any of them can reach deep inside themselves and find "that unique and original place that their soul speaks from" (sorry), they will find a dedicated, long lasting audience. If they can't, then in my opinion, it's on them, not the recording industry.

Case in point: Jewel. The fact that she was a beautiful young woman in her 20's when she was discovered didn't hurt her chances at inking a deal. But what was she doing before her big break? Grabbing that acoustic and hitting every coffee shop, bookstore, or club she could find and putting her best work OUT THERE TO BE HEARD. Music is like anything else: you learn by doing. By getting material together, overcoming the jitters and performing it live, reflecting on your strengths and weaknesses, shoring up those weaknesses with more training and better material, getting out there and doing it again. And again, and again, endlessly. I don't think a single contestant on Americal Idol understands that, and I don't believe I've ever heard Simon Cowell make even a passing reference to it. If someone like Jewel, or Avril Lavigne, or Pete Yorn, or hell, David Bowie solely relied on American Idol to get them a career, we'd never have heard of any of them (and I never would have driven my parents bananas as an 8 year old belting out "AND WHERE WERE THE SPIDERS..." at the dinner table).

And if a real artist has to work just a little bit harder than the flavor of the month, then perhaps we as consumers of great art need to work just a little bit harder at finding them and rewarding them with our time and money.

In closing, Bush rules. Out.

Reply From Jackson Pollack

Frank,

"As a kid, I had a very limited knowledge about culture"

I don't think that has changed a whole helluva lot.

(...and STAR TREK, incidentally, with all its flaws, was NOT a "crappy" show! Ask the good spirit of Asimov.)

Two more thoughts for the day...
1) I’d give almost anything if the media would pronounce negotiations properly instead of negoSiations. I’ve heard this repeatedly on all the major television and radio broadcasts from MSNBC to ABC to NPR to my own local radio stations.

2) If only the Detroit newscasters would stop saying City of Detroit when Detroit would suffice. This seems to have started with Mayor Coleman Young back in the 70s, and has continued to this day. They never say City of Royal Oak or City of Ann Arbor, but Detroit DEMANDS the City Of qualifier.

Two thoughts for the day...

1) There is very little I wouldn't do to get the law enforcement community to stop using the word "credible."

2) Frank, your comments about Britney Spears are so utterly wrong-headed that you might as well keep making them.

Dave Clarke, such an interesting question you pose there: is art mostly about personal taste? I think that is true in some sense, but the term 'personal taste' has to be backed up by esthetic logic.

Personal taste is one thing, but personal taste without artistic knowledge is kind of dead. Sure, everybody has their own psychological makeup, and interpret stimuli differently, but that doesn't mean they really know what they are talking about.

As a kid, I had a very limited knowledge about culture. I usually absorbed only what my little pea brain could absorb. It wasn't about art or culture with me when it came to what music I chose or what movie I watched. I based my cultural opinion on what felt good to my youthful pallette at the time. I, like most kids had a junk food need to be entertained solely; to be taken in by what kept my small brain awake. It was never about being enlightened, it was about just making me happy.

After the preceding years, I learned and read about great culture, and trained my ear to hear music better, my eye to see a painting with more scrutiny. Sure, I have comfort food needs in my artistic taste, but mostly I search out stimuli of a high esthetical bent.

Music is the strangest aspect of culture. You get ten people in a room, and play a piece of music, and you will get ten different answers as to the quality or lack of quality of the music chosen. Hell, Psychology Today could do a whole book on the strange way that music works in our collective conscious.

But everyone agrees that esthetic truth is an important part of any quality art experience. Sure, something can be interesting in parts, but it may lack a cohesive narrative.

This quote from a Frenchman, complaining about American food culture kind of sums my thoughts on art and culture: "In America, food is fuel, in France it is a love affair."

A person who has a love affair with art and culture, will be the best judge about its esthetic quality.

Now this is where personal taste comes in. Having a healthy debate about the worth of some form of art is what intelligent people do. As long as we consider that disagreement does not mitigate the other's points about the quality or lack of quality of whatever artistic piece that is being discussed.

The problem I find is that smart people constantly find worth in things that don't fit the esthetic rule that greatness prescribes. You find this most glaringly with music critics, especially pop critics.

The best critics in the country always seem to find worth in such drivel as 50 Cent or Britney spears. Sure, the 50 Cent song, In Da Club has a clever synth line, but the overall song is a mere pop throwaway. A hook alone does not make a tune.

Britney Spears has a song called Toxic; the song has this real clever symphonic riff, that cascades and swirls; but for what purpose? Sure, the Peter Gunn style guitar line is neat and peachy keen, but the song itself is still pop swill. Marketed masterbation for old perverts in raincoats.

Then there is the debate about the worth of Jackson Pollack; one of the most overrated hacks in art history. Baby diaper droppings machine gunned against an unwilling canvas. Art experts talk about the brilliant simplicity, or the color patterns, or whatever. What I see is an exploded cob salad. But, if someone likes his stuff, and can prove to me that they know something about art, then I will just leave it as a matter of taste. I will just secretly laugh at you when your back is turned.

Literature works much the same way. Ask anyone who their favorite author is, and get every answer under the sun. Harlan loves Kersh, I love Henry Miller, Rob might like DeSade, but we all understand that our love affair with our own minds only works, when that mind is seasoned with esthetic thought.

Harlan hates rap, I love certain aspects of it. Are we both wrong, or both right? Sure, rap is not on the same plane as Stravinsky. But does that matter? Is simplicity done right artfully complex? Everybody has a side to the debate. But, the only ones who matter are the ones with that love affair in their hearts and minds.

Debating forever is what the chattering class does best. So, forever we will disagree, till the cows come home. Guess, that is what they mean by democracy.

Harlan's Birthday

LYNN!!!

Have you seen Blinky?

Harlan's birthday is almost here, and I've been wondering if the little f*#@er would manage to sober up enough for the party.

"Oh and Tenacious D *rocked*."

But, do they still like clogging and are they still totally into Satan?

Tuesday night at the Hollywood Improv
Dateline: Tuesday, May 25th, Hollywood, California
Free The West Memphis Three Comedy Benefit

Lineup: Greg Barrant, Fred Armisen, Greg Proops, Bob Odenkirk, Chris Hardwick, Patton Oswalt, Zach Galifianakis, Laura Kightlinger, Blaine Capatch (Host) and Tenacious D (Jack Black's band)

Patton Oswalt says to say "Hi". His bit included a rant on the inanity of morning drive DJ's and being dragged into their (and I quote) "Harlan-Ellison-I-Have-No-Mouth-And-I-Must-Scream Reality". I laughed so hard I think I sprained my appendix. Oh, and I said I'd pop in today and tell him you're still topical.

Oh and Tenacious D *rocked*.

That is all.
L.

Brian points out that "fantasy's first weapon is delight." I think that's absolutely right. For all the ink that has been spilled over the difference between science fiction and fantasy, it seems to me that the simple answer is that they employ different strategies to achieve the same ends. Both forms require that the reader must be induced to buy into a superficial set of lies about how the universe works so that the author can deal with profound truths about how the human heart works. The science fiction writer attempts to persuade the reader that the lies are plausible, whereas the fantasist attempts to seduce the reader. The fantasist is saying, in effect, "suspend your disbelief; I'll make you glad you did." The fantasists, like Harlan, whose work we return to time and again are those who consistently make good on that promise.

Steve J.

If it wasn't for the headache, which I get when the weather shifts radically, I'd feel pretty good today.

That's because I had a funny idea for a children's book this weekend. And I wrote it in about two and a half days. It's less than five thousand words, and it could use a few draft passes. But I _finished_ it, which feels nice, and a lot better than that white elephant I was playing with for the past three years.

Of course, it's written for children with social problems, and the moral lesson is pretty horrible, but I liked the idea. (One scene involves the President kissing a lobster's feet.)

I have nothing to say about "Jeffty is Five." It's one of my favorite Harlan stories, and everything that's been said are things which I've noticed about the story, so there's little I can add to the discussion.

I did notice that it doesn't seem to make much sense, if one tries to pin it to the "real world." The childhood of both characters is rooted in Harlan's own, specificially, prewar America. But when does the story take place? How old is Donny? How old are Jeffty's parents? This isn't a big point to raise. It's fantasy. If I'm believing that Jeffty's a conduit into the great stuff of the past, I'm cool with the other questions.

Which brings me to the other points raised about research and fantasy. I _loved_ that Jim Crace quote. I ought to mount it on a plaque somewhere. Fantasy's first weapon is _delight_, the loving disconnection of the mind from the world. And if it doesn't make a whole lot of sense after a moment's reflection-- for example, if the Dursleys were really that horrible to Harry Potter, Child Services'd be after them in a heartbeat-- well, fine.

From my own post:

"Look – unless your child’s name was Damien and his continued existence GUARANTEED the destruction of all that was good and decent in the world..."

That sentence is flawed. Horribly so. I'm sure Jeffty's parents took the exact same position when it came to their son.

Jeffty
Hi all
If I may delurk for a moment... I read these boards every day but have to cop to feeling a little out-of-depth at some of the discussions that take place, so rather than put in my tuppence worth for de sake of it, I'm content to read and learn. That said - and what a place this can be! - I thought I'd add to the intriguing discussion of 'Jeffty Is Five'.
So, to John Thompson Jr., Dorie Jennings, Frank Church, Scott Reeston, Barney Dannelke, Adam-Troy Castro, Lee, Chris L, Jeff R, James Palmer, plus anyone else that might have contributed that I've missed, and most of all Lil' Washu (is that an obvious name I simply don't get?), who kicked this thing off, I re-read the story and what hit me this time around was the narrator's complicity. Does he know what's going to happen? I think so, in some terrible way, and if so, his sentiments are surely echoed in the last section ("so she did love him..."). Before that, he mentions Leona standing in front him for seconds, "leaden stoicism" on her face, and... he gives Jeffty to her. And immediately laments it. I know that Donny is speaking from a point beyond the events happening, and it can all be construed as regrets, but that terrible pause as Jeffty's mother stands before him is just too heavy a weight to lift.
It's a horrible thought, even more horrible than when you figure out what's happened for the first time. Of course, I could be being stupidly obvious about all this, but nonetheless... hoo boy, what a sledgehammer story.
Best,
Jes

a couple of links...
Here is the new Chomsky interview by Paxman for the BBC [5/21]

http://www.zmag.org/content/showarticle.cfm?SectionID=11&ItemID=5565

and here is the latest misleader.org piece on presidential designate Bush and his giant screw you to NYC Police and Firefighters. You remember those guys, they were in his commercials...

http://daily.misleader.org/ctt.asp?u=1991056&l=37089

Have a nice day.

- Barney

>Michael Moorcock was once asked if he spends a lot of time "world-building" as a prelude to crafting one of his elegant fantasies. He pointed out that people like Lord Dunsany and James Branch Cabell did not sit around worrying about the gross national product of their imaginary realms.

You reminded me of this great statement from Jim Crace, interviewed in the Paris Review a few months back:

"My wife and my editor think I do lots of research. And I encourage them in their delusion as it makes me seem hardworking. But actually I don't research. I oppose research. What I do is a bit of background reading in order to work out how to tell my lies. I don't look for information, I look for vocabulary and for the odd little emotional idea that will give some oxygen to my imagination. Vocabulary is the Trojan horse that smuggles the lie. Facts don't help."

Another vision of Hell
Brian:

That should have been your cue to feign an aneurysm and scream for the man to call 911.

Brian Siano (grabbing Loman's lapel and hanging from it like a wilting stab victim): Mister! Call 911! I'm ...OH GODDD!! It hurts!! (pulls face up to wired microphone and blubbers, syliva spraying from his quivering lips)...I'm blacking out!!! Don't let me die!!!! HELP MEEEEEEE! Oh GODDDD don't let me die so soon after my wife! Call an ambulan....."

Vision of Hell
I had this marvelous Vision of Hell at lunch. Over at another table at Au Bon Pain, I saw this guy sit down, and before opening his sandwich, he began speaking into his cell phone headset. He began talking someone through the paces of turning a computer on and logging in, with a lot of passwords and dialogue boxes and stuff.

So I thought of a really dingy bar, around two in the afternoon. The door swings open, and a shaft of bright sunlight appears, but the door shuts and it's back to brown dank and neon beer signs. Seated at the bar in a slovenly row are about six or seven middle-aged guys with grey hair, wearing rumpled Willy Loman suits, sipping at whiskey sours in the early afternoon. And each one wears a headset, and they're mumbling "Now, you enter your password in the blank... No, not your system password, your application password... Now click on the 'OK' button..."

Yes!

I would love to hear the rest! Please joyfully discuss with us, if you've the time and inclination. I want to hear about Jefty.

Cindy

P.S. Don't play with us any longer,please...PLEASE! What did you sign, sir?

Kvetchness
Possible suggestions, or just some new words: limbaugh- to make several predictions in order to prove that you will eventually be right. Most likely suspect for the severely kevetched. drudge- to make false pronouncements in order to receive attention. Make a statement without proof or any intention of doing so. hannity- to bluster and overtalk another person without actually saying anything. A person doing so could be labeled an "o'hannity".

kvetch word question
A comic artist I know asked me about a Yiddish word to describe a person who bitches & moans because that's what said person does - you aren't supposed to pay attention to him or take him seriously. A kvetcher but not with any hypochondriac quality.

An example used was someone who complains about the comic book field starting with whatever convention he happens to be at (at that moment) and then spreading outward like concentric rings that touch on every aspect of the comic book field in sight.

I'd appreciate any suggestions - feel free to mail me directly with any replies if this isn't appropriate board material.

Thank you,
John Q.

Dorie, Eric, et al:

John Thompson essentially has it. I guess I don't have the sentimentality to accept that sort of nostalgia which admits Jeffty into my experience, so the tale breaks down for me. I can't find any wonder in the past except in the magic of events like watching my three children born, recalling the day I was married, stuff such as that.

I feel that my magic works due to the fact of not being static, that the acts of memory trigger less the desire for recalling the past; more that they give me the enjoyment of seeing my potential within all the possible futures created in each of the occurrences.

I guess I'm Jeffty operating in reverse. With Satchel Paige and Immanuel Kant riding shotgun.

Scott

Dorie Jennings: In all fairness, I think "Jeffty Is Five" works best without an explanation; Jeffty just IS. Because the feelings in that story are real, the fantasy element slips past our defenses. Harlan does provide some rudimentary theories about this rift in reality, but I see that as an attempt by the protagonist/narrator to come to terms with baffling circumstances.

Michael Moorcock was once asked if he spends a lot of time "world-building" as a prelude to crafting one of his elegant fantasies. He pointed out that people like Lord Dunsany and James Branch Cabell did not sit around worrying about the gross national product of their imaginary realms.

Frank,

"Rob, quit cribbing from my notes. I already talked about Fast Food Nation a few weeks ago."

Were the libel laws like those in the UK I'd drag your face through manure. Never saw your miserable post; and you're the LAST dudette I would ever have to crib.

So, who gave YOU sole discussion rights to the book?

...and although the fast food culture has a long wretched future ahead we're already seeing changes, because sales sends signals to these corporate bulldogs. That's why salads and vegeburgers are popping up now. But as Morris and Steel can tell you Europe is next to get dragged into the epidemic big time. As of now the fast food corps are raking in more profits from overseas.

Fast food will never be ended, it will be CHANGED. Through the long, long democratic process.

Jeffty Is Five
I suspect I am one of the ignorant masses who doesn't get the subtle understory in "Jeffty Is Five", but I'll have a go anyway:

Scott wrote: >>>I think I could accept the tale more if Jeffty was at one time Jeff, a friend of the protagonist who had suddenly regressed into the child state for one reason or another, coming to accept the situation even to the point of loving it and desiring to remain. Then it would be interesting to me to see the dichotomy that could be presented, both the joys and perils of holding to one fixed point in the past, as life moves onwards at its insane speed.<<<

Isn't one of the ideas of the story that you CAN'T decide to stay there? And in "One Life" also....Mr Rosenthal began to deteriorate and he couldn't stay?

That Jeffty was the ONLY creature able to stay, and even he was doomed because he existed within the modern world as well?

Of course I did used to get comments on my college papers which said "beautifully written but you've completely missed the point."

On a related subject: I was reminded of "Jeffty Is Five" in "The Green Mile"...when Paul is lamenting his role in the destruction of "one of God's true miracles."

Mis-attributed quotes . . .
>>Youth is in the mind, I've detected the heart of a young boy in the midst of most everything Ellison. (I wonder if he found it on Robert Bloch's desk.)


And if you can believe this garbage, the new Trivial Pursuit 20th Anniversary edition actually mis-attributes the " . . .heart of a young boy . . ." quote to Stephen King.

Sigh. (Serves me right for playing a "trivia" game based upon the last twenty years. It's more like a recent events test.)

And yes, they did receive a letter . . .

>How would such talent fly under the radar of medical examination or any of the bureaucacies dealing with concerns of children: schools, social workers, the parents of the other children who start to stop playing with the boy age they age and he doesn't? <

You may be thinking too literally here. This is fiction, after all, not an essay about an actual boy with actual powers or behaviors.

Jeffty may be more message then messenger.

Frank:

I enjoyed your last post. Since you're under the influence of the muse, I wonder if you could tell me what you think of the quote from CAS regarding all literary criticism boiling down to a matter of personal taste.

Also, by extension, what about criticism of movies or music? Is the end product only personal taste, or are there other factors?

growing up down the rabbit hole


whos' growing up? our patron author? the one who loves comic books, and has Richard Dreyfuss over to play with action figures on the floor of his kitchen?

Methinks you're mistaken, Frank.

Youth is in the mind, I've detected the heart of a young boy in the midst of most everything Ellison. (I wonder if he found it on Robert Bloch's desk.)



Respectfully,

Neal

Jeffty is a symbol of a time period that Harlan remembers fondly; since he too was Jeffty. He had to grow up, unlike Jeff, but the mean world grew along with him. Technology and idealogy replaced the innocent veneer of that time, making the world the kind of techno hell that it has become.

Jeffty's death is a symbolic death of the innocence of childhood and nostalgia.

Next Psyche exam at noon.

-------------

Rob, quit cribbing from my notes. I already talked about Fast Food Nation a few weeks ago. I know you were peekin in. Sure, it is a good book, but the reality is much worse. We will not see the death of fast food culture any time soon.

Look at our lionization of the idiotic Jessica Simpson, a person who plays up being dumb, as a badge of honor. And we seem to think it is cute to be that stupid. At least she is one of us, we say. She aint one of those know it all elitists, that make us do horrible things, like read books and shit.

Then you have American Idol. Don't get me started on AI. Where, being a celebrity is more important then actually being good. Having a hit is what is important, not writing or singing great art.

Then you have the fake curmudgeon, Simon Cowell, who puts on the tough guy face, but in actuality, has the same tin ear most Americans have.

Then there is the fake democratic aspect of it. People get to actually vote on who they want to win the music contract. Well, aint that nifty? The people who vote feel they are affecting the culture. They pick the everyman and everywoman. People like them, but with better singin voices. You think Clay Aiken would get signed without that show?

The problem is simple: The American listener don't know shit about great music. They just want their representative of the common man to play the star, no matter how bad the recorded output becomes. They vote against the idea that only special people, with special skills can be stars. Now anyone can be famous. Aint that great? We beat the system that says it is not okay to be merely average.

This is why you have test screenings for movies now. See what the dimwits think about the latest cartoon cgi blockbuster, and sell more Pepsi and beer.

Art goes out the window. Sure, the everyman gets his due, but at what cost? Because, let's be frank: Great artists are assholes. Ego goes with the territory. Elitism does as well. Greatness is not alway pretty, but it is essential, especially, if you want a great society, a thinking society.

With this thinking, it's possible that even Shrub could get 4 more years. Hold your hats folks, this is gonna be a long year.

Joseph:

Not a problem at all, mon frere. Happy to be one who helps to lift you at times, especially one such as this. Take your time, and even though the split is amicable, make sure what's yours remains yours.

As for Jeffty, well, I've thought about it, and find I'm less inclined to believe that Jeffty would become depressed within the context of the tale presented. I look at the character almost as I do the use of telepathy in "Mephisto"; a single element of fantastic designed to propel the story of a person's or persons struggle trying to exist within the world. The problem is, I can't buy it in the context presented.

First, Jeffty's talent. He can choose to selectively alter media to fit the emotional timeframe of a five-year-old of a set period of events or programs, and exist comfortably within the context. Fine, but how wide a range does this effect take hold? What about all the media and technology his parents would have about him in the house; a televison, their magazines, newspapers, whatnot. Wouldn't these be altered by the boy's "talent" as well, or wouldn't they have a negative effect on the boy when he comes into proximity with them?

Second, such a bizarre skill. How would such talent fly under the radar of medical examination or any of the bureaucacies dealing with concerns of children: schools, social workers, the parents of the other children who start to stop playing with the boy age they age and he doesn't? As a parent myself, I surely couldn't leave my child in that state of being without some form of intervention, at least to try and figure out what the hell's going on. For everybody to simply leave the situation in status quo seems more bizarre than the child himself, if not wholly negligent by those who fail to act.

I think I could accept the tale more if Jeffty was at one time Jeff, a friend of the protagonist who had suddenly regressed into the child state for one reason or another, coming to accept the situation even to the point of loving it and desiring to remain. Then it would be interesting to me to see the dichotomy that could be presented, both the joys and perils of holding to one fixed point in the past, as life moves onwards at its insane speed.

As it stands, the tale is a curiousity, but not that pleasing for one.

Scott

HARLAN,

I’m satisfied about my previous post. It represents my initial reaction to JEFFTY IS FIVE in all of its unfiltered, non-tenderized glory. I’ve had time since to rationalize, to set my feelings and responses to the story in stone, and upon reflection…yes, I do UNDERSTAND the actions of Jeffty’s parents. Perhaps I can even sympathize with them to a degree. Does that make the two of them any less monstrous in my eyes? Do I no longer feel so safe and content in condemning them outright?

I returned to the one of the last key passages in the story, the one that I believe was meant to partially justify the actions of Jeffty’s parents:

“So she did love him, still, a little bit, even after all those years. I can’t hate them: they only wanted to live in the present world again. That isn’t such a terrible thing.”

Maybe not, and I can see where they’re coming from. Jeffty’s mother and father lived in the worst kind of hell any parent could be put through: unable to watch their child grow and become a man, to change as the world changed, to experience new things, to go to college, to drive a car, to get a job, to get married, to have his own children, to be hurt and scarred, to be loved and give love in return.

In my opinion…does that justify what the two of them did?

No.

Look – unless your child’s name was Damien and his continued existence GUARANTEED the destruction of all that was good and decent in the world, I simply cannot come to terms with an act of infanticide, which it was – no matter how you try to understand and comprehend the misery Jeffty’s parents had to cope with.

Call me naïve. Tell me that I have no right, no access, no PERMIT to judging these people without first being exposed to the despair they had to face on a daily –on an HOURLY- basis. But what they did, WHAT, THEY, DID, was monstrous and wrong.

I don’t agree with James Palmer’s post, in that it seems to follow a natural assumption that Jeffty was secretly miserable himself, thus somehow vindicating his own destruction further. Why? Why should we assume this? Because it gives us the idea that Jeffty subconsciously consented to what his parents did?

I will admit that there’s evidence existing within the story to prove Jeffty’s own inner misery. Certainly, other than Donny he had no friends to speak of. The local children instinctively sensed his “otherness”, his “unnatural nature”, and subsequently rejected him. But just because he was unhappy, are we left to assume that he fostered a seething desire to die?

Let me tell you something. Due to “disabilities” I’ve had in my possession since birth, (I don’t care to go into any more detail than that), my social skills were next to nothing. Growing up on the school playground was an existential nightmare. While I will confess that I wasn’t stuck in a kind of space/time limbo that locked me into a state of perpetual childhood, I didn’t nurture any secret desire to be offed in the near future, let alone by my own mother. Jeffty’s parents sought release, but did Jeffty have any real consent to this?

In the context of the story AS I READ IT, Jeffty’s parents were indeed motivated by desperation. As you said, there may have been some love there, operating side-by-side with their desperation, even at the very end. But ultimately, theirs was an act of selfishness. True, it was the kind of selfishness you might expect from people forced into the most heinous of situations, an understandable, entirely natural outgrowth of human behavior when placed under inconceivably hellish scenarios that I DO NOT exempt myself from, but selfishness nevertheless.

Another key line from the passage I quoted above was “they wanted to live in the present world again.” You yourself pointed out the story’s prevalent theme of the present devouring the past, not out of malice, but necessity; the tiger consuming it’s prey as a mandate of “The Way Things Are”.

However –this is important to note- what Jeffty offered was not the past, but rather a hitherto unseen hybrid of the past and present; not a retread, not a remake, not a reanygoddamnthing, but a breathtaking marriage of the two that only Jeffty could nurture. I’d say the present was destroying Jeffty NOT because he kept the past alive in a way that was unacceptable to The Way Things Are, but because his very ability to fuse the present and past into a seamless whole made him unnatural - freakish. That is why in my eyes Jeffty’s parents are not that dissimilar from the torch-wielding villagers who pursued Boris Karloff in those bygone days Jeffty was so adept at delivering to us all over again.

Those are my thoughts, take them as you will.

Thank you for your time.

Perhaps a better question
Once again I'm rushed but I have to say this before heading out the door - my last post regarding Jeffty is a complete mess.

It's full of talking points and a couple of personal observations but on the [painful] re-read I see it has no real point. Sorry.

Also, I should clarify that when I said Harlan doesn't talk much about craft. That was sloppy. He talks plenty about craft in general but is very guarded about his own craft or how he sees that progressing. That's not a criticism. I think it's a very natural human reaction. I like to work but I hate having people watch me work - it sucks the fun out of it for me. Or perhaps it's the Indian having his picture taken at the risk of ones soul or Hemingway's remarks about not talking about these things lest we diminish them.

I want to thank Lee and Adam-Troy Castro for their remarks. The Yearling, well, I dunno, but Of Mice and Men and the Worm of Ourobus both hit me like lightning and opened up a couple of ways of looking at that story. Even if they were a million miles from what Harlan was thinking about they worked for me. And the notion of One Life Furnished in Early Poverty not just being thematically linked but damn near attached at the hip was something else I had previously ignored. Just dumb of me. Thanks guys.

-----------------------------------------------------------

So here's a better question -

Harlan - You have written about 50/50 fiction and non-fiction. Do you think the place the fiction comes from is a fundamentally different place than the non-fiction comes from and if so do you find the fiction place harder to access or just different?

- Barney Dannelke

Susan - RH
Susan,

Okay, I'll confirm the address via Rick (thanks in advance Rick). Thanks for sending another along; just deduct it from my subscription.

Things have been known to enter strange time loops with the office mail delivery here. Some things take a week or 2, some several months (we got mail from October delivered in February), and customs is a real wild card.

Thanks again,
Peg

Dear Faisal,

The men should have been the ones without nipples, don't you think? Why the hell do we have them except to pull, chafe, pierce or suck? They make no sense!

Aron

P.S. What the hell are you talking about concerning the women having no nipples? I haven't seen "Troy" or "The Passion" yet...I have read the books though.

Harlan - Congratulations on signing the piece of paper containing whateveritis for whateveritcando.

Troy - What I learnt. 3200 years ago, Men were Men and women had no nipples.

(I'm going to contact the effects house and ask if they really retouched the film for a lower rating).

What else is new.

FAQ

Scott Reeston,

I note you're around at the moment, so I just wanted to thank Melissa and yourself for the kind words you've sent me over the past few months. Thanks, my Canadian Compadre.

Regards,
Joseph

Just read Todd's post on Richard Briggs' death. Jee-sus. The last time I saw the guy, he was one hale and hearty, healthy looking guy. To just roll out of bed and die like that.

Makes me feel that much luckier to have survived my little cardio episode last year.

Damn.

Chuck

I forgot the time I'd posted last, having just looked. Sorry. I WILL stay off for few days.

Footnoting My Last Post

Leaving aside the psycho-analytic methods and presumptions in dream interpretation, the activity during REM, the driving force behind a dream, utterly fascinates me. The variable images you dream each night are largely generated by your emotional reactions to recent events or concerns weighing on your mind. The external world and the internal world intersect, sometimes in truly bizarre ways. You react to your environment in unconscious ways but which can manifest themselves through your dream.

Here's what I mean: one night I was set to crash. Everything in my room seemed fine. It was perfectly comfortable. I slept straight through the night. And I dreamt about snow. I seemed to be dropped in the middle of a vast frigid Arctic desert. I couldn't escape it. I finally woke the next morning to find that strong winds were blasting against my window and outdoor temperatures had dropped drastically. The whole room was FREEZING. Felt like about 40 degrees.

It's so bitchin' the way that works. I was not conciously aware of the room temperature change; I never woke during the night. But it manifested itself in my dream.

Transfer this interplay to that medical crisis I told you about. In the delirium-induced nightmare I found myself in a hospital. Not in the real world but in my dream. I never knew till I woke or snapped out of it that I really WAS in a hospital. I didn't know I'd been brought in there yet it manifested itself through my dream.

It's so cool how some parts of the brain remain active while others are shut off, altering the way information is processed. No WONDER our species has always been so lured to drug substances.

Another item (or should I call this my holy proclamation?):

I've personally boycotted many a fast food because I like staying in shape and because I know it's led the country (soon the world) to a bad-health epidemic. After reading a well-documented piece about the mentality behind McDonald's, Carl's, and others - and the fucked-up minds who started them, like Ray Kroc - the calculated way they prey on the young and the digusting abuse of power still going on (the meat suppliers being a far more vile entity than I ever realized; not that much has changed since Upton Sinclair) - I am no longer giving them ANY of my business (at least as close to that as possible). Unless properly supervised by regulators corporate America is evil with coifed anal hairs.

I don't say this just because of its obscene indifference but because of sick ways in which it leverages its power and exploits people. Trust laws are falling to the wayside as conglomerates eliminate competition and pay nearly nothing (and this is a fact) in taxes...and still they will cheat in any way they can to make the easiest buck.

Please read Eric Schlosser's FAST FOOD NATION. You can't put it down.

Next: The evil gene of Walt Disney

The link below will take you to Peter David's website where he announced this morning that Richard Briggs, who played the doctor on Babylon 5, has died.

http://www.peterdavid.net/

-TODD

Dear Peg:

Your Rabbit Hole was sent in April to the Houston address. Will put a replacement in the mail tomorrow. Please send me the address again (just to make sure) or, if you have a direct mailing address...

With best wishes--Susan

It either pertains to your official, once and for all autobiography, or the AOL lawsuit, or TLDV. I can come up with other guesses, but I HOPE that it has to do with one of these three things, you ... you ... you master of suspense, you!

Carlos Fuentes on Bush


Here's a link to a translation of a Fuentes' article from Le Monde. It's worth it.


http://truthout.org/docs_04/052304H.shtml

At the risk of pillory (risk, hell: hereabouts naysaying's a guarantee of abuse surpassing any given by the reputable of companies) I don't count "Jeffty" or "One Life" amongst my favourites. Finely written, agreed, but neither jumps off the page as "Soft Monkey", Croatozoan", "Mephisto in Onyx" or "The Man Who Rowed..." does. Maybe it's my own battles with past imperfect leaving me with the pragmatist's attitude toward leaving the province of memory behind (the wife likes to joke that my emotional baggage was made by Samsonite), I don't know, but those storys always left me feeling that the characters are whiners who don't take life in their hands and change things. What I've always found in examination of things past: it contained all the horrors the present can muster, we just sand down the more jagged edges within our memories to make it seem more comfortable.

That said, the conversation leaves me to play my "Jeffty" album, the place where I admire the story much more. Not for the tale, more for the reading. M. Ellison draws me in, his sense of the dramatic never better than on that particular piece of vinyl. Even the loinfuit sit and listen until the story closes. Fine, fine stuff.

A small aside: would somebody please keep Shrub and Kerry off bicycles? It frightens me to think that a faultly Schwinn banana seat is all that sits between us and "Big Dick" (interpret that as you will) getting comfy in the Oval Office.

Scott

Jeffty is Five
I, too, think Jeffty one of our host's best stories, and was blown away on its first publication by the F & SF issue where it appeared, which also contained one of his OTHER best stories.

But, you know, I have trouble separating Jeffty from that other piece rooted in childhood, "One Life, Furnished in Early Poverty." I know which is which. But for me they function as bookends.

Jeffty is about how childhood can be a blessed time, and how adults need to hold on to the magic they had then.

Poverty is about how childhood can be a cursed time, and how it can poison the hearts of adults for the rest of their lives.

Both stories read a lot like Bradbury, maybe not in prose style, but in flavor.

Both stories had some of Harlan's most delicate character work.

I think the stories are so intricately connected I can't think of one without thinking of the other.

Rabbit Hole
Susan,

A ways back in April someone mentioned a recent issue of Rabbit Hole. I've been biding my time, thinking it might be taking a while to work through the mail system.

No sign yet, so I'm not sure if my subscription lapsed, if I forgot to give you the right address, or if it's lost in transit. If you need a renewal, or my US forwarding address, drop me a note here and I'll send along whatever's needed.

Thanks,
Peg

I posted my gut response to “Jeffty is Five” on May 1, under the title “Jeffty is Five, Non-Fiction”, about 400 posts back. I hadn’t thought about it much at the time, but the Jeffty story is something I resorted to in a very natural and unconscious way to fit some disturbing and difficult to grasp experiences into an intelligible framework. Like Rob said, the story is DOWN THERE, available and useful as a metaphysical reference – whether you wanted it there or not.

I know of many other great works of art that treat the theme of killing what you love as an act of kindness – The Yearling, Old Yeller, The Passion of Christ, Of Mice and Men, Paingod, I could go on and on. And the idea of the Present itself actually and actively killing the Past is deeply mythical – one of our oldest obsessions expressed in powerful symbols like the Worm of Ourobus that go back to the beginnings of human thought.

But using an appealing and vulnerable character who has come unstuck from time to express these profound themes suddenly from a context of warm nostalgia, is nothing short of a literary mugging. Everyone senses one by one, through the simple act of living, that they are mortal and will end while immortal time is passing them by without so much as a friendly wave. Everyone relaxes when they slip back into a familiar stream of memories to visit the places they always loved to be. Then a very disturbing and powerful shock is transmitted when Harlan fractures the warmth suddenly with the implication that violence and murder are ethically neutral forces that animate both supreme acts of hatred and supreme acts of love. We are forced without warning to encounter the destruction of something good as a process animating nature itself at its most fundamental level. Nature itself, looking like hatred but embodying love.

It is by launching a successful surprise attack involving some of the most well worn and easily recognized Great Themes in human thought that Harlan proves his greatness as an author. Reading “Jeffty is Five” is like getting attacked by Jack the Ripper. Your first realization that something different has happened is when the dagger hilt thumps your breastbone. You didn’t even feel the blade sliding in.

More new Ellison from Aardwolf Publishing
Regarding Alex Krislov's posting "New Ellison afterward," ALL editions of "god's 15 minutes"(lower case "g" please) will benefit KICK. And thanks for the plug.

Harlan also has an outstanding piece (really THE outstanding piece) in Aardwolf Publishing's forthcoming UNCANNY DAVE COCKRUM TRIBUTE. I asked for three paragraphs; HE gave me 1100 words, generous soul that HE is. All monies directly benefit artist Dave Cockrum & his family.

Interested parties can order either of these at www.aardwolfpublishing.com

>For the Ellison compleatists hereabouts, there's a new collection of Clifford Meth work, just out from Aardwolf Publishing. "God's 15 Minutes" concludes with a nice afterward by Harlan. I don't know how many are left--they're autographed by Meth, Mike Kaluta and Harlan--and mine is numbered 74/220. Hie thee to http://www.aardwolfpublishing.com as fast as your nimble little fingertips will take you. Yes, this is the edition that helps fund KICK.<

Forward into the past with Jeffty or somesuch...
***Harlan and the group mind***

dept. of no-time-to-tighten-this-up-now-so-solly;

Harlan knows that for years and years "Jeffty Is Five" was "my favorite Harlan Ellison story". I think I'm at a point now where I no longer have favorites or top fives or top tens or what have you, but certainly the power of this particular story lingers.

Since it has bubbled to the surface, and since my daughter is entertaining prom guests in the back yard at 2AM I thought I might as well pound out a few thoughts and maybe ask the author just one reasonable question.

---------------------------------------------------------

I read the story the 1st time in 1977 and was pretty much bowled over. I was pretty much reading crap up to that point and wouldn't have known a "literary" story if it jumped up and demonstrated self-referentiality back in those days. Compared to all the P.K. Dick and Doc Savage novels it seemed pretty freekin' highbrow to me. But there was something else...

Thinking about it today I realized that there was a weird nostalgia craze going on in this country which was quite pronounced from about 1972 to 1977. It manifested itself in strange ways. You would walk into a Sears or J.C. Pennys or Spencer's Gifts [which were themselves new on the landscape then] and you were as likely to see poster racks featuring W.C. Fields or the Marx Brothers as Jimi Hendrix or Bruce Lee. 50 years of pop-culture all mashed up together in one store. So that was going on then.

I say this pretty much to listen to my fingers clack. I don't think Harlan was exactly responding to this nostalgia phenomena or craze or trend - not that he wasn't aware of it - Harlan was, if anything, HYPER-aware of pop culture in those days - I just think Jeffty comes from someplace more reflexive and visceral.

I jabber on like this with theories because Harlan almost never does. He might give you the Koenig anecdote or the Necro-waiters anecdote but he seldom digs right down into craft. In 25+ years of listening to the man I could condense all the non-biographical remarks of where the WRITING comes from, or what the technique choices were down to a few pages. I think that's probably basic human nature. Smart psychologists farm their own problems out and canny writers know that staring too deep into the magic mirror might kill or piss off the muse.

___________________________________________________________

Prom distractions/ 20 minutes later - where was I?

Still, THIS story hangs in there. Why is that? Well, I've read a few things since 1977. Not so much of the classics or the Russians as I would have liked to by now, but still, some serious tonnage of words. And "Jeffty" still looks unique. Of course the other heavy hitters, BEAST and REPENT and THE DEATHBIRD share this distinction but JEFFTY IS FIVE in my mind stands off to one side even from these other Harlan monoliths. Fuck if I know why. But there it is.

The only mild criticism I ever heard of this story was at a ReaderCon Harlan attended a few years ago. When Harlan wrote the story - and when I, the target demographic read the story, what was modern in the story and what was in the past in the story was quite clear and self evident. Apparently little tiny cracks have since appeared to the, ahem, newly modern reader. Now many dramatic/logistical problems are solved with cell phones - of course a cell phone wouldn't work anywhere near Jeffty so there's that - and we have waterproof shower radios, etc. If I remember correctly there was some "anachronism" that confused that particular Readercon reader that was a direct function of his or her age but I'll be damned if I remember what it was.

Okay, wrapping up. Over the years I've watched Harlan listen to people talk about this story and I've tried to gauge his feelings but I was never completely able to. SOMETIMES Harlan almost winces - but seems to catch himself - and will occasionally relate the story of Isaaac Asimov being complimented about NIGHTFALL as being "the best thing he had ever written" which was a sore spot for Isaac because it was a relatively early piece and the implication [for Isaac] was that he might as well not have bothered with the subsequent reams of good work.

More often Harlan beams like a proud papa and scuffs his toes in the dust and "aw shucks" his way through it.

I think if it's only the top 10 or so that stay in print then The Essential Ellison probably gets it right.

If we go 100 years up the line and we only get one story [like Kafka gets The Metamorphosis and Jackson gets the Lottery] then we probably get REPENT. It has the timeless [wink] setting and the right politics. Jeffty then falls to Kafka's The Hunger Artist status. Too bad, because from over here Jeffty has all the gravitas and twice the heart.

So I guess the question is Harlan, what do you think of my Monday morning quarterbacking?

- Barney

ps. EIDOLONS is the story that most perfectly produces a waking dream-like state and the one that most rewards re-reading these days FOR ME. In my opinion. Your mileage, blah,blah,blah.

Harlan's Mystery Post
ALL: If Harlan announces a book deal with Modern Library in the coming weeks, all you folks who sent letters of encouragement to his editor or bombarded the Modern Library website with suggestions for titles of Ellison books might want to pat yourselves on the back. It just might've helped make up her mind -- you never know.
--DTS

Too bad there's not a pool to be won!

I think I figured it out.

It would be wrong to post my theory here, or anywhere else, out of deference to Harlan, but I got it, chaps.

I think I know.

I really enjoyed Jim Davis’ post on this topic. Made me laugh out loud. (I have always disliked the abbrev of that phrase).

-Keith

Yeah, and now I'm going 'does that non-fiction/fiction construction HE's yanking our chains with imply a volume like _The Songlines_ or "Mau-mauing the Flak-catchers" or "Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius" or...?'

But please, somebody stop the rain...finally, I can say I've seen the grass grow while I've watched it. Neat, but frankly enough is enough.

Cheers, Jon

Harlan,

With what was the "interesting document" signed; ink, pencil...or blood? Was a being with horns, pointed tail and a taste for extreme unrest near? Was the word "soul" mentioned during the signing? Please let us know... please. Fragile minds can't handle mysterious teasings from one well-versed as you.

Sin-"sear"ly

Aron Devin

DORMAN:

You misremembered. It was the WEDDING of Otto Penzler I was off to NYC to attend. The lunch meeting about "a new non-fiction book" wasn't EXACTLY about a non-fiction book ... well, it WAS about a non-fiction book ... but it also WASN'T a non-fiction book. Despite the seeming contradiction, it is not at all a contradiction. And the meeting was among myself, my NY literary agent, Richard Curtis, and my editor at Random House/The Modern Library, Judy Sternlight. Though I seem to be speaking with a circumloquaciously annoying bent these days, like a hookah-smoking caterpiller on laudunum, all will become clear in the fullness of time. The meeting, however, went as well as could be expected ... under the circumstances.

That is to say ...

Soitenly!!

Quote:

"I will joyfully discuss this with you (or all of you) should you feel so inclined."

Yes indeed Harlan, I DO feel so inclined. I think all of us do. I'd love to read about your take on Jeffty is Five, if you'd be so kind. In the meantime, I'm going to go back and re-read it.

Nothing wrong with re-visiting an old friend (the story, that is).

Chuck

Harlan's visit to New York
HARLAN: Before you headed out to New York, you mentioned that one of the things you had planned was a meeting with Otto Penzler to discuss a new nonfiction book. Did that turn out well?
--Dorman

You people are something. Keep it up.

Lee:

What marvelous rococo stylings bearing frightening similarity to the fold and faults, those prismatic recesses within this electrically fired mass of neurons and dendrites I possess: hobgoblins of memory, sprites of desires, imps and their self-named progeny which added pulse as birthright and action; the bitter and shattered fragments contained within this thing of mine, or mind, as the case may be. Yes, it is a joy and delight to behold, but please feed not the neuroses that gambol across the parietal; their annual mating rituals are being staged about this time of year, and I've promised them orange sherbet and decorative pantaloons they can fly in the Maygust skies.

And, it gets me out of the mundane, such as jury duty. I simply say to the court that all men are cursed with sin and should rot in hell for their crimes, chained to desks for eternity to eat mouldy bree and drink Thunderbird wine while watching Fred Rogers seduce Rod Serling with an erotic performance of the Batusi. I've discovered that this works best if you scream it at 130 decibels.

Crazy? Crazy like a slightly irked three-toed sloth!

This has been a moment insdie Scott's head. You don't want a written transcript, as hummingbrid fecal matter makes for a poor writing ink.

Please sign the guestbook as you leave.

BTW, M. Ellison's signature was on a petition to raise the corpse of Jonathan Harris, know chiefly for his role as Dr. Zachary Smith in the series "Lost in Space", back to the living so as to run him on a Democrat ticket with Al Lewis against Ahnie Steroidnegger in the next California gubernatorial drag race. One stiff deserves another, I've always said.

Scott Reeston, who still denies paternity of one Sigmund the Sea Monster, claiming the DNA test was rigged. The boy does have my eyes, hair colour and dental resemblance, however.

JEFFTY was the one that hooked me on Ellison too. When asked what my "favorite book" is, I usually say Jeffty and explain that it's a short story but that it moved me like no other piece of writing I've encountered.

Setting aside some of the greater issues in the story, one thing that amazed me was how Harlan was able to make me feel so nostalgic, immediately and powerfully nostalgic, for a period of time so far before my own, one I really have no connection to. Now dat's some spicy writin'.

Harlan, sir, I don't think it's possible to talk TOO MUCH about "Jeffty Is Five." What can I say? I will, quite simply, never forget that story. Could you tell, as you were writing it, just how VERY special it was going to turn out to be?
Was it ever considered for an episode of the mid-Eighties TWILIGHT ZONE, or any other TV series, network, cable, whatever?

Also I believe I've figured out the secret: Spielberg, Lucas, Coppola and Peter Jackson are co-directing a five hundred million dollar movie version of THE BANANA SPLITS, and you signed a document calling for you to be paid one hundred million to write it!

Well, what else could it be?

Jeffty's parents
I felt sorry for Jeffty's parents. Imagine what you would do if faced with dealing with the monster/miracle that was Jeffty day after day. Stuck all by yourself in the house with him all day, caring for him as you would a five year-old, while all of Jeffty's age group grew up and left home. His mother's final act is done not only out of a longing of release for herself and her husband, but to free her hurting child. I cannot condemn her for that.

LI'L WASHU:

You cannot know how pleased I am at your response to "Jeffty is Five." The ending -- and complex subtle understory -- escapes most readers; to the extent that I had to "explain" it in the liner notes of the lp recording. And, yes, it's easy to see how you would reach that particular emotional verdict on Jeffty's parents' behavior.

But...

There is a line in the last paragraph of the story that (if not vindicates, at least arguably) mitigates one's view of Jeffty's parents. The mother's unconditional, core-deep and desperate, love of the child is the motivating fulcrum&lever for what she did.

Nothing is wasted in that story. Everything, no matter how seemingly small or irrelevent, links to form the gestalt. Donny; the tv sets; the phrase about the present eating, destroying the past; the kids who beat up Jeffty; the stage setting of the darkened living room at the conclusion; all of it...

I will joyfully discuss this with you (or all of you) should you feel so inclined.

That li'l ole storyteller ... me.

ROB: I wasn't planning to reappear here for probably a week, maybe less, but your "reminiscence" shook me as loose as a loquat on a wind-tossed branch. Holy gadzoley Betty Spaghetti!!

I'm uncertain that a "thankyou for sharing" even approaches the city limits of Proper Response, yet I KNOW there is a reply due; you pay me a great compliment, and I tremblingly put it in the scrapbook.

Respectfully, Harlan

There's a word for a story like "Jeffty is Five:" MASTERPIECE.

Bill

Well, it's official. I've just read the one Harlan Ellison story that beats the crud out of THE WHIMPER OF WHIPPED DOGS in terms of wholly accurate, bloodcurdling depictions of human bastardliness at it's most loathsome.

JEFFTY IS FIVE. Holy Mother of God. To meet a kid like Jeffty. A kid who can allow you to experience a new episode of THE SHADOW. Or QUIET, PLEASE. A kid who can summon Bela Lugosi, cape and all, from the grave, whom you can witness again in all his untainted glory in a fresh, just-off-the-press film of old-school yet new-school horror. To see Jimmy Stewart back on the big screen again, to hear his voice spilling from all the state-of-the-art surround sounds we have at our disposal at the theatres of today, for nostalgia to cease being nostalgia and to become REALITY. The past meets the present, and the present meets the past, and for once, it all WORKS in beautiful harmony.

But, let's put that all aside for the moment, and come to terms with the fact that Jeffty, by himself, without his djinn-like powers, was a nice kid. Just a really nice kid.

And then his parents...

...

You know, ever since some of my worst clashes in Webderland, I've always tried to see the point of view from both sides of the fence. Always. I do my best to apply the same philosophy whenever I read a story that upsets and shakes me on an unprecedented emotional level.

But I just can't apply that here. Not now. Not to Jeffty's Mom and Dad.

Jesus H. Christ.

Harlan sez: "soon"

Yeah, yeah. That’s what virgins I used to go out with would say to me and I didn’t get shit.

Well...while we wait for the curtain to go up I thought I’d tell you about a little experience of mine. It struck me, after talking with a friend about it last night, that I’d never related this little saga here. Harlan, this one attests to the impact your work and words can have on those of us who grew up on them.

This is nothing deep; just brief reflection. Yet, Edgar Allan, since he caused a li'l riptide here recently, encapsulated my story perfectly in his poem:

"Dreams! In their vivid colouring of life -
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality which brings
To the delirious eye more lovely things
Of paradise and Love - and all our own!"

On a Friday morning in 1989 I woke up so ill that by Sunday my roommate had to call 911. This was the year when I began having trouble with grand mal seizures, apparently caused by amino supplements. I would have to grapple with epilepsy until 1995. In the beginning one doesn’t want to concede this kind of reality. Dependency on a prescription; no alcohol; visits to a doctor. I didn’t want to give in to ANY of this shit. Well, after THAT week I would concede EVERYTHING. I’d felt so nifty and fit that Monday that I not only skipped dosages of the medication through the whole week...but I drank wine each evening (to reaffirm my invincibility? Who the hell knows?).

Leaving out some rather graphic details, I landed in the hospital thoroughly dehydrated and in terminal pain. I was semi-conscious but unaware of my surroundings or the people there. In the course of the past two days I’d had a couple of seizures in my sleep. By now - literally - I was babbling stuff. And the reason I was babbling stuff is because I was hallucinating. I’d been pulled into a maelstrom of dreamscapes which seemed as real as this keyboard in front of me. I remember everything I (thought) I saw and heard. The doctor was standing there over the bed waiting for me to snap out of it, having administered something into my system. When I finally did come to I tried to tell him what I was "dreaming" - who I thought I was talking to - but I was unable to finish my sentence, for he completed every line I DREAMT I’d been saying! He was fascinated - as was I , frankly - but he was also emotionally reassuring.

Jumping to the pertinent issue, the hallucinations hurled me through several worlds and encounters. Hell, I discovered things about the universe I never could have guessed! I’ll skip most of the nutsy events in my delusional exploits except to say they were all connected by a single event:

I was the second coming of Christ!

Fancy that. Yep! An avowed Atheist in the role of THE messiah! Well...the world seemed to accept it - at least for the moment. At first everyone trembled, unsure of how a devine being might judge them; but that was only for a few minutes and throngs fell to their knees. Seemed right n' good to ME. The world sought succor and comfort and evidently I had the power to offer it. But...in the course of several days something happened. It all upended. I was accused of being a fraud, some opportunistic mountebank taking the world for all it had. Before long, crowds - mobs of millions - wanted my head, man. There were riots in the streets. Stores being smashed. Attacks on anyone who still believed in me. The doors of the hospital were barricaded as several tried to break them down (yeah, for some reason I was still in the hospital). Security guards braced themselves against the entrance, even those who’d have been more than delighted to hand me over to a killer mob.

BUT...there were a few courageous believers left still willing to champion me and brave the fires of hell; followers who stuck their necks out and came forth in defiance, declaring that I was indeed the one and only messiah. One of these dauntless mercenaries was HARLAN! He appeared on American talk shows to pound the truth into listeners everywhere! Now, I would like to point out these weren’t appearances with respectable journalists like Charlie Rose or Ted Koppel or Mike Wallace. No, this was all on the Tonight Show and Dave Letterman following third rate yodling acts and funny animal tricks.

Well...to make a long story short things didn’t work out for me too well in the end.

But to settle your minds about the medical crisis, I did straighten out my act after that incident; the problem got resolved in 1995 when they switched my prescription to one with fewer side-effects (the original created terrible nausea). No seizures since.

But the point here is...in 1989 Harlan didn’t know I existed. And I sure as hell didn’t have any bizarre "obssessions" about him. It’s not like he was on my mind all the time. I’d simply read his stuff since I was a kid and his voice of reason heartened me; his defiant prose like companionship (particularly in tough times). Clearly, the appeal and enjoyment I got out of his material became imbedded in my consciousness even more than I thought. Otherwise, there was just no reason for this guy to come poppin’ up like the Great Gazoo in the middle of an eidetic nightmare!

And, Harlan...hey! If 'Memoirs' is a foreseeable venture perhaps you’ll remember this one when you mull over the impact you have on some people. When you're THERE you STAY there, man.

My next target: Walt Disney, per Neal’s suggestion. (After we talk about THAT guy you’ll think Roddenberry a "messiah")

daily quota
I'm gonna waste my post today to say just 2 things.

1. Damn, but I love coming here just to read what the rest of you write. Y'all send me, you really do. Especially when you play together nicely.

2. I'll be around and about So Cal & So. Oregon 18 June - 7 July. Anyone wants to get together for giggles and grins, email me.

Cheers
Peg

The Halleluja Chorus sang in my brain this morning as a fat little Cherub sitting on my bedpost preached that Baal is a punk. Limp banana peels gimbaled weightlessly in the smoky air, synchronizing their motions to the ululating wails of Monica Lewinsky shrieking furiously that Scott is not Presidential enough to be smoking her goddamn kobassa. A gentle fall of diamond shaped snowflakes streamed from a giant upside down top hat, obscuring a landscape littered with tablets of candy colored barbiturate. Justin shivered miserably in the distance, as his growing addiction sent the little bugs crawling over his body.

Each snowflake was the exact shape of a mechanically shredded documentary fragment. The wind stirred the little paper flakes into swirling cones that would occasionally settle themselves down into a readable whole only to scatter away and apart again, leaving nothing behind but a subliminal retinal impression of the scrawled signature of Harlan Ellison dissolving back into the wind.

Harlan’s teasing has warped the very fabric of Webderland, and its citizens have gone mad with the waiting.

Except Scott. I think he broke trail for the rest of us long ago.

That's cool. I'm patient. The picture o' patience, that's me. Colonel Calm. Prime Minister Millpond. Signore Serenity.

Just...sittin' here. Patient. Ain't no thing. I can wait another day or so. Easy.

NOW WHATTHEFUCKDIDYOUSIGN??? I'LL TAKE THESE PILLS IF YOU DON'T TELL US! THEN YOU'LL BE SORRY!

Finally, I've cracked the Ellison clandestine messages. Not easy, considering I had to decode the encryptions hanging upside down naked in a burning outhouse while smoking a twelve-pound Polish kobassa (there's a real bitch to light), chanting outtakes from the famed lost episode of "The Honeymooners" as I sacrificed the virgin Republican I bought at Ebay to Baal, who owes me big for the clerical error he made that cost me fifty grand back in the market's "correction" of '87.

It turns out that M. Ellison's memoirs are about to be published, including the confessions that the patron author was both the Shadow and Deep Throat.

Moreso, the author tells of the dramatic rescue of Bubba Clinton from a cellulite avalance resulting from the break of Monica Lewinski's thong strap, an event which truly would have set forth a course of events resulting in WWIII.

All in a day's work, I guess.

Yes, Jim, we still get free pie.

Scott

"Harlan's beginning to sound like a movie trailer.

"SOON...""

In the voice of Don LaFontaine: "ONE MAAAAN...."

Tom Galloway

I NEVER post twice in a day, but Tom Galloway just made me fall from a great height in great billowing blasts of laughter.



see you in a couple days.

(Clark Ashton Smith was dead serious about craft, no damn doubt.)

Humbly,

Neal

Harlan's beginning to sound like a movie trailer.

"SOON..."

Lidsville
Lidsville. Oh, man, what a show. Several years ago, Nickelodeon ran a "Puff-a-Palooza" marathon of Sid and Marty Krofft shows. I taped a few hours of it, but didn't get around to watching until I was home sick. I'd taken some fairly strong cold medicine before popping the tape in. I made it through the Bugaloos, and ElectraWoman and DynaGirl without too much trouble. Things started getting funny with H. R. Pufnstuf. Then, when Lidsville began, the room started moving. The air shimmered, agents came out of the walls, and I think my couch talked to me. Suddenly, the brothers Krofft made sense on a level no seven-year-old would have dreamed of when those shows were brand new.

BE THAT AS IT MAY, I had to laugh out loud when a few years later a short clip of Charles Nelson Reilly in his Hoodoo garb showed up on the outstanding "Jose Chung's DOOMSDAY DEFENSE" episode of Millennium, the first season of which is finally, finally, finally coming out on DVD this summer.

And in case anyone is wondering, the lyrics to the Lidsville theme song can be found here: http://www.nostalgiacentral.com/tv/kids/lidsville.htm.

Happy weekend, all.

Paul

Bugaloos
The bugaloos
The bugaloos
They're in the air and everywhere
Flying high, flying free

That's all I can remember. It's not as catchy as the theme to Land of the Lost, with the banjo playing in the background which for some reason always reminds me of Deliverance. Deliverance with dinosaurs, now there's a story idea.

Marshal, Will and Holly
On a two-day expedition
Met the greatest earthquake ever known
High on a rapid, it struck their tiny raft
And plunged them down a thousand feet belooooow
To the Land of the Lost (Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost!)

Harlan Ellison.

A man possessed of a deadly patience, at once lizard-like and feline.

And ... oh hey, here I am out in the open with my mouth full of cheese.

Jeez, I go away for a few days and the place gets all surreal when I'm not looking....actually I rather like it this way. It was only last week I was chatting with folks on another forum about the Banana Splits, and hey Melissa do you remember The Bugaloos? Know the words to the song too? How about Lidsville?

Singalong is OK. Sing-along is OK. Sing-a-long is not. Pet peeve of mine.

Anyone notice that the Banana Splits chorus and the chorus of Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier" are the same tune?

Y'know, technically speaking, I'm not sure there is anything stopping Harlan from adding his signature to those already on the Declaration of Independence [we'll assume, of course, that he'd have no problem getting past the guards at the National Archives].

"Does everyone realize that Arkham House has published the letters of Clark Ashton Smith? One of our patron author's favorites."

I've read it, and I highly recommend it. Much like his friend H.P. Lovecraft (who Smith never met but had voluminous correspondence with)Smith, in his time, was one of the great but barely recognized dirt poor genius writers who struggled mightily just to make ends meet. Several times in his letters, Smith describes how he had to pick fruit and do other exhausting physical labor just so he could get enough money put food on his table and pay his bills.

Here's a quote from that book upon which some of you might wish to comment:

"All literary criticism boils down to a matter of personal taste."

Yr. Faithful and Obt. Servant,

DC, Esq.

Soon.

Yr. loving pal, Harlan

I know...I knowww!!!! Throws the guacamole dip against the velvet wallpaper.

Harlan is going to be the next victim on Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. That black leather vest of his should impress them.

Sid and Marty


OK Unca Harlan, please drop the other shoe...wassap?

And that singalong was far too surreal. I have a feeling that singalong may be hyphenated...just not in this sentence, I guess.

"Once upon a summertime just a dream from yesterday
a boy and his magic golden flute spied a ship from off the bay..." (from memory, and that is just too bad.)

Does everyone realize that Arkham House has published the letters of Clark Ashton Smith? One of our patron author's favorites.

I am sleep-deprived,

Neal

I loved that show, along with H.R. Puffinstuff. It frightens the kids when I sing that song.
Fleegle, Bingo, Drooper and Snorky rule! Long live Hong Kong Phooey!

Melissa

Here's a link to a brand new Ray Harryhausen interview where he reflects on such things as Willis O'Brien's Kong, the influence of Gustave Dore on his work, and Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings:

http://www.aintitcoolnews.com/display.cgi?id=17618

Harlan, it's "tra la la, la lala la, tra la la, la lala la..."

And it's one of the music selections on my work computer, and I'm listening to it RIGHT NOW, because it came up at the EXACT moment you said to sing along! GET OUT OF MY HEAD, YOU BASTARD!

"One banana two banana, three banana, four,
Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more
Over hill and highway the banana buggies go
Coming up to bring you the Banana Splits show

Making up a mess of fun
Making up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone..."

But, if you want us to get into a happy, anticipatory, something-great-is-iminent sorta mood, I'm cranking up the Chambers Bros. "Time Has Come Today."

Harlan's going to milk this for all he can. A room with an audience waiting with baited breath to see what he's going to say next, and he doesn't even have to get out of his jammies to work it? Throw in an admission charge, and I'm pretty sure that's how P.T. Barnum defined "jackpot".

That is, unless his camembert has finally taken a jostle from atop his saltine, and he's decided to post non-sequitors for the flaming hell of it, which means we can expect a report on what the Rice Krispies said at breakfast any time now...

Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello there.

Hello ma baby, Hello Ma Harlan, Hello ma ragtime guy.
Send me a fix by wire, baby my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me, Harlan, you'll lose me, then you'll be left alone;
Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!
Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello there.

I know, I know! I misspelled banana! Look, gimme a break, I'm not even awake yet! And thank God the rules say a second posting on the same day is allowed if it is sent to correct an error in the first post, within ten minutes of the first post.

THE BANANNA SPLITS!??!!??!
Are you referring to, "One bananna, two banannas, three banannas, four; four banannas m