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Let me start by saying that this grouping is little more than a list of some of my favorite books. It in no way purports to be comprehensive in any sense, nor are the books presented in any particular order.

Many are distinctly Modern (I’m looking at you, Dave Eggers, Nicole Krauss and Lauren Slater). Others employ a favorite story-telling technique, Magical Realism, that I personally, can’t get enough of (thanks Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie and Gabriel Garcia Marquez). Still others are included because they’re beautifully told, utterly unique or just plain cool.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (Dave Eggers)
Eggers’ first novel is part memoir, part fiction and all modern. This book is bigger than itself. Eggers’ wildly experimental prose, self-conscious narrative and sheer humanity make this one of my all time favorites. The story details his family’s struggle to adjust to the death of both their father and mother in the span of just 32 days- yet much of the book is sheer fantasy and Eggers takes creative liberties in calling this story a “memoir.” (See “Lying: Lauren Slater, below) I would highly recommend this book to aspiring writers.

100 Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
A legend in and of itself, this book traces the lineage of a family in a small, supposedly South American town “on the edge of nowhere.” Employing some stunning examples of Magical Realism, a literary technique that has one character literally being drawn into the sky never to return, Marquez’ style is resonant of a fairy-tale so that the impossible is readily, even eagerly accepted. The opening line alone speaks volumes about the way this book hooks you: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

Song of Solomon (Toni Morrison)
Morrison needs little introduction on my part, and I had a difficult time choosing just one of her novels to highlight. However, Song of Solomon, to me, is perhaps her most experimental yet down-to-earth story to date. The story is a part coming-of-age, part alamentation of the lasting effects of slavery and part an examination of love, in all its strange and often distorted manifestations. Oh, and you’ll find some gorgeous instances of magical realism thrown in there for good measure as well.

Midnight’s Children (Salman Rushdie)
Hilarious, beautifully written, and impeccably structured, Rushdie constantly teases and tests his readers. The story, which traces a young man, Saleem, and his family as he grows up during India’s independence movement has been called a metaphor for the growth, and coming of age, of the country. Rushdie is truly a unique voice and Midnight’s Children is unabashedly accessible.

The History of Love (Nicole Krauss) 2005
A beautifully understated story with distinctly modernist leanings, The History of Love braids together the lives of three characters inextricably, yet distantly tied to each other: Leo, an old man who fears he is disappearing; Alma, a young girl on a quest to find happiness for her withdrawn mother; and Litvinoff, a mysterious and brooding Chilean man from another time. The History of Love truly stuns with some of it’s passages, one in particular stays with me:

“The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely…”

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera)
Perhaps a bit pretentious, this work of modern/post-modern fiction examines the insignificance of each and every one of us through a couple and their various infidelities. Uplifting, no? While it’s fair to say that not much actually *happens* in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, so much is said. Kundera believes this “lightness” (our insignificance) to be somewhat wrenching. I myself find it a bit liberating. Whether or not you enjoy the story, Kundera’s structure and prose make this piece worth reading, and the points it raises might send you on a philosophical quest of your own.

The Ear, the Eye and the Arm (Nancy Farmer)
I’m biased because this was a childhood favorite. Set in Zimbabwe in the year 2194, this story follows three royal youths through the various underbellies, subcultures and cults they encounter after they’ve been kidnapped. Three detectives with genetic deformities (super sensitive ears; excessively perceptive eyes and the third with a sense of empathy that often causes him to break down in tears) are assigned to find the children. Yes, it’s science fiction. Yes, it’s a children’s book. Yes, it’s worth reading. Take it to the beach!

The Darling (Russell Banks)
Russell Banks is a beautiful storyteller with the unique ability to put himself in the shoes, and heart, of almost anyone. The Darling is the story of Dawn/Hannah, a middle-aged woman whose rebellious past led her into the depths of Liberia where she experienced all manner of horror and beauty. A striking story told with the fresh rawness of a new wound, passages from the Darling will haunt you for years after you put it down.

Ulysses (James Joyce)
Read this book just to say you did it. Ulysses is an epic novel, yet spans just one day in the life of its protagonist, Leopold Bloom. Some say the book is pure genius. Others denigrate it as over-hyped fluff. Personally, I’d need to read it about five more times to make a fair assessment… But one thing is certain: Joyce went places with Ulysses (which was banned in the United States for obscenity in 1933) that few writers had gone before, and few have gone since. From his topical choices to his stylistic ones, Joyce has a voice and character all his own.

Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir (Lauren Slater)
This book will change the way you think of the term “memoir.” Slater challenges the concepts of truth, its contexts and even its very existence at the core of the human experience. Beautifully written and constructed with a modern twist, Lying has been called “metaphorical memoir,” (though she begs throughout to be understood as non-fiction.) This book continues to frustrate and enchant me, yet Slater’s beautiful prose and (here it is again) modernist tendencies keep me coming back for second, third and fourth readings.

Honorable Mention:
The Angel on the Roof (a collection of short stories by Russell Banks), How We are Hungry (a collection of short stories by Dave Eggers), What is the What (a creative non-fiction account of the life of one of Sudan’s Lost Boys, as told to and expanded upon by none other than Dave Eggers)

Note: If my liberal use of terms like “modernism” and “magical realism” annoyed or offended you, please see my upcoming post detailing these literary techniques and my interpretation of them. Until then, click the links, fool! Modernism - Magical Realism

Last night and well into today has been a flight of extreme fantasy, not all of which was enjoyable, but all of which has left me thinking. Unfortunately I’ve waited too long to write this all down, so some details will inevitably be lost in the rapid cognition thought-shuffling of daily life.

At some point, I woke up and said “Ok, that’s it, no more Howlings before bedtime.” The series of dreams felt like a test. Felt like a warning as well. A test of my mental strength and a warning not to meddle carelessly in affairs which are far larger and more powerful than I have previously taken them to be. It’s true, all throughout the documentary by Poke Runyon, discussing the methods by which they employed the Goetic techniques to summon, and to scry, I (drunkenly) scoffed at the notion of some of the scraping and bowing, and alternately at the idea of binding and domineering these unseen spiritual forces. (It should be noted that while the Goetia is amply available[pdf], I have yet to read the work itself.) While reading Howlings, likewise I took a skeptical attitude towards some of the methodology, considering it to be somewhat overcautious and paranoid. Some have argued that the Goetic (among other) spirits are sovereign beings, and some have argued that these works are exercises in confronting one’s own inner labyrinth. (Think highly aware self-hypnosis and play acting as a form of therapy or mental/spiritual growth, if you will.) Either way, those that have studied these things have preached caution, and some have issued threatening warnings regarding the dangers of treating these things lightly and carelessly.

I have always been a skeptic of sorts, and perhaps a bit overeager and zealous when it comes to the thought of finding proofs to these claims and methods. Last night’s dreams felt like a deeply detailed experience designed to caution me against doing or saying things which may ultimately land me into very hot water.

Yet I digress, these dream logs aren’t intended for me to get into the whys and the wherefores, but to chronicle the dreams themselves for future reference and entertaining reading.
Read the rest of this entry »

I gotta dollar store eagle on my shoutcast box
he’s got stubby feet and a busted tail
His flag looks just like cake

Lost my cool but found it again,
it wasn’t misplaced so much as set aside for the sake of proper ventilation
what’s a good cure for shoulder pains?

Today was just seriously unreal.
Much more of this and I don’t know what I’ll do.

I was standing outside in the back parking lot of my apartment building with some people, talking about I don’t even remember what. It was night time approaching early morning and rather cloudy. All of a sudden there was a noise in the air like dozens of planes. Flood lights popped on to periodically illuminate green (like the old copper on Lady Liberty) planes of a sort I don’t even suspect could really fly. Rather than having a wing perpendicular to the body, or two as with a bi-plane, there was one wing suspended away from the body in a parallel that extended slightly beyond the body of the plane on all sides. While I was busy being confused-bordering-on-fearful about it all, one of the planes swooped low and banked hard over our building once or twice before dropping a bomb that rocked the very air around. Everyone outside was knocked down, including myself, but I looked up to discover the damage was mostly to the third floor, but there was a fire. I pushed myself off the ground in a rush. I nearly went right back down to the ground from the immediate dizzy spell, so I half-ran and half-crawled to the badk door, struggling to get the key in the sticky lock and charge up the stairs. The next thing I remembered I was waking up next to my beau. It was early in the morning, the apartment was a mess, and it took me a moment to realize what had happened. I’d gotten to the apartment and passed right out. Why he was there, seemingly undisturbed, I don’t know. I can’t remember if I woke up on the floor or in bed. At this point, a frantic search for the people outside occured, turning up everyone who had been there, plus extra. Rushing up the stairs, the damage was awful but no fire was raging. Heading back down to the lot showed everyone was either up or getting up. There was some outside source who didn’t believe in the bombing, at which I nearly lost it. The planes had been there! Everyone else saw it, too! It was a short lived argument for whatever reason, and next I was looking to help one of my neighbors who was mysteriously also one of my co-workers. He’d lost a lot in the explosion and I was going to offer to store some of his stuff while he tried to rebuild/relocate. The beau wasn’t too happy about that and was probably less happy when neighbor/co-worker started making up the couch as if to stay there.
Before, during, or after all that, I was somewhere public with a little watch on a chain attached to my collar. Just a little clip on thing, and it also had a pink teddy bear charm. I found out during the course of the speech I was listening to that there was a culture of dominance and subserviance which relied on such indicators to show who was who. Sure enough I look across the room just in time to spot the short haired girl with the animal collar riddled with charms just like my little pink bear. I didn’t get my watch out of sight fast enough and she came over to me. Subserviant though she was, she was clearly a leader in her circle. I tried to explain that I didn’t know, and it was a mistake. The girl only smiled at me knowingly and proceeded to evaluate the quality of the bauble hanging from my shirt collar (or did I have on an animal collar as well…). I remember a couple arguments between some same sex couples where I hyperfocused on their faces, as well as the start of another event/scene/thing, but not clearly enough to make the transition.
that’s all.

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley: Ode to the West Wind

Because everyone else will be espousing their philosophical and political agendas, I feel it appropriate to bring up a philosophical and political standpoint that has been on my mind a lot lately. Not as an “I told you so” or a demand for changes in the wake of disaster. Only as a question, something to consider. I like the way the linked question was phrased, for the most part. The alternate spin I would put on it is: are we all simply too involved with the world at large, above and beyond our own area communities, to go without over-arching systems of government?

I bring this up because of concerns raised by a good friend of mine in the wake of Virginia's tragedy. A large enough group of people decided it was perfectly acceptable to keep arms out of the possession of lawful defenders in that area. As demonstrated time and time again, unlawful, violent people with the intent to harm have no regard for such laws. What makes them criminal in cases like this is not so much their disregard for the laws themselves as it is their disregard for the human lives the laws were theoretically designed to defend.

Yet the question on many people's minds must be: If lawful, non-violent citizens were granted their right to bear arms within that area, would there have been as much carnage?

It is anyone's guess and the truth of the matter is the situation is over, done with, and no amount of speculation can reclaim the lives lost today.

I would implore everone to take this opportunity to respect and espouse the benefits of reason and intelligence instead of reactionary snap judgements and fingerpointing. Not only would I encourage that of anyone I have direct contact with, but I would strongly encourage all people of strength and wit to aid others through a scary time, and try to prevent the kind of fearful outbursts that cripple us all.

If we cannot be self-governing en todo, then perhaps we can at least make the democracy we have today worth supporting.

Synopsis of totals available behind the cut:
Radio Rock: 1
Country: 2
Psychobilly: 1 (I would like to see Unknown Hinson in either country or Psychobilly. He’s great, you should google him and check it out!)
Pop: NA
Emo: NA
Original Emo: NA
Ambient: 0
Chillout: 5
Indie: 5
Metal: 0
Metalcore: 0
Hardcore: 0
Post Hardcore: 2
Grindcore: 0
Doom / Sludge / Experimental: 0
Powerpop: 2
Punk: 1
Pop Punk: 1
Street Punk: 0
Crust Punk: 1
Rap: 0
Hip-hop: 4
Ska: 0
Classic Rock: 12
90’s Alternative: 6
Industrial: 2
Electroclash: 2
Electronica: 2

My heritage wins out overall. If any bands are missing from my listening loop, please, fill me in! I really only checked off artists I either have albums for, or have a strong familiarity with. Which means there are several in these categories that I “sort of” know, but not enough to stand behind them for the purposes of this survey. Read the rest of this entry »

I dreamt about vampires and serial killers and dragons. I dreamt some crazed bitch tried to kill several people, myself included, with pencils. What was disturbing, is that she attacked, we all blackedout, and came to with pencils sticking out of our chests. This in and of itself was bothering, BUT with the added twist of my cat, my Ducky, staggering up to me with a pencil buried at least an inch and a half deep into her below the collarbone. I pulled it out and looked at it in horror and disgust, and she snuck away hopefully to someplace safer.
There was confusion, I guess I was a vampire, I ran outside a room and blocked the doors to keep people glowing purple from killing me with swords.
Dragons started to appear from somewhere and began to kill any of my kind who were exposed. I ran into some juice bar with Kat, fretting over the exposed nature of the windows and hid under the counter. It was totally empty, but people started flooding in and at some point in my hiding I was asked for a ticket. I didn’t have one and after some serious bitching, I fled, running into some kind of hotel stairwell. I ran into several actors who were characters in this farce. Couldn’t tell you who all. I was just looking for someplace underground to hide.

I found this area that seemed secure, there were strange crates and stuff everywhere. I remember sorting through shaped eraser thingees (like the kind you’d get as a kid in school, only way stranger shapes). I remember Jay going out through this huge blast door thingee with some kind of box, he was in hiding too. I regretted not telling him that I cared about him before the door was shut, and I worried that it might be a sign that he’d be taken. There was strange sorting of egg-crate-looking thingees.

At some point after all that I woke up, feeling like crap because I stayed up too late watching movies.
Pi and The Day After Tomorrow, respectively.
There were some cinematic similarities between the movies and the dreams, but that’s the only connection I draw.
I wanna know why Jay keeps showing up in the more epic dreams I’ve been having. I so rarely dream about people I know.

The other night I dreamt that Ash got a phonecall, and grabbed me right away. Ian was in Texas being held after some kind of something went wrong. Texas was for some reason only a 4 hour drive, so we got all our shit together, and me, Jay’n'Ash piled into my car and headed out. For whatever dumb reason we had to drop off movies or something, so we made a stop in this plaza, it was ill-lit and there were people I knew from the mall and other such places acting very strange. I got sort of lost just in this one lot, and we wound up behind what I assume was Care Pharmacy. There was this major downgrade leading to a bridge that looked almost like it was constructed from popcicle sticks, that’s how secure it looked. It was sort of like 4 bridges stuck together side by side. There was only one older man down there picking his way across. The bridge was blocked by some signs stating it was unfinished and brown paper bags with candy in them. It had started snowing and I was a bit nervous. I’m pretty sure this is the part of the dream where Jay gave me shit from the back seat about my driving. I basically told him to shut it, and went down. I drove down, but when I got to the bridge I was walking (alone) and I moved the bags, taking some baggies of carmel creams as I went across. After I got across, it was back to the car, and we were finally headed towards the highway exit. I was like “95 south, right?” and Ashley told me it was actually 95 north I wanted to take, strangely enough. I did, and it was a twisty-as-hell exit, narrowing as it went, and it went on for some way. I wound up at these train tracks, and a trestle, which I climbed across, and went down a short elevator, only to realize that there was no way this was going to work at all. So I backtracked long enough to see the highway down a short embankment, and I thought that if I walked back up the highway, through the exit, and then back to my car, I could figure out where I went wrong. I scrambled down to find myself knee-deep in snow, trying to avoid cars and get back to the side, because I’d gone too far. Off to the side, things started to appear, first movie props and then models of cities that might have been. Some kind of voiceover, or maybe it was internal monologue, started explaining that these were the remains of ancient civilizations. I ended up entering a cave filled with water that was only shin deep or so, and there was someone at the entrance carving a boat, and the interior of the cave was huge, and had pictures painted on the walls. I remember thinking that Ian would just love this, apparently the fact that he was in Texas being held captive or soemthing was no longer an issue. It was about this time it either transitioned into another dream, or I woke up. I remember telling a mostly-asleep Ian about it, and he said that A) he forgot most of it as soon as I finished telling it to him, and B) I should write it down. So I’ve written it down, and it’s still weird.