scienceandstuff:  Interesting Theory…

Shakes

Nerve: Anthropologist thinks Shakespeare may have been a pothead

To inhale or not to inhale, that is the question. South African anthropologist Francis Thackeray thinks he may have discovered the true source of William Shakespeare’s poetic genius — marijuana. Back in 2001, Thackeray found several clay pipes with evidence of pot and cocaine being linked to Shakespeare’s garden. But now he is so set on proving his theory that he’s seeking permission from the Church of England to exhume the Bard’s body so he can physically analyze him.

Shakespeare himself, however, doesn’t want to go anywhere, at least according to the inscription on his tombstone, which reads, “Blessed be the man that spares these stones/ And cursed be he that moves my bones.” Only time will tell if Thackeray will ever actually get access to Shakespeare’s remains. But if he does, we may finally learn just what that “noted weed” mentioned in Sonnet 76 is.

King Of The Literary Links

ATTENTION FELLOW POETS, WRITERS & Ne’er-do-well’s…

http://www.everywritersresource.com/Biglist.html

Here is a link to the Holy Grail of Magazine Listings that take poetry submissions & prose submissions in some cases as well. There are 2000 links here…. Use them wisely.

Best,

R.M.Literary Links

King Of The Literary Links

New Work Published In Horror Sleaze Trash Zine…

New work, poetry published in Horror Sleaze Trash …

Horror Sleaze Trash ...

New Work Published In Horror Sleaze Trash Zine…

A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US WITH A WALL IMITATION

A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US

WITH A WALL IMITATION

______________________________________

Mime Poem

Mime Poem 2

R.M. ~ 1989

Note …. I hate mimes.

weeklylizard:

Vintage Books launches Weekly Lizard, a new mobile-enabled website for fans of mystery, crime, suspense, and thriller fiction. 

                                                                                         

New York, NY (June 22, 2011) – Vintage Crime/Black Lizard, the leader in quality paperback crime fiction publishing, today launches Weekly Lizard, a content-driven, mobile-enabled site featuring the latest-breaking news and features from the world of crime, thrillers, suspense, and mystery novels.  With Weekly Lizard, readers will have a definitive new source of information on what’s new and what’s hot written by leading authors, booksellers, journalists, bloggers, and other experts in the mystery and thriller genre.  The new site can be found at www.weeklylizard.com.

 

Regularly updated features and news articles (daily, weekly, and monthly) on Weekly Lizard will include in-depth author profiles (In the Lineup); informative and insightful essays and profiles of great mystery characters (Tough Guys and Dangerous Dames), a selection of great quotations from classic and contemporary mystery and thriller novels (Wiseguy Quotes), and early excerpts from hotly anticipated forthcoming novels.  Beyond breaking news stories, the site will draw on Vintage Crime/Black Lizard’s rich backlist, and exciting lineup of contemporary authors for original essays, and historical documents that will serve as an authoritative archive to interest any mystery buff. 

 

Weekly Lizard will include information on Vintage Crime/Black Lizard’s classic crime writers Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Eric Ambler, Chester Himes, Ross Mcdonald, and Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö; as well as current bestsellers Stieg Larsson, Henning Mankell, James Ellroy, Jeff Lindsay, John Burdett, and Ruth Rendell.  Features articles will also be derived from books and news across the publishing industry.

 

Weekly Lizard will also be the go-to spot for the latest book-to-film news and features, as well as classic film noir.  Exclusive and original articles on upcoming releases will include major motion pictures such as Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo starring Daniel Craig and Rooney Mara, and directed by David Fincher; George V. Higgins’ Cogan’s Trade starring Brad Pitt; Jo Nesbo’s Headhunters; and the upcoming remakes of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man starringJohnny Depp, and Gregory Mcdonald’s Fletch

 

The site will also cover current popular crime television series such as Showtime’s’ “Dexter” series starring Michael C. Hall based on Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter character; PBS’s “Wallander” series starring Kenneth Branagh, and based on Henning Mankell’s best-selling novels; HBO’s “Mildred Pierce” series starring Kate Winslet and based on the classic novel by James M. Cain; and PBS’s Masterpiece/Mystery!’s upcoming “Zen” series starring Rufus Sewell and based on Michael Dibdin’s Aurelio Zen detective novels.

 

Along with original content that crime fiction fans won’t find anywhere else, the site features a sleek design in keeping with the iconic noir look that distinguishes Vintage Crime/Black Lizard. Readers will have a chance to participate in the rich crime writing community by sharing content across multiple social media platforms (including Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr) and by joining discussions related to the posts. Pulling from a large classic backlist, and the exciting new work being published every year, the Weekly Lizard is the new essential destination site for any mystery fan.

 

The new site: www.weeklylizard.com

And social media sites…

FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/WeeklyLizard

TUMBLR: http://weeklylizard.tumblr.com

TWITTER: http://twitter.com/weeklylizard

 

*

About Vintage Crime/Black Lizard: Vintage Crime/Black Lizard was formed in June 1990 with the acquisition of Black Lizard, a renowned publisher of classic crime fiction that was created by Donald S. Ellis and Barry Gifford. Before the acquisition, Vintage Books was already publishing the work of respected American authors such as Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, and Raymond Chandler under the Vintage Crime series. With Black Lizard came the literature of Jim Thompson, David Goodis, and other great noir writers of the post World War II era, allowing the formation of one of the preeminent crime publishers in the country. Vintage Crime/Black Lizard remains devoted to the best of classic crime, having added Eric Ambler, Chester Himes, and Ross Macdonald to the list. We are also proud to publish some of the most talented crime and mystery writers working today, including Henning Mankell, Lisa Unger, Stella Rimington, Carl Hiaasen, Michael Harvey, Ruth Rendell, April Smith and Andrew Vachss. 

 

About Vintage Books: Vintage Books was founded in 1954 by Alfred A. Knopf as a trade paperback home to its authors.  Its publishing list includes a wide range, from the most influential works of world literature to cutting edge contemporary fiction and distinguished non-fiction.  As the continuous publisher of important writers including William Faulkner, Abraham Verghese, Sandra Cisneros, Vladimir Nabokov, Albert Camus, Ralph Ellison, A.S. Byatt, Philip Roth, Toni Morrison, Cormac McCarthy, Alice Munro, Orhan Pamuk, Dave Eggers, Robert Caro, Joseph Ellis, Haruki Murakami, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, it is today’s foremost trade paperback  publisher. 

Profiles: Steve Kilbey~Musician, Poet & Painter

Steve Kilbey

STEVE KILBEY

Steve Kilbey (born 13 September 1954, Welwyn Garden City, England) is the lead singer-songwriter and bass guitarist for The Church, an Australian rock band. He is also a music producer, poet, and painter.Steve Kilbey 

Kilbey began his professional music career at age 17 when he joined a “cabaret band”. He then joined Precious Little, a rock band featuring future Church bandmate Peter Koppes on drums. Kilbey followed up with another band, Baby Grande, around 1978 while he lived in Canberra. Soon after, he formed The Church along with Koppes, Nick Ward, and Marty Willson-Piper.   After some success in their native Australia in the early 1980s, Kilbey and The Church went on to international fame when “Under the Milky Way” (from their 1988 album Starfish) became a hit.

Kilbey has released six solo music albums and collaboratively written and/or produced recordings with the late Grant McLennan (of The Go-Betweens), Stephen Cummings, and Kev Carmody. Earthed, a book of fiction, was published in 1986, in conjunction with an album of the same name of instrumental electronic music. His book of poetry, Nineveh/The Ephemeron, was released in 1998 and was later republished.

Kilbey lives in Bondi, a suburb of Sydney, Australia, with his wife and three of his five children.  His brothers, Russell Kilbey and John Kilbey, have also led successful Australian bands.  

A biography of Steve Kilbey titled No Certainty Attached was released in June 2009 by Verse Chorus Press. Also in June 2009, an album with Martin Kennedy (from All India Radio) called Unseen Music, Unheard Words was released. Kilbey’s first solo record in eight years, entitled Painkiller was released in North America on Second Motion Records in early 2009.

~ Wikipedia

__________________

rocknroll gave god to you

the light still pours out of me

the need to experience everything

the most sacred place the most dirty place

the place that is no place at all

the emptiest place where the soul stripped bare of skins

and  hardly recognisable  to that naked  i

they have sold you a lie brothers and sisters

and the rock and the roll is a path to that lies heart

ladies and gentlemen is it not best that we rock and rock on?

i strap on my plank with wires but its a stradivarius of a plank

boom boom boom my amplified notes that have busted my ears

i am an old soldier still fighting in his legion

my sword is my music

my arrows are my words

my integrity is my shield

my failures and mistakes scar me but i fight on

such a grandiose metaphor  such is rocknroll

you can be high n mighty

you can be down and low

you can be gay or junkie or christian or  fool

you can be lovely or ugly or rich or poor

self taught or conservatory it doesnt matter

rock put the power back in all our hands

now we the people can select our heroes

and we choose em from rocknroll because its all we got

you cant trust actors n politicians speaking someone elses lines

you cant trust rocknroll singers either …what the hell do we know?

but rock aint asking for your trust

rock aint asking for your vote

but it is asking for your money

and in return it gives you something

so sublime there is no word to describe it

some revelation some bliss some divine insight

some release of the feeling of love

some excitement some hope some pride some joy

only a few can ever invoke such things and that music we treasure

it brings the holy to even the most heathen of hearts

it sets the scene for an epiphany

it guides you towards a splendid feeling of being in the know

it creates a world for you

each record by the beatles built on and expanded from the last world

the initial solid modern construction would begin to sprout strange new wings

consider “the end” by the doors

who has ever conjured this mood before except maybe arthur rimbaud?

a journey within decadence and failure and random images of dissolution

when its all over you feel like you experienced something, eh?

oh that jimbo quite a poet and those lovely instruments

hear them embellishing and weaving the threads of the story

hear that voice leading you all over the place

through time and nightmare

its a play its a poem its a story its a vision

in this we somehow get glimpses of  the supernatural world

the world inhabited by spirit by the dead by the drugged by the insane

a wild world oh baby baby

there is magic in this world and 3 short cuts

are sex drugs and rocknroll

all three together taken in regular large doses will open up your chakras

or something

the profound shift in any direction away from this dismal reality of here

when i was 16 i worked on a building site as a labourer

for 6 weeks of school holiday one year

at work it was brutal and hard and so male it was disgusting to me

everything was coarse and vulgar and loud and brutal

i got home and my antidote was to enter the world of “a beard of stars”

yeah marc bolan was the opposite of the guys on the site

here was romance and tragedy and strange strange magic

a middle earth set to some mixture of the weirdest rock

these songs seemed dragged from another continuum

where eric claptonesque forms are laid over baroque tapestries

where fey means faery and miracles are materialising

and the love oh my goodness

the love the love the love

bolan is in love with his babe

he is donovan playing romeo playing legolas playing caspian

away from the concrete dust and the muddy carpark and blokes

bolans world opened upon the first note of the record

it was not a world like a book to be explored once maybe twice

it was a world expanding open in breathtaking jumps

the more you listened the more you heard and ditto in reverse

this was not the hamfisted thump of your zeps and purples

nor the grammar school feel of yer yesses n genesises

nor the rebellious strut of the stones

not even the beatles

in all their trailblazing wanderings had hit upon this world

not even druggy not even deliberately weird

bolan had taken rocknroll instruments and techniques

and used them to outpour babylon and greece and narnia and druid

like half remembered books from childhood

with the witches and black cats and its elders and m m m magical moons

and against this backdrop bolan invokes youth and love and an ideal idyll

fuck its not everyones cup of tea

but the marvel is nonetheless that he pulled it off

and it gave me a chance to see the possibility

of reconciling all my favourite things into song

and somehow locking them there to be taken out when needed

i take bolans blueprint and i sometimes reassemble it in my own materials

thats alright thats what its all about

thats the business thats the way it s’posed to be

you take the best stuff and recombine it

thats what we do

thats what you like

~ Steve Kilbey

http://thetimebeing.com/blog

____________________

http://youtu.be/-Q6nKP10j4s

Somebody Else : Rimbaud As An Adult

Somebody Else: Arthur Rimbaud in Africa

Charles Nicholl
Random House, 1997 335pp
ISBN: 0-224-04376-5 

Arthur Rimbaud

Reviewed by Ann Skea


“…one might glimpse an underlying motive of the African years – to recover something elemental and primitive, an ancient feast, a mythologized childhood, an antidote to Europe corrupted by sophistication and pretence.”

Charles Nicholl’s comments on Rimbaud perhaps reflect some of his own reasons for writing this book. On the face of it, Rimbaud’s African years as a coffee trader, photographer, adventurer, Arabist and gun-runner, sound like the stuff of myth, a return to primitive hardships – exotic, even. But biographers have often seen these years as “a long blank coda at the end of a brief and brilliant career”, and the sources of information are, to quote Nicholl, “tantalisingly thin”.

Nicholl draws on the memoirs and reports of people who met Rimbaud briefly and worked or corresponded with him, but whose reports have “the usual uncertainties of anecdotal transmissions”. More importantly, he draws on Rimbaud’s own African writings, which often show a caustic, satirical wit, but which have none of the imaginative extravagance of his poetry, because that was precisely what he had determined to put behind him: “Je ne pense plus a ca”. So, despite Nicholl’s best efforts, the adult Rimbaud remains as tantalisingly blurred and enigmatic as he does in the three African photographs which he took of himself and which are reproduced in the book.

The irony of Rimbaud’s life was that, in spite of his efforts to leave European culture and his teenage excesses behind him, he became renowned, even before his death, for the poetry he contemptuously labelled “‘rincures’ – slops, dregs, leavings”. Rimbaud’s poetry and the legends of his early life inspired Bob Dylan, crept into Dylan’s songs, and later influenced Jim Morrison and touched a whole generation of English-speaking people who would not, perhaps, even recognise Rimbaud’s name. And, to judge by a quick survey of internet sites, Rimbaud’s early poetry and prose is still very important to the French.

In some ways, Nicholl’s book shares Rimbaud’s predicament. The Poet Maudit (the cursed or outlaw poet) of the brief early chapters is vivid, arrogant and outrageous , and quotations from his poetry and prose add fire and richness to the text. He is much more interesting than the “taciturn and tranquil”, ascetic, sometimes surly character of the later chapters.

Yet, Nicholl is a good writer who clearly likes his subject and perhaps, as the personal note at the end of the book suggests, even identifies with some of Rimbaud’s youthful extravagances. He tries very hard to bring the older Rimbaud to life – to flesh out the “somebody else” of Rimbaud’s youthful, paradoxical statement about the imagination: “I is somebody else”. And Nicholl’s own journey in Rimbaud’s footsteps does add immediacy and interest to the text, although it adds little that is new to the history. Like Nicholl’s image of Rimbaud’s first arrival in Aden, Rimbaud’s history remains “…like some scratchy old home-movie. The faces around him are blurred. There are jump-cuts due to lack of information. There are guesses.”. And one can sense Nicholl’s desperate need for concrete evidence in his almost chapter long investigation of the three “textually” but not physically” identifiable houses” in which Rimbaud lived in Harar. These houses prove almost as hard to pin down as Rimbaud himself, and all Nicholl can say with certainty is that Bet Rimbaud, the Rimbaud House currently shown to tourists, is not one of them.

Nicholl’s stated intention was to tell the story of Rimbaud’s African years and to show them as “a sort of doomed existential adventure”. But Rimbaud eludes him, as surely any existential hero must – refusing to be pinned down and closely examined. Unsatisfying as this is, one is left with a strong sense of the strangeness of Rimbaud’s character, and an understanding of Nicholl’s urge to find out more about those “lost” African years.

Illuminations…. Arthur Rimbaud.

Rimbaud

Childhood.

III

In the woods there is a bird; his song stops you and makes you blush.

There is a clock that never strikes.

There is a hollow with a nest of white beasts.

There is a cathedral that goes down and a lake that goes up.

There is a little carriage abandoned in the copse or that…

Illuminations…. Arthur Rimbaud.

Paris bar honors The Doors; may have to close them

Jim Morrison

Paris bar honors The Doors; may have to close them

PARIS (AP) — The walls of the Paris bar are plastered with images of Jim Morrison and The Doors, and a bust of the lead singer presides over the beer tap — all part of the owner’s lifelong passion for the band. But an attorney for the group doesn’t love it madly.

Christophe Maillet said he received a letter from a Beverly Hills, California-based attorney warning that “The Doors do not want to be seen as having approved of your establishment and also the consumption of alcohol.”

The April 21 letter — signed by Anthony Keats, The Doors’ intellectual property lawyer, and shown Friday to The Associated Press — urged Maillet to remove images of the group from his bar within three months.

Not an easy task.

The walls feature oversized close-ups of Morrison and framed photos and posters of the band. And there’s that bust of the flowing-locked singer at the tap.

Morrison, known for a partying lifestyle, died in 1971 at age 27 of heart failure in his bathtub in Paris — just minutes from Maillet’s bar. Morrison’s grave at Pere Lachaise cemetery remains a pilgrimage site for fans.

Doors lawyer Keats did not respond to email and phone messages Friday about the letter.

The decorations are from Maillet’s own collection — the fruit of 25 years as a dedicated fan, he said.

“I found my passion for Jim Morrison at the age of 12,” said the soft-spoken bartender. “Then I found a profession that could go along with it.

“Since I started in this business, my goal was to start a bar dedicated to Jim Morrison.”

After nearly a decade spent working at other people’s establishments, Maillet’s dream came true nine months ago when he opened the “Lezard King” — a play on Morrison’s nickname, the “lizard king.” Because he worried about possible copyright issues, Maillet used the French word for lizard, he said.

On the menu are cocktails of Maillet’s own creation that he baptized after Doors’ songs: the “Light My Fire” blends rum, Cointreau and citrus juices; the “Roadhouse Blues” mixes tequila, Cointreau and blue curacao.

Maillet won’t say how much he invested in the bar located in Paris’ hip Bastille neighborhood but said it amounted to his life savings.

Maillet doesn’t know what could happen if the legal action goes ahead — the attorney’s letter doesn’t specify — but he said: “I guess worst-case scenario is that they could close the bar.”

Maillet, who does not have a lawyer, wrote The Doors’ attorney back but said he hasn’t yet received a response.

He said in order to appease The Doors, he’d be willing to add other 1960s and ’70s bands to the bar’s decoration. The letter also demands that the name of the bar be changed — something Maillet flatly refuses.

He said he knows of about a dozen Doors-themed bars — from Amsterdam to India — and it’s unclear whether others have faced similar legal woes.

“I didn’t do this to destroy (The Doors’) image or to dirty it,” Maillet said. “I did it to make them happy.”

Copyright © 2011 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.


________________________

~The Anatomy of Rock~


The 1st electric wildness came
over the people
on sweet Friday.
Sweat was in the air.
The channel beamed,
token of power.
Incense brewed darkly.
Who could tell then that here
it would end?

One school bus crashed w/a train.
This was the Crossroads.
Mercury strained.
I couldn’t get out of my seat.
The road was littered
w/dead jitterbugs.
Help,
we’ll be late for class.

The secret flurry of rumor
marched over the yard &
pinned us unwittingly
Mt. fever.
A girl stripped naked on the
base of the flagpole.

In the restrooms all was cool
& silent
w/the salt-green of latrines.
Blankets were needed.

Ropes fluttered.
Smiles flattered
& haunted.

Lockers were pried open
& secrets discovered.

Ah sweet music.

Wild sounds in the night
Angel siren voices.
The baying of great hounds.
Cars screaming thru gears
& shrieks
on the wild road
Where the tires skid & slide
into dangerous curves.

Favorite corners.
Cheerleaders raped in summer
buildings.
Holding hands
& bopping toward Sunday.

Those lean sweet desperate hours.

Time searched the hallways
for a mind.
Hands kept time.
The climate altered like a
visible dance.

Night-time women.
Wondrous sacraments of doubt
Sprang sullen in bursts
of fear & guilt
in the womb’s pit hole
below
The belt of the beast
~~~

Worship w/words, w/
sounds, hands, all
joyful playful &
obscene-in the insane
infant.

Old men worship w/long
noses, old soulful eyes.
Young girls worship,
exotic, indian, w/robes
who make us feel foolish
for acting w/our eyes.
Lost in the vanity of the senses
which got us where we are.
Children worship but seldom
act at it. Who needs
temples & couches & T.V.
~~~

We can do it on a sunny
floor w/friends & make
any sound or movement
that comes. Roll on our
backs screaming w/mirth
glad in the guilt of our
madness. Better to be
cool in our worship &
gain the respect of the
ancient & wise wearing
those robes. They know
the secret of mind-change
reality.
~~~

“Have you ever seen God?”
-a mandala. A symmetrical angel.

Felt? yes. Fucking. The Sun.
Heard? Music. Voices
Touched? an animal. your hand.
Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water
& wine.
~~~

An angel runs
Thru the sudden light
Thru the room
A ghost precedes us
A shadow follows us
And each time we stop
We fall
~~~

No one thought up being;
he who thinks he has
Step forward
~~~

Shrill demented sparrows bark
The sun into being. They rule
dawn’s Kingdom. The cars-
a rising chorus- Then
workmen’s songs & hammers
The children of the schoolyard,
a hundred high voices,
complete the orchestration
~~~

“In that year there was
an intense visitation
of energy.
I left school & went down
to the beach to live.
I slept on a roof.
At night the moon became
a woman’s face.
I met the
spirit of Music.”
~~~

An appearance of the devil
on a Venice canal.
Running, I saw a Satan
or Satyr, moving beside
me, a fleshy shadow
of my secret mind. Running,
Knowing.
~~~

The day I left the beach

A hairy Satyr running
behind & a little to the
right.

In the holy solipsism
of the young

Now I can’t walk thru a city
street w/out eying each
single pedestrian. I feel
their vibes thru my
skin, the hair on my neck

-it rises.

~ Jim Morrison

Paris bar honors The Doors; may have to close them

Poem “Burn” In Red Fez

burn

Poem By R.M. Engelhardt.  June 2011

Poem “Burn” In Red Fez