To be able to say "Noggle," you first must be able to say "Nah."
These brave adventurers gave their own lives to dig a burrow for the chthonic demon and lured it in with themselves as bait before completing the protective circle to trap it (and them) forever, saving the world, and authorities don’t recognize it for what it is and loose the demon again as part of their “investigation”? Or are they serving their Dark Lord the Molevolent?
Reading the article:
Meh, drugs. Never mind.
The world in my head is so much more interesting than reality.
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Anachronomicon has a short post in a series on real banned books covering John Norman’s Gor novels.
Kulak mentions how Gorean communities for, erm, role-play sprang up. But Kulak does not mention, or probably know, that such communities violate at least one Internet Service Provider’s terms of service as late as 2021.
I told the story of how I first encountered Gor books back when I was actively dealing on Ebay and found a number of first and second printings for a quarter each and made quite the multiplier on them (I told the story, briefly, in my review of The Priest-Kings of Gor in 2006).
I later filled out a set of the first ten(?) at Patten Books back in the day, and I think I’m down to my last one or two (I read the eighth, Hunter of Gor in 2020). I think I only have one left on the to-read shelf along with Time Slave, a non-Gor book by Norman, which I have tried to pick up a time or two since I bought it in 2017.
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So my brother got married (again) this weekend. We drove three hours to a small town in southeast Missouri where the bride has lived all her life and will live all the remainder of her life (likely) as they just bought a nice homestead with 25(!) acres of land.
I was not the best man this time around, just a groom’s man. Although I did not give a highlarious toast (probably more Steve Buscemi than Adam Sandler, if you know what I mean), I did use my power of quipping (probably inappropriately) to keep things light on what might have been a tense day. Jeez, I remember my wedding day a couple years ago, where I got lightheaded when I took my position at the front of the church, taking off my jacket and helping to put out the food at the reception because nobody else was doing it, and calling the same brother dickhead when he, a groom’s man, wanted to sit at the head table which had only room for the bride and groom and the best man +1, and man of honor +1.
So I hope I helped to alleviate some of that.
It was not a church wedding; the ceremony and reception were held in a small hall rented from an old church (or maybe just an old church turned into a rental hall).
The best bits:
Jeez, I hope I didn’t make it worse with my japery. But, somehow, I fear I might have.
And, unfortunately, in the same circumstances, I will jape again.
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Today, Pergelator posts a bit about having watched Drunken Master II, also known as The Legend of the Drunken Master.
You know, I just watched that. Well, “just” being January of last year. The older I get, the longer the periods of time known as “just” and “recently” become.
With both agree on Anita Mui, but only I, gentle reader, posted pictures. Because I care about you. And because one of these days I’m going to remember to submit such posts to the Rule 5 link fests on TheOtherMcCain.
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As you might recollect, gentle reader, I read a volume of Kaur’s poetry in 2022 and was not impressed, finding it to be just tweets.
But, hey, if that’s what gets the kids reading poetry these days.
One could also do a 18th Century Poet of Note versus My Friend Doug.
My friend Doug, whom I met when working at the grocery store when I was at the university, had a Lutheran high school education but not really the capacity to work anything but entry level jobs. But he liked to write letters, and he liked to write poetry, and he shared some of the latter with me. His work had long lines, some end-rhyming, and a lot of commas. Not a lot of vivid imagery, though, and not a lot of true rhythm.
Which is the only difference. I mean, you throw up any number of Keats’ poems side-by-side with Doug’s, and they’re not that far off–clearly Doug (and a certain blogger-slash-poet whose name we won’t mention) was influenced by that old timey poetry as to what poetry was and how it should look and read. And, to be honest, before radio, television, and Internet, some of the poetry was long enough to fill an evening with it as entertainment. Plus, so much of it refers to contemporaries and current events which are lost on us.
So I read a lot of the old junk and a lot of the new junk. And I write some new junk, which is somewhere between the tweets and the sonorous but archaic.
I read a lot because there are good nuggets in both, but most of it is not good and/or does not speak to me as an individual. But sometimes, it does.
Sudden thought which might be a thesis for further thought: Do we expect poetry to hit differently now? I mean, I look for a very evocative spark in the words that triggers a sharp emotional response. But that’s not really what they were going for then.
At any rate, meme via Wilder.
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Peter Grant writes Gov. Kristi Noem was (and is) right.
As I said.
Some people outside the professional chattering classes are starting to weigh in in the backwaters of the blogosphere, and they tend to disagree with the commentary coming from the East Coast. As I would expect.
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