The Glory of Garbage

I watched a 1988 movie called GROTESQUE last night. It had a lot wrong with it. Pacing issues. Bad effects. Lack of focus. A terribly silly ending. And yet. And yet I enjoyed myself. Been a while since I sat alone in the dark and watched a dumb horror movie. There’s something incredibly comforting about that for me. Weirdly enough, during my recent streak of nightmares, I was watching very little horror. It’s as if consuming horrific things satisfies the things that give me nightmares.

I finished writing a novella yesterday called Parasite Patch. It will be the first of a series of stories featuring the pulp hero Gerald Hawke. He and his partner Audrey travel the world investigating and often fighting all manner of supernatural menace. His books chronicling these exploits have given him a significant amount of success and he’s trained in various forms of martial arts. Trouble is, he is rather squeamish. The goal is to release four or five of these, one a month, and later collect them into an omnibus later this year. It sounds ambitious, but these stories are a lot of fun to write. Working on them feels more like play than work. I hope they’re just as entertaining to read.

Found this crazy thing at Half Price Books.

It’s a Laserdisc!!!

I considered picking it up, but holy crap! While the laserdisc itself was cheap, laserdisc players are anything but! I’m curious (and this question goes out to all the collectors out there). Are laserdiscs, like vinyl records, actually a superior medium, despite being deemed obsolete? Also, if anyone has a lead on a reasonably priced player, please (pretty please!) let me know.

There’s something primordially fascinating and rewarding about rediscovering treasures. There’s glory in garbage. Or splendor in crap, to paraphrase Michael Chabon (who loves BENEATH THE PLANET OF THE APES even more than I do). Sometimes it’s an iconic frame in an otherwise messy film. Sometimes it’s art made by a problematic person. Sometimes it’s an enlightening psychedelic trip during a period of wretched excess. Sometimes it’s falling in love at a funeral. Sometimes it’s the stories of Lester Dent, Robert E. Howard, Edgar Rice Burroughs, and H.P. Lovecraft appearing in dime novels.

Happy Sunday.

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