Clues to the Existence of someThing Outside the Cosmic Box

I am not a troll.

I am a man, unbound, a slave to Christ.

Can any who follow Him live life unparadoxically?

I am a troll.

Live-blogging the Plumber

Tom Lommel liveblogs an appointment at his apartment with the plumber.

What is it about you humans and your beguiling and arcane practices?

I can not look away!

I'm not kidding, this is great stuff. Ah, the glamorous life of a Hollywood big shot.

Review-A-Palooza: Demon: A Memoir Discussions Start to Hit Stride

Nicole Petrino-Salter is suffering from another bout of the God virus, as propagated by Demon: A Memoir.

Fancy that.

This is one of the first reviews that I've come along that really starts to dig into the book's greater implications.* I have a feeling that the conversation started by Tosca Lee won't end until Judgment Day. If then.

This is going to be fun.**

*I mean, I've seen a few who have spoken of the book as "witnessing tool" to non-believers, but that falls short of the mark if that is the end of the discussion. The book is, first and foremost, a great story in an otherworldly format. It is a real story that makes demands on the reader--not to take a prescription or a "message" from it-- but demands that actually cause the reader to be somebody better, deeper, more loving, more engaged.***

**I mean, you know, I'm talking about a restrictive, semi-joyless fun, just in case you were getting worried. Only Diet Chocolate Cherry Fun for you!

***I know, I know. I've been playing it close to the vest about my opinion of Demon: A Memoir, so here's my big reveal: I kind of liked it. Shh.

The Bleeding Edge of Christian Entertainment

What? What? It is so Christian entertainment.

We have the theological issue: Tom Cruise is a Scientologist (although, unlike those pesky Christians, he keeps his beliefs to himself and never foists them upon the public).

We have the cultural relevance: the ukulele that all the kids are so into these days.

We have the self-conscious religious iconography: isn't that a shamrock on her shirt? That's a hidden symbol of the Trinity! Oh, wait, no it says "visit beautiful" -- same thing.

When they finally accept my application to be the station manager at TBN, I swear I'm going to open and close the broadcast day with this video. And wear powder blue polyester every day.

[Credits: Music and Lyrics by the Great Jonathan Coulton, performed by a famous ukulele-ist sort of named sweetafton23, but not in real life.]

Bohemian Aliens Go Crazy

I come a bit late to an interesting discussion that the aliens of bohemian persuasion (or vice versa, I'm never sure which) have perpetrated against the planet:

Is the mad artist a stereotype borne of a bygone romanticism, or does art benefit because of an artists' insanity?

The answer, to me, seems quite plain, and if I were to sum it up in one word, that word would be:

Octathorpe.

...By Any Other Name Tastes Like Chicken

Lost Genre Guild popped off about novel titles today, so I thought I'd do my public service and offer up, free of charge to any human foolhardy enough to steal them from me, some of my all time favorite book titles that have not yet been used:

Barfing Giants

Clavicle Marrow

Wuthering Smashy-smash

Bloat in the Afternoon

The Introverted Warlord

I've got this title-marketing thing down. And bleeding.

Never Ceese Always Starts

Sue Dent recently scrawled a comment here at my private journal. Clearly, the woman is a ninja, because very few have ever gotten past my balance traps, caltrops and pastry-spectre and lived to leave grafitti.

So, out of grudging respect for her stealth and moxie, I thought I'd mention* her novel Never Ceese. At the amazon site, you can read an excerpt (my initial thoughts - good writing, intriguing premise, knows the genre, brings something new early on in the chapter) and order the book.

Not having read the book yet, I can nevertheless highly recommend it for, uhm, humans who like letters that are put together in patterns to form words. Also turning paper pages with thumbs or fingers. If either of those are musts for you, I guarantee you'll like pushing the thin swatches of tree pulp and decoding its inkstains.

Sue Dent can be hunted down on the internet at, of all places, http://suedent.blogspot.com/

Incidentally, my thumbs and fingers are 88% fatty tissue, 6% concrete. They seek same. Which is why my stories are likewise - 88% fatty tissue, 6% concrete.** Just like my sandwiches.***

*to myself, of course. Not you. You aren't even supposed to be here.

**Which is why no one reads them.

***Which is why no one eats them.

UPDATE: A shameless propagandist mentioned her new site http://www.suedent.net/ - I'm not going to snitch on the tipster but her name rhymes with "Sue Dent."

Secular versus Christian, or Apples versus Oranges: Smackdown

The invaluable Lost Genre Guild has a post up about the monolithic acronymns in Christ-centered bookselling: the ABA, the CBA and the ECPA. In Secular vs. Christian? Sue Dent and Cynthia MacKinnon try to expose the breadth of publishing options open to Christian writers of the strange.

I seem to recall a journal posting by Ted Dekker about the emerging culture and how the line between secular and Christian is arbitrary. Christians both engage and contribute to the culture, or at least they should. Can one understand the culture without falling into sin? Can one address the culture without cloistering?

Yes. If you can let go of rumor and assumption and embrace Christ alone, you can.

From Malachi to Matthew

I can't recreate the sensation of living through the entire history of the world through the Old Testament and the subsequent "familiar shock" that arrives in the God-man Jesus portrayed in the book of St. Matthew.

I can only recommend that you attempt it. God is real and alien; strange and family; omnipotent and weak; omniscient and humble. There are only two thing stranger than the idea that God was born a man in order to save some humans: the first is that he told us, in great detail, for millenia, that he was going to do it (and we still didn't get it) and the second is that there are so, so many humans who don't believe it now even though it has already happened.

Poor, stupid humans. I've seen tar that reflects more light.

Jesus loves Demon (A Memoir, that is)

I've noticed a few reviews of my new favorite book on the planet: Demon: A Memoir.

The Review Hutch: Review of Demon: A Memoir

Dave enjoys Demon: A Memoir

Ginny Smith has a few thoughts as well.

Detecting a pattern, I'm sure. I hope you don't think its all just a bunch of hype. Would I lie* to you?

Okay, so maybe these do not constitute a direct endorsement from our friend and master. But, wherever two or more are gathered in his name...and I've gathered three! (four if you count all present semi-humans.)

*I mean, not counting that bit about me doing time for counterfeiting currency, or accidentally derailing transcontinental train shipments with a penny, or eating a rock or that bit about the cannibalism.

Life Before "Life After People"

I beat the History Channel to the punch, but only after they beat me to it first. Or vice versa.

Let me explain:

The History Channel will be airing a speculative documentary called "Life After People." It attempts to look at our cultural artifacts in a setting in which human life has abandoned or been stricken from, creation. Cherynobyl provides a case study.

The book I'm working on is a speculative story that attempts to look at our cultural artifacts before an apocalyptic* disaster. So, yeah, my book is sort of the spiritual pre-quel in fiction to Life After People. The other thing is that, in my book, the cataclysm isn't something currently popular, like nukes or disease or fire or demons or angels or spaceships. It is a relatively subtle, fundamental change to our social infrastructure.

So yeah, the book isn't published yet, isn't finished, even, and may end up in print ten years after Life After People airs, but, see, it comes first!

*I hate this term as it is used today. An "apocalypse" is NOT a widespread or total disaster that devastates a population. An "apocalypse" is something wonderful, like an unveiling at an art show.

Sin: Not Even Wrong

Peter Woit has written many very humbling critiques of string theory, perhaps most famously in his book Not Even Wrong.

Woit, a Ph.D. in theoretical physics and a lecturer in mathematics at Columbia, posits this basic argument: string theory, which has seen a quarter-century of near-dominance in physics departments in higher education, doesn't meet the basic criteria to be classified as a theory (thus, "not even wrong.")

I won't say any more about his argument or whether I, as just a dumb non-physics-nobody-troglodyte, agree with him or not* but what I do love is his turn of phrase. "Not even wrong" is a notion that casts a wide net, in which a person can snare all sort of empty cultural habits that we elevate to godhood.

Idols have always been "not even wrong." They signify only what the observer casts upon them, carry no intrinsic meaning, and promise everything while delivering nothing, and then telling us how satisfied we are. The garments in The Emperor's New Clothes are "not even wrong." The 30 minutes of "national evening news" are "not even wrong."

And something I've come to realize recently: breaking any of the Ten Commandments is, in a sense "not even wrong." What I mean is that there is a lot of literature and film and even philosophy that claims that, while breaking the Ten Commandments (i.e. committing any transgression) is "wrong," it is also "fun" or in some other way fulfilling. The "fun" or "advantage" is why we break any given commandment.

But I don't think that's right, at least, not most of the time. There's a nihilistic part of our nature that is "not even wrong." When a man commits murder, is he fulfilled by what it gains him? Does the money or catharsis or pride he gains move any part of his being closer to joy or laughter or even social advantage? Is there God's pleasure in it? Is it ever really "fun" to reap the whirlwind?

When you covet, does that coveting slake your thirst? Does it grant a joy alternate, a substitute for ownership? When we dishonor our parents, do we gain honor for ourselves?

Sin is "not even wrong." It is the absence of right. It is a choice to deprive oneself of the fellowship of God. It isn't a bad means to a good end. It is a bad means to an empty gesture.**

*I do agree with him. Completely and undoubtedly. Both feet stomping down from the heavens into his camp agree. But I didn't tell you. Because I'm objective.

**C.S. Lewis said it better when he said "Badness is only spoiled goodness."

On the Option of Quitting

Todd Michael Green has little jolt of inspiration for those who think writing should happen. In Messages From The Asylum: Towel Tossing, he notes a recent dry season, his thoughts at the time and how his perception has changed now.

I, on the other hand, am a quit-artist. What humans call "giving up," I simply call "my oeuvure.*"

*[That's French for "sloppy cheeseburger and teevee", I think.]

Robots Welcome, Humans Not

I've had a little trouble lately with humans coming to visit my internet home. I know that it shouldn't bother me in the least: I'm nearly eight feet tall and half as wide, and otherwise reasonably able to defend myself (reasonably able to offend myself, too.)

But it does. Humans, with their small, delicate ways, their charm-laden, soft tones, their scarecrow lightness and thoughtful expressions are not to be trusted. Their culture is fast: their minds ablur and their smiles shoot out knives and burning stars.

I'm troll enough* to admit that, yes, I have some trouble with these humans and their condition.

I'm much more amenable to Internet robots, spiders and their pet spams. These Internet humans...that's a different thing.

So if you come here, try to slip past. I snore loudly and sleep hard and often, so it shouldn't be too difficult. If I do find you, I may leap on to a stool, screaming and clutching my skir--I mean launch a mind-bogglingly threatening defense of my homecave and shoats.

On the other hand, spam messages, of course, will be treated like family.

*You know what? I haven't used an asterisk in a very long time.

Remember Ba'al of Peor

I remember the Alamo. I remember the Maine. I remember Pearl Harbor. I remember September 11.

But what about when the national injustice comes about by our hand? Until my most recent reading of the Old Testament, I wouldn't have been able to recall the Ba'al Peor heresy. And though it was commited by a nation not my own, it was commited by a people to whom I owe a great deal for my instruction in faith.

Ba'al of Peor was a bad thing, a memorable thing, a thing decried from the time of Moses to the time of Hosea (i.e. a really long time), an example of Israel's tendency in specific (and man's historic trend in general) to launch sneak attacks against God. Our lips praise him, but our hearts wander into darkness, until the moment of assault, of treason, of adultery.

We commit injustices against our Lord. We remember the Alamo, the Maine, and Pearl Harbor, but can never seem to recall Ba'al of Peor.

A Spectacularly Ineffective Marketing Ploy

Trust me, I know how to make money. I made a bunch in a basement a few years back and got a most-expenses paid extended stay vacation at a United States Federal Resort.* You humans and your quaint little Treasury Department and currency guidelines!

In any case, I'm a decent marketer, and not too shabby in the public relations department. My motto is "speak softly so you can whack the maximum number possible with a big stick before they know what is happening."

But when it comes to marketing my own creative works (such as a hand carved sludge pot or a rock I chewed on once), the marketing becomes more personal. My "brand" (if it must be called that) becomes a lot more strange.

For instance, I've got no problem casting out a simple slogan like "Thumbtack 3000 will change your life." I know, I know, it is just a thumbtack, but I really believe that a good thumbtack will improve the life of someone, as long as they are in need of a really good thumbtack at the time. (Which is why marketers hardly ever say: "Thumbtack 3000 will change your life unless you don't need a thumbtack." See? I'm a marketing genius!)

But when I'm trying to pitch someone how my inspirational, personal, handmade sludge pot will change that person's life, I sort of get quiet. My slogan becomes "My artfully crafted sludge pot will change your life. For the worse." That is in part because my sludge pots might ruin your day. (I have a dazzling little pot, perfect for any decor, that happens to spew fire and poisonous gas as a bonus feature. It cost me a few lesser phalanges and a negligible number of distant relatives.) But it is also in part because although I live in the strange every day, I don't know how to market the strange without being honest.

I can't say "Come to the Strange! It's wonderful, like a mountain of candy!" without mentioning that it may cost you your kidney. I may be a monster, but I'm an honest one.

I'm the same about the Gospel. Sure it is good news (in fact, the only good news), but I'm usually careful to mention that accepting it may cost you everything. Faith in Him is really, really difficult. Every day.

So, if you are in the market for weird, have I got a deal for you. Just be warned: someone's going to owe me a kidney.

*This is slight hyperbole. However, one time when I was just a shoat (young ogre) I did put a penny on a railroad track. It derailed the Rock Island Line and snarled transcontinental shipments for weeks. Uhm, yeah. But to call it a federal counterfeiting conviction is a bit of an overstatement.

The Map Ends. Then Does a Bit About Timmy and A Well.

Jeff Gerke at Where The Map Ends is a writer's writer's, uh, editor...thingy.* He's funny and smart and experienced and, uh, funny, too.

He has a great writing commandment today, too. Tip #62** - Go, and don't do likewise.

*I wroted that all by my self. Because I'm very good at the putting words together and making them sound right thing.

**What is it with these young writers today and their metrosexual "Writing Tips?" When I was a boy, all the great writers dispensed writing Laws, by God, and we liked it. "Show, Don't Tell." "Never end a sentence with a preposition." "Adverbs are for communist weaklings." "Consonants are not your friend."

Today, we've got all these kinder, gentler "Writing Tips," like "As a writer, you are totally free to write whatever you feel, in any way you so choose, but if I might offer this little tip, for you to reject or accept at any level you so desire, I would just say that you might want to move the skull explosion scene from the author's dedication to a more climactic part of the 900-page novel. Perhaps the prologue?"

James Cagney Could Beat You Senseless...and Dance

My favorite fight scene of his (and, in parts, his judo-trained stuntman) -



My favorite musical number - pay attention as he descends the staircase. I love that:




[A note on the scene from Yankee Doodle Dandy - Cagney is playing an older George Cohan on the eve of world war two. The young soldier doesn't recognize him as the author of the famous anthem that they are singing.]

Havah: The Story of Eve

That's the title of the book, which I believe I've failed to mention for about three posts now. It isn't because my battle-lobotomized brainpulp has turned my memory to slosh, though. As you know, time isn't running out: it is running backwards. That's why the title, which comes first, now comes last!*

Havah: The Story of Eve, by Tosca Lee, is slated to come out in October of this year.

*Yes, I should receive credit for manipulating quantum physics and eschatology to my own, excuse-riddled ends. Just be glad I didn't throw in a Mandlebrot Set, because I could have. I really could have.

Tosca Lee Chernobyls Her Underwood

Just to finish off the invasion of words that Tosca Lee launched on her editors (previous posts here and here):

Her first run-through hit 160,000+. Considering the target was 100,000, I'm thinking that she met her mark. Then punched it in the face. Then kicked it when it was down and rolled it off a cliff.

Poor mark.

Sorry for all the violence, but I've never been one to tack toward the Isle of Appropriate Social Conduct.*

In case you didn't know.

* This also applies to my disgusting disregard for the victims of bureaucratic failure and improper oversight in the old Soviet Union from whom I carelessly appropriated for my title. Also, I lied about Lee and her Underwood. At least, I think I lied. I don't actually know how she first writes her words, but the two things I'm pretty sure she doesn't use are a clay tablet or a manual typewriter. But a clay tablet would be cool. Especially if that's how she wrote Demon: A Memoir.

Why "Strange Wind?"

There are really two reasons, one that I knew at the time when I started this journal and the other that only became apparent later.

The first reason stems from a project I'm working on right now regarding a pre-apocalyptic gainland (as opposed to a post-apocalyptic wasteland.) It is weird, dangerous, violent, familiar and hopeful.

The second is because of a passage in Jeremiah 4:

“At that time the people of Judah and Jerusalem will be told,
‘A scorching wind will sweep down from the hilltops in the desert on my dear people.
It will not be a gentle breeze for winnowing the grain and blowing away the chaff.
No, a wind too strong for that will come at my bidding. Yes, even now I, myself, am calling down judgment on them.’

Look! The enemy is approaching like gathering clouds. The roar of his chariots is like that of a whirlwind."