Sunday, November 30, 2014

General Theory

I'm a big fan of the tag General Theory. It pretty much sums everything up. It reaches deep into the land of the intense who might be thinking about physics or economics and tickles parts of their algorithm. So you can imagine my excitement when I searched General Theory and discovered a short, sharp and passionate discourse on Compost Piles.

 The world of course is going to hell when some random Gardener in some random part of the world can apply General Theory to the Naming of Compost Piles and get away with it. What next I wonder, and I really should be ashamed of myself, yet I also have high hopes for discursive, episodic, prolix.

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Like This On Facebook

For those of us who sometimes decide that indeed there might well be hope for the maladjusted there's a test out there by which progress maybe judged. This year I'm sad to report I got yet another failing grade. I totally cracked in the early hours of day two. And it's likely I said something I probably shouldn't have done about perfectly innocent people sitting around a table and there were candle sticks and other decorative accents and a whole bunch of very idiotic lists of wholly transparent statements of the toe curling kind. All of it crying out for peer review.

 I still believe that with time, considerable effort and maybe a lobotomy I am capable of achieving correct mental attitude and developing the necessary inane chirpiness that doesn't include the expression "Bite Me" as a catch all phrase. So don't get me wrong, I'm just not going to personally visit Facebook until a couple of months after the festive season of 2020. Instead I'll be delegating that role in the grand scheme to my good friends Pinterest and Blogger, who are so engrossed in the mathematics of it all they're completely past caring and pretty much oblivious to earthly matters.

Friday, November 28, 2014

Title Angst

Some of us are again looking for a title. Scary Compost Pile II, might not do it. But it does have potential for what the professionals call "A Current Working Title" and I would have gone for Scary Compost Pile II as a current working title had it not been for the small problem that  Scary Compost Pile II is the eighth Compost Pile from the left, and I need an idea of the third Compost Pile from the left. And here, I'm afraid to say, The South Saxons as a title is beginning to sound a little like really badly made gravy.

 And it might be I need the assistance of a clinician, or a G-Plus Community but The Sabean Genre has a structured-structure-less-ness that obsessed a few brave French thinkers following the Second World War, and in general musing about The Rabbit of Usk, sometimes it's worth returning to the origin of an idea. And the thing about the second and third Compost Piles from the left is the intimacy of their connections. They are as brothers, if you will. So I was thinking A Weaver of Declines as a possible sibling to A Weaver of Inclines. At the same time, our hero's decline from peak hero-dom to the dark corridors of Pen-Y-Fal has a long way to go. Don't you just hate geometry.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

A Small Blessing for The Otherwise Preoccupied

Prelude to Winter Solstice is always a difficult time. It's more like a purgatory with decorative accents and unnecessary expenditures than it is like a hell, but all the same the secret is to keep 'otherwise preoccupied.' A mind wanders, starts concerning itself with the history of a completely fictional people, and there's always the happy possibility of a rubber room somewhere.

 And here with respect to giving thanks, I am indeed grateful that all those years ago I decided against actually inventing a completely fictional language for a completely fictional people. Don't get me wrong, I do have notes. Reams of them, entitled The Language of Sabeans. Then the technical device arrived, I pretty much forgot how to do handwriting and I'll tell you this much, a made up language really confuses the spell checker.

Wednesday, November 26, 2014


 I'd like to be able to say that we Sabeans don't enjoy our History, that way I could altogether avoid having to explore our History. But when a writer of pulp gathers his notes into one place, an exercise that took about three days, and he then makes the mistake of discovering that technical devices are capable of counting words, it can all get a little overwhelming. Eight hundred and fifty odd thousand words is not something a person can look at and say something like, "That makes sense."

 And too, given the total inadequacy of the steel trap some call memory, I had for example completely forgotten that while in Egypt Sabeans had a Sand Castle Building Festival. During the MCCXXXV Sand Fest Neferhotep III shuffled off the mortal coil after just one year as a Pharaoh. While this might figure in some sort of Sabean Trivial Pursuit, it is according to my notes of wider interest because Neferhotep III was very likely a Sabean. And here it gets interesting, Neferhotep III had a Greek Aunt.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The Diaspora

Usually as a result of infighting amongst the powerful, stability is ephemeral for us people, which is about as close to physics as we Sabeans are able to get. Our concept of entropy is probably about thirty thousand years old, so what we call The Babylon Incursion had an inevitability to it, and was anticipated. For the nit-picking purist it wasn't actually Babylon that invaded Egypt it was Persia. And I could go on but the point is we Sabeans had had a settled existence for a good long time, we had things like hobbies, we had things like chess tournaments, we had our arts and crafts, we had our debating societies, we had something a little bit like Thanksgiving that included sand castle building. And The Babylon Incursion put an end to all that.

 It can be emotional so I'm not certain whether I've explained the Ramses Schism with any great success, but I think for us students of the Rabbit of Usk, the important thing for us to remember is that in the Diaspora, Pyramid Sabeans drew straight lines wandered down into the Arabian Peninsular, got all involved in accounting, in monument building, the Queen of Sheba, the spice trade, precious metals and all that kind of biblical stuff. Which was fine, a little disappointing perhaps, simplistic possibly, insipid maybe, but nothing basically wrong with it. The Sphinx Sabeans had a very different idea of geometry, we're not big fans of Euclid, The Einstein Incursion pretty much leaves us cold, so some Sphinx Sabeans wandered North and the more sensible ones wandered South.

Monday, November 24, 2014

The Green Sea

Yes indeed, Borg Biting is high on my list of pleasures. It releases tension, centers the passions and could well substitute for the relationship a writer of pulp has with his shovel. All the same, the History of the Sabeans, while it might not be for everyone is a necessary part of the Sabean Genre and as a result Sabean History, such as it is, has to be lodged in the shelves and if necessary forgotten about.

 I do understand that our experience in Egypt might not be for me to interpret, so a prĂ©cis might be the better way to go. We were there for probably about a thousand years. Ramses II did us no favors. And there were other things. For example while in Egypt we adopted the phrase "Green Sea" as our name for The Mediterranean. Where the Nile enters The Mediterranean the water is often a greenish color but nowhere else is The Mediterranean even a little bit green. So you can imagine the confusion.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

It's Good to Bite the Borg

I might have rambled a little yesterday. Indeed I know I rambled more than somewhat yesterday. Entirely possible I made no sense at all. And the sad thing is I know why I rambled. The first reason is a Fly or a Lady Bird seems to have got itself trapped inside the technical device. It buzzes now and then. It's the kind of noise that suggests an imminent technical device collapse, followed by "Why didn't I back anything up?"

 The second reason has to do with joining The Borg. A poor solution to the problem of belonging. And it seems to me the joy of writing, the pleasure of it, the thrill of words, the exploration, the roller coaster is often shot to hell by The Borg. I'm older of course, a small Star Trek fan. And in my mind The Borg is grammar, semi-colons, genres and the sound of dreams being sucked into the vortex of commerce, book covers, platforms, reviews and the passion to be noticed. You can call it craft if you want to, but I wonder where such obedience ends.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Sphinx/Pyramid Schism

Around four or five thousand years ago in our Wandering Northward we Sabeans entered that confusing part of our history which we still think of as The Pillars of Pharaoh. And too, when Sabeans gather to discuss The Pillars of Pharaoh it can often lead to discord amongst us. The more astute tribesmen will recognize this discord as an expression of the uncomfortable relationship we had with Egypt, and try to pretend it never happened. Sadly that's not always possible. My own opinion, and it's one I can become really quite passionate about, is essentially that we are more of a Sphinx People than we are a Pyramid People. It's an argument that can while away many an evening and more often than not. it ends up in some kind of drunken brawl, after which everyone bursts into tears and we all ramble on a little about Ramses II.

 Ramses II inherited the personification of the Pillars of Pharaoh from his father a little over three thousand years ago and like all truly manipulative people he decided to give the Sabeans credit for defeating a challenge to his authority that came out of the Western Mediterranean. They were tower builders from Sardinia and they were pretty well organized. And here, the one thing all Sabeans can agree upon is that Ramses II was a truly dark moment in our history. Call him Ramses The Great at your peril around us. The point is, there's always been something unfair about any kind of a people who sail around in boats and then suddenly start marauding and pillaging. It's just wrong. Either way, it was this high praise from a Pharaoh that produced the Sphinx/Pyramid Schism in us Sabeans, which erupts now and then, especially around national holidays.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

A Collection of Habits

In their Wandering Northward the Sabeans picked up what we Sabeans call A Collection of Habits. And it's very possible this collection of habits, might have had something to do with inspiring a description of Sabeans found in the written work of Pamphile of Epidaurus. She wrote in the First Century AD. Her writing was more like a modern day blog than any kind of serious peer reviewed history. Yet amongst her notes, she does mention a short inscription written in Egyptian Late Period cuneiform on some kind of 'cellar wall' by some kind of 'anonymous hand' some sixteen hundred years before the First Century AD. And as we Sabeans understand Pamphile's interpretation, the inscription cruelly refers to the Sabeans has having emerged from the Crucible of Lucifer.

Now it might well be that it was only later the word "Lucifer," which is Latin for "The Southern Star," became associated with the leader of the Angels Revolt against the One God. But Pamphile's interpretation still hurts those few of us Sabeans that might be a little sensitive. And I guess too, it's also entirely possible that it was these sort of random acts of writing on cellar walls that might have contributed to Pamphile's insistence that Sabeans might have had something to do with the first attempt to destroy the Library of Alexandria. Not something that was successfully accomplished until the Rashidun Caliphate in something like 645 AD. By which time for your information, there wasn't a single Sabean left in Egypt. All the same, I think the point I'm trying to make is that in our Wandering Northward we Sabeans acquired what we prefer to call  A Collection of Habits. It's not like a list, it's not something you stick on the lawn of a court house, it's more like a round about flow.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Wandering North

In the oral history of the Sabeans there's not so much an act of creation as there is what we Sabeans call a wandering northward.  Naturally enough the anthropological have and will continue to read all sorts of things into the Sabean concept of a wandering northward. But let me just assure you the anthropologist's total failure to grasp a wandering north is a stain on their so called 'professional standards,' and a bit of sore point with those of us Sabeans who've had the misfortune to have been studied by them.

A wandering northward, to paraphrase Sam Gompers, is a wandering northward. There was no serious plan behind this wandering northward, indeed it had more to do with finding a comfortable place to sit down, a nice breeze and maybe a good view. There is however some debate about where we might have wandered northward from. There are some who will persist with the idea that we got pissed off with our neighbors, but the general more sensible opinion is that while out for a walk it got dark and there were clouds in the sky that made navigating difficult so we couldn't find our way home. And it's really as simple as that.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Exploring the Arc.

The Sabean Genre, as I'll call it, has a very, very small following. Safe to say it falls several dozen points below the Madrigal. Which should really tell me something, but for some reason it doesn't. So I'm going to spend the next few days explaining The Sabean Genre to myself. Not something a writer of pulp usual does, but I am of the opinion it might be quite useful. Professionals would call it 'exploring the arc' or something like that. And there's a whole verbiage with workshops and these kind of money making opportunities for pretty much all genre's that are not the Sabean Genre.

Of course everything has to have a beginning. Otherwise narrative becomes structurally unstable, or what the professionals loosely define as 'codswallop.' So in this self explanation, this 'exploration of the arc,' I'll begin with the historical Sabean. Granted some of my sources are suspect. indeed many have spent time in jail, some have been kicked out of their cathedrals of learning for what the professionals call 'making stuff up,' but I'm not one to pass judgment on a firmly held opinion unless it involves farm animals. Either way, the plan is to begin with the Babylonian Invasion of Egypt. So I'm going to sit back and for my homework, I'm going to imagine it's about 3000 years ago and I'm somebody's belt buckle, or perhaps his shirt, or maybe his wooden spoon, or perhaps his shovel.

Monday, November 17, 2014


Today is an anniversary. And one of the things about losing brain cells is the increased capacity of a mind to completely forget. Either way this time last week I moved upstairs, an anniversary which might have slipped by me had it not been for the creators foresight when he or perhaps she, came up with the idea of House Dust.

For some, House Dust might be an irritation, for others it's an aid to memory and much appreciated. As well it's an opportunity to take the odd physical note regarding the rate of accumulation of House Dust. And here the prize is the first sighting of a Dust Bunny, which for the punters amongst us I currently estimate should begin to occur sometime in early March. 

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Winter Blooms

The bloom of a Rhinovirus is very apparent in the room where I sleep. They're like big white snow flakes with the occasional blue cough drop wrapper artfully arranged amongst them. And I can remember the reusable handkerchief, which were indeed the ideal fermentation zone for the Rhinovirus. Tongs are useful, I've found.

Perhaps in three months time this will be a distant memory. The Sufi poets engraved "This Too Will Pass" upon a ring for their King. He'd wanted a gift from them that would make him happy whenever he felt sad. Which is a classic request from those up there. Then when the king was happy and he looked at the ring, he was sad.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

The Carnival of Winter

 Engaged as I have been for the past ten days to the "Power of Positive Thinking" a weaker mind might by now have called off the engagement. One result of this engagement has been a head cold with cough and green phlegm. The other result, a dramatic decline in outdoor temperatures which has led to a certain amount of mental instability in your correspondent. A third result has been what I will call a somnolent response to A Weaver of Inclines which sadly promoted in me an increasingly flawed approach to social media.

 Pewdesduckle was quite kind in her recent review, but I have heard that an E-book by a pulp writer might not be worth reading unless it has received at least thirty reviews. And here in terms of the raw numbers, I'll need somewhere between twenty to thirty thousand very good friends if I am ever to achieve thirty reviews. But thanks to the "Power of Positive Thinking" we who are reclusive and also high on cough drops are able to consider these sorts of challenges as little more than a minor hiccup.

Friday, November 14, 2014


When browsing the origin of this or that name, a mind can take on a fever at the quantity of sometimes suspicious information available. And the better question is why would an accident of birth matter? Unless of course there is deep in us an idea that the moment of emerging into the world is written by a past time. And here I'm proud to say the first people whose name I carry either made candles, or lit candles, or owed candle wax, maybe just collected candles or had some kind of embarrassing fetish about candles.

 Nor will I be apologizing to, or seeking forgiveness from my ancestors for not having shown more interest in candles through the course of my years upon earth. I can say this because the very earliest candles were probably made in China and last time I checked the mirror I got no sense of a Chinaman staring back at me. Strangely, and this is just my opinion, not everybody accords significance to their own name. Worth noting, and this I do find a little worrisome, Candelarius was the Latin, Chandelier was the French. Which means I could be Italian?

Thursday, November 13, 2014

A Bunny Vacuum

Levitt is an Anglo-Norman name, which means Wolf-like. I thought the name Bunny Levitt had two things going for it. First of all the combination of 'Bunny' and 'Wolf' fills me with a certain joy. And too people called 'Bunny' tend in my mind at least to be of a particular social stratification that lends itself to a happy existence in something like a vacuum occupied by names like 'Dobby' and 'Inky.'

 There is a part of me that would like to think the word 'dated' might be applied to something like an 'Inky.' Yet I'm not sure the 'Bunny' vacuum has gone. More likely it's still out there, and while there maybe no 'Inky' contained within it, there's a good chance of finding something like a 'Precious' or a 'Harmony.' And being perfect in every way, my own name surely doesn't count in these ruminations.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014


Big Moon last night. Cast a fine shadow, sometime around two. And it's these sort of welcome home sights that put the poetry back into the spine of a Pulp Writing Handyman and Gardener. Yes indeed I have multi-tasked  myself, but not certain I yet have the correct title. I thought maybe PWHAG, for short.  I could add Attic Dwelling, which would make it ADPWHAG.

 For those interested, Our hero is currently in East Sussex, which is about the latitude of Newfoundland. It's winter time where he is, it's a little chilly and he's wearing shorts because shorts are part of his uniform. His grandfather has insisted the Saxon tribes were a kilt-wearing people, so he's wearing a kilt fashioned after a print of the Jacobite Pretender Bonny Charlie, they'd spotted in the encyclopedia.

Monday, November 10, 2014

The Stairs

There will be a move upstairs. Check out the old place. Give it a good sniff. Say Hi to The Great Black Wasp and The Hornet, that sort of thing. And it's all kind of exciting. There might even be a Lady Bird gathering by way of a ceremonial Welcome Home. But first there will have to be a few minor alterations to the "Egress and Degress" which is what we handymen call staircases.

We haven't always called staircases "Egress and Degress." There was a time when we simply used to call them "Stairs," but over time a handyman may develop a more "Up and Down" relationship with his "Stairs."  A more passionate sense of them. This usually stems from something like falling down "Stairs" or staring at them for a period not exceeding three months.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Theater Theatre

During the Second World War intelligence services issued bulletins. Some Top Secret, some less so. Authorized officers and men, closer to the front lines would have access to this stream of information from intelligence services concerning the latest weapons and tactics of the enemy.

What's this got to do with the price of eggs? I hear you ask. Well the men and women charged with collating the information and presenting it in a digestible form then passing it along to the relevant theatre of operations had a rural headquarters which after the second world war became a boarding school for boys. I thought I'd call it Bulstrode after the barge in Thomas the Tank Engine

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Promotional Activity

Promotional activities will of course continue. There is no rest for the writer of pulp. He might wonder a moment, dream of the warmer weather, cast a sly glance in the direction of Compost Piles, wonder what might have happened to his shovel. Then back to Instagram, which I am told is a fast, beautiful way to share life's more fulfilling moments with others. And I too regard those sort of random, subjective appraisals with a deep, abiding suspicion.

 Pinterest campaigning has it's ups and downs. Perhaps if I was more interested in garden furniture, or Cactus I might find Pin Boards that rock the boat, send shivers through my being. And too, one quickly discovers the odd, unavoidable derogatory remark is not in the least conducive to any sort of fulfilling, wholesome relationships between Pin Boards. A bit of good advise to those in this same field, the tenth Plantagenet King's relationship with the Forget-Me-not is of no interest to anyone. So avoid it if you can. Pinterest

Friday, November 7, 2014

A Weaver of Inclines

It's done.A Weaver of Inclines. There's ennui, naturally enough. A deep sense of depression that not even a collection of Turkey, chattering away and apparently engaged in some political dispute, could absolve. However, rather than admitting to some personal flaw I'm going to blame the weather forecasters.

A cold is approaching us that is vaguely described as very 'unseasonal.' And anything even remotely 'unseasonal' causes intense excitement in the weather forecaster. It's a classic example of the role 'disrupt' plays in our world. There might well be 'disruption,' I can think of Ebola, for example.

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Tags and Stuff

Tension mounting as the crayon set hunts down suitable tags. There's a team in lock down working on Episodic-Prolix-Discursive and they've been up all night. When I asked them to address the matter, there were indeed a couple of blank stares as I discoursed upon the the value of romantic sounding tags in the promotional activities around The Rabbit of Usk. "How about Stalky and Company?" One of my team suggested.

And I felt the blood flow out of my veins and puddle somewhere down there where my shoes used to be. Stalky and Company was Kipling's boarding school adventure. "Billy Bunter!" I shot back. "Harry Potter meets Tom Brown" somebody had the nerve to suggest. And I have to admit I became very despairing of my team's ability to reach the proper decision. "At least I've got a Rabbit," I huffed and left them to their gruesome work.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Tim Candler's Self Interviewer Speaks

The fifth of November is remembered as Guy Fawkes Day in some parts of the world. Here where I live this fifth of November will be devoted almost entirely to unabashed promotional activities. A Weaver of Inclines is almost ready to leave his fluffy little nest, and this means the diligent writer of pulp must take the deep breath, because out there somewhere the likes of Ampleforth and Pewdesduckle are thinking about what to have for their brunch and are quite unaware of the flattering e-mail they'll soon be receiving.

 As one who struggled with the ordeal of self interviewing Tim Candler, I was rather hoping to receive a free copy of his latest masterpiece, but I suspect the results of a recent election held within his county might have pissed him off a little, so who knows whether he'll go all Republican on me and force me to grasp the intricacies of logging in to the purveyors of E-Books and parting with two dollars and ninety-nine cents. Or a hundred and eighty rupees if you happen to bump into Incidentally, Candler assures me that the Indian Subcontinent does figure quite large in his latest ripping yarn.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014


It's the sudden gust of wind that can sometimes persuade the ladder a tornado could be imminent. And like all well prepared citizens the ladder knows that the safer place to be during tornado is in a ditch, or face down on the ground. Certainly not leaning against a wall granting a voter his opportunity to get off his roof.

 And it's all very well sporting the "I Voted" sticker, but I'll tell you this much when you're up there and the ladder decides to run away, an "I Voted" sticker does you very little good. As well, of the noises available to anyone stuck on a roof without a ladder, you'll find that the two fingered whistle is the one that might finally attract attention.

Monday, November 3, 2014

Bo-Peep Tunnel

The Ale-Conner in the Medieval period had the responsibility of ensuring that brewers of ale did right by buyers of ale. There was a whole thing, and any brewer of ale who didn't follow the somewhat loose leaf rules could be subject to ridicule by being made to 'go play Bo-Peep in the nut-cracker.'  The 'nut-cracker' was a pillory.

Bo-Peep, while familiar as a character in the nursery rhyme, was also a name used to describe excise men in the South East of England. As well there is a Bo-Peep junction on the southern railways in the United Kingdom. It wasn't named after a shepherdess, and there was a time when I thought it was.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Shivering Naraka

Well looks like we had it all. We had the frost, we had the moan, we had a few thoughts about Winter Solstice, we had a couple of Fall Iris popped into a jug of water. As well there was a brief contemplation of the "at-at-at sound." Which isn't a "chattering of teeth," I've discovered. A "chattering of teeth" is all part of the Chattering Teeth Naraka. And here it might be worth pointing out that not all thoughts of Hell are of fire and boiling cauldrons. There are in fact eight cold Hells, I am told. Each one more horrible than the one before, but although each Naraka does seem to last quite a long time, none of them are eternal Hells.

 The easiest of the cold Hells is the Blistering Naraka. You can't wear clothes and the cold is such that it raises blisters. But like most, my own interest has always been, how long I would have to endure such a place. The Blistering Naraka, lasts for as long as it would take to empty a barrel of Sesame Seeds if you were only permitted to take out one seed every hundred years. The Shivering Naraka, which is the third hell, would last sixty times longer than a Blistering Naraka. And it's The Shivering Naraka where a person has to deal with the kind of shivering that causes them to make an "at-at-at sound with their mouth." And even though I've got no idea what the "at-at-at sound" is I have to thank God I'm not in the Chatter Teeth Naraka because that Naraka lasts at least a hundred times longer than a Blistering Naraka.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

A Weaver of Inclines and Pinterest.

There may well be a delay in trotting out A Weaver of Inclines. The only available percussionists were a Steel Band, and there is something a little plinky-plonky about the Steel Band. Kind of flip-flops, and those of European origin attempting to score cheap pot, so they can wriggle around drunkenly for week prior to returning to the office cubicle so they might better concentrate upon their Pinterest addiction.

 I too am in the early stages of a Pinterest addiction. They are sort of Twitter, Facebook folk. My own contribution to the genre is equally self centered. And indeed I have pinterested a number relevant jpegs in my constant search for approval. It's called The Board, for those who might be unfamiliar. But much more terrifying, there appear to be at least eight others in the world who go by the name of Tim Candler.