April 5th, 2007

Dream Writing

Last night I dreamed in words, something I do rarely. I dreamed an entire story in fragments like these:

In my border days I wandered down the left of Mexico, where I slept on the beach in Salina Cruz, with a cow skull wrapped in a flour sack for a pillow. There was music in all my mind, and everything was music, the waves, the ocean, sad and delirous and wanting, surging in me, the notes like angels in my blood.

I stumbled along the alley, slipped again on something that seemed to slither away from under my feet,and came out onto the street in a staggering fall to land on my stomach, staring across a broad puddle flocked with iridescence, like a black velvet painting of some supernally beautiful galaxy, just as a woman’s stiletto heel spiked down in the center of the puddle, sending neon gas clouds and stars whirling away in a rippling vortex. The smooth brown foot in its sleek weaponlike shoe seemed iconic, pinning down something black and glittery and alive, a film of life that once had been a universe, onto bedrock reality. I lifted my eyes, following the curve of ankle and calf and thigh into the mystical darkness of the mini-skirt sheathing the woman’s hips and, above that, a bulging shelf of white cotton and, peering over the edge of the shelf, a heavily made-up brown face...

The bartender was a green lizard sitting on a rock, a future watchband, pouring cactus liquor into champagne flutes. The waitress' breasts gave pulque. All their faces were half-concealed beneath transparent tequila and mezcal labels that, when peeled aside, allowed them to speak, a green glittering coldness coming back to their eyes, mouths opening and closing reflexively, nostril holes expanding, shrinking...

The lid of a tin can gleamed on the asphalt, the perfect form of a cosmic dollar. Rats, their whiskers tuning in a Phoenix rock station, played faint Top Forty...

...a Pablo Neruda gun with a grip shaped like a dolphin that fired bullets like crescent moons and ringed planets, spiderwebs like songs, blood droplets like great herons, blooms of smoke like slow-developing orchids...

Vicious cross-eyed pro-life sisters with baby angels on their lapels, hatpins and grenades in their fucking purses, in association with the Secretaries for a Better Tomorrow, gathered at my doorstep...


I grabbed almost twenty pages of notes like that, all in that same hallucinated style, with a story buried in them. Anyone else ever have this or a similar experience?

The Weirdness Live Simulcast

Just got a call from my brother Patrick, who lives in my old DC stomping grounds -- he rang to tell me that the Stooges are playing tonight at the 930  Club, a show that will be simulcast live in NPR --


I gotta say, I'm having a little trouble wrapping my head around this one -- the notion of being at a classic early 1970s Stooges show,  then time-tripping forward to catch the guys on National Public Radio, suggests the ingestion of drugs even Phil Dick might have balked at. 

But hey, I'm not complaining!  I remember seeing Iggy a couple of times at the original 930, and later at the Warner Theater (where I got into a fight with  the people in front of me).  Amazing performer, and I gather he's still got the fire.

Pat's going to the show and hoping to score a ticket -- if anyone has an extra, let me know.  If the Maine-to-Earth shuttle hadn't been shut down by an April blizzard (sixteen inches and counting) I might have hopped a flight to catch this one.
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Sky Girl

About two years ago I discovered this old comics page and sent it to pal Warren Ellis, who subsequently posted it to his blog. But it hasn't seen the light of day since, and should. It makes me smile every time I see it, and hopefully will have the same effect on all of you.

I want to write the revived SKY GIRL comic.

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Cool Zivkovic News

Serbian fantasist Zoran Zivkovic is one of the finest writers working these days. An utterly unique sensibility and style. I had the honor to do the introduction to his collected stories from PS Publishing:


Zoran's got a new novel out, with the Fellini-esque title of AMARCORD. And apparently--I'm a little hazy on the details here--it's got some kind of multimedia component. Check out this cool shot:

Zoran says this is a "photo taken yesterday evening at the launch of my mosaic novel AMARCORD in the Film Archive Theater in Belgrade."

Any book launch that can fill up a theater with warm bodies is testament to the talent of the writer involved!