Tag Archives: H.P. Lovecraft

Friday finds

In 1957, five men stood in the Nevada desert while a nuclear missile detonated 18,500 feet above their heads. Here’s what happened to them.

What to expect when you’re expecting to die after being sucked out an airlock into the vacuum of space.

How to get around Arkham, Massachusetts, with help from H.P. Lovecraft.

You can make anything with Legos — including The Wire.

Now Zimmerman says it was all God’s plan. Which God was not specified.

Wanna be the Dark Knight? Better have some serious batbucks.

This isn’t going to be a great year for Scientology. First the Tom Cruise divorce, and now this movie, which promises to do for L. Ron Hubbard what There Will Be Blood did for oil tycoons.

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Linkin’ linkin’ I’ve been thinkin’

A list of 12 German words that have no English equivalents, though they really should.

No, you can’t write a paper on Edgar Allan Poe.

The perils of working with a small press.

Relationship advice from H.P. Lovecraft.

50 Shades of Grey: The dirtiest parts. Not really all that dirty, but whaddya want from a book that originated as Twilight fan fiction?

Innumerable documents recording atrocities committed by British officials during the final days of empire were secretly destroyed in order to keep them out of the hands of post-colonial governments.

These songbirds make the Shaggs sound like the Supremes.

Gandalf’s beard has deeper roots than you might realize.

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Lit links

Bernie “Berni” Wrightson’s portfolio of illustrations inspired by Edgar Allan Poe. I don’t have to tell you which story belongs to this illustration, do I? As an old Warren Comics fan, I’m always happy to see new work from Wrightson.

The tale of Christopher Hitchens and the eight-year-old girl from Texas. This is a real charmer. As he fights what appears to be (and I hope I’m wrong) a losing battle with cancer, Hitchens is facing the end with dignity, grace, and even that much-abused term, heroism.

A map of the creative process. So now you know what it looks like.

Ry Cooder’s tales of lost Los Angeles. Cooder, a musician’s musician, writes about post-World War II L.A., a much different time and a much different place.

Four brilliant authors and why they’re douchebags. No argument from me about examples Four and One, though there are actually much better reasons for condemning Four (though the one cited is pretty appalling), and One is such a public dick it’s almost too easy to spotlight him. But the item on Two is pretty unfair: the collected letters show him making enormous personal strides in his later years, and even he was embarrassed by his earlier self. And I wouldn’t call Three a douchebag simply because he writes about douchebags, though I’m willing to hear evidence to the contrary.

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The old R’lyehbles

With teabaggers running around screeching about death panels and socialism, health-care reform being whittled down to nothing by insurance-industry stooges, and the mass-market media getting dumber by the minute, this holiday season has taken a decidedly Lovecraftian turn. So let us celebrate the imminent return of the Old Ones by listening to a song from the imminent Contrarian disc, Eldritch Musicks. (Bird-dogged by Geoff.)

And let us not forget that the man from Providence has inspired other bands as well. Though I don’t know if we’ll be seeing any retrospective box sets for this Sixties group:

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Friday finds

A recording of John Steinbeck talking about “certain angers” he felt while writing The Grapes of Wrath is now available as part of a CD set of author interviews issued by the British Library. Listen here. The recordings, many of them unheard until now, feature 30 Brits and 27 Yanks: F Scott Fitzgerald reciting Othello; Tennessee Williams lambasting critics; Raymond Chandler drunkenly slurring his way through an interview with Ian Fleming; the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf; the sole recording of Arthur Conan Doyle, talking about spiritualism; and an apparently incomprehensible explanation of her writing method from Gertrude Stein.

Years from now, after the dust clouds of snobbery have cleared, Stephen King may turn out to be the midpoint between H.P. Lovecraft and Flannery O’Connor. At least, that’s what this interview has me thinking. I liked the original incarnation of The Stand, but when the “restored” version with an additional 400 pages of text came out, my reaction was to say that life is too short. Now I’m thinking I should give the novel a look (or a hoist) sometime soon.   

More hoodoo poppycock has been written about Robert Johnson than any other blues musician. Nevertheless, it’s intriguing to think that someone may have turned up a previously overlooked photo of the man, of whom only two photographs are known to exist.

Philip K. Dick’s screenplay for a never-made film version of his novel Ubik is now available. Read it while wearing one of these uber-cool T-shirts.

Tour Italy with Jen. Tour the Weidelsberg with Gabriele. Tour the Erie Cut with Bill. Tour a real crystal palace with Neil. Cross the Great Plains with Brad. Ian goes inside the head of Chris Berens. And Lance sees a junco, partner.

If you’re going to be in the vicinity of New Brunswick, N.J. this coming Wednesday, you might want to go see this guy at this place. That’s what I’m going to do, if the commute from The Land of Overpriced Dirt isn’t too bad.

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