“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”—A Poem by Wallace Stevens

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(Image: Sanatli Bi Blog)

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

– Wallace Stevens
(from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens, 1954)

In Honor of “Shark Week!”—The Devil’s Teeth by Susan Casey, Introduction & Link

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“An ocean without its unnamed monsters would be like a completely dreamless sleep.”

– John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez


Introduction

The killing took place at dawn and as usual it was a decapitation, accomplished by a single vicious swipe. Blood geysered into the air, creating a vivid slick that stood out on the water like the work of a violent abstract painter. Five hundred yards away, outside of a lighthouse on the island’s highest peak, a man watched through a telescope. First he noticed the frenzy of gulls, bird gestalt that signaled trouble. And then he saw the blood. Grabbing his radio, he turned and began to run.

His transmission jolted awake the four other people on the island. “We’ve got an attack off Sugarloaf, big one it looks like. Lotta blood.” The house at the bottom of the hill echoed with the sounds of scientist Peter Pyle hurrying, running down the stairs, pulling on his knee-high rubber boots, slamming the old door behind him as he sprinted to the boat launch.

Peter and his colleague Scot Anderson, the voice on the radio, jumped into their seventeen-foot Boston Whaler. The boat rested on a bed of rubber tires beside a cliff; it was attached to a crane which lifted it up and into the air. The crane swung the whaler over the lip and lowered it thirty feet, into the massive early winter swells of the Pacific.

Peter unhooked the winch, an inch-thick cable of steel, as the whaler rose and fell into troughs big enough to swallow it. He started the engine and powered two hundred yards toward the birds, where the object of all the attention floated in a cloud of blood: a quarter-ton elephant seal that was missing its head. The odor was dense and oily, rancid Crisco mixed with seawater.

“Oh yeah,” Peter said. “That’s the smell of a shark attack.”

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What’s on the Tube? A 2015 Canadian Creeper: “Man VS”. The question is: VS what? I’m not so sure you wanna know…💀💀💀

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This poster was “the lure”.

“It came from another world. It did not come in peace.”

Do they ever? I wasn’t so sure about this little Netflix beauty. My “Horror nose” was sniffing around the Horror category, and I adore found footage films. It’s an obsession. I just love them all. I really dug the poster above. And the trailer was very promising. But, it wasn’t until I snooped around some Canadian websites and saw the other poster (below) that I began salivating. Maybe even drooling. . .

The very promising trailer…

‘Man Vs. is a 2015 Canadian science fiction found footage horror film directed by Adam Massey (The Intruders) from a screenplay by Thomas Michael, based on Massey’s storyline. It stars Chris Diamantopoulos, Chloe Bradt and Michael Cram.

As host of his own hit TV series, Man Vs., Doug Woods is forced to fend for himself for five days in remote locations with no crew, food, or water, only the cameras he carries on his back to film his experiences.

Doug is in the remote woods for a routine episode, until he’s awoken by an earth-shaking crash. Things get weirder as it becomes clear he is not alone. Someone or something is watching him.’ 

Reviews:

“The twist of who is following Doug around is spoiled very early on, and it’s a revelation that you’ll either love or hate. If you can deal with it, the payoff is fantastic and the film ends on the perfect note. Even if you’re unwilling to accept the reality that Doug is trapped in, the film still does a wonderful job of building tension…” – William Brownridge, Toronto Film Scene

“The choice to use low grade CGI is pretty baffling as what they are used for […] could have easily been achieved practically and they’d have looked a hundred times better as a result. Chris Diamantopoulos is great as Doug, perfectly conveying his fear and confusion as everything goes to hell around him…” – Daniel Hadley, Addicted to Horror

” …this is a very well made, entertaining sci-fi/horror. The acting is solid and the cinematography is smart, but they are let down by the unoriginal aspects of the story and … CGI. But to make a film that looks this good on such a low budget is a credit to the director.” – Chris Pickering, UK Horror Scene

Source: https://horrorpedia.com/2017/02/15/man-vs-2015-canadian-sci-fi-found-footage-horror-film-movie-plot-reviews/

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That OTHER poster. 😬 Sadly, this scene must’ve been edited out of the final film. But it’s still a cool movie. Worth a watch!

“The Call of Cthulhu”—The Story That Started It All—by H. P. Lovecraft, 1928

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Art by Robin Claridjs.

 

The Call of Cthulhu

H. P. Lovecraft, 1928

 

(Found Among the Papers of the Late
Francis Wayland Thurston, of Boston)

***

“Of such great powers or beings there may be conceivably a survival . . . a survival of a hugely remote period when . . . consciousness was manifested, perhaps, in shapes and forms long since withdrawn before the tide of advancing humanity . . . forms of which poetry and legend alone have caught a flying memory and called them gods, monsters, mythical beings of all sorts and kinds. . . .” – Algernon Blackwood

***

I

The Horror in Clay

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents. They have hinted at strange survivals in terms which would freeze the blood if not masked by a bland optimism. But it is not from them that there came the single glimpse of forbidden aeons which chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream of it. That glimpse, like all dread glimpses of truth, flashed out from an accidental piecing together of separated things—in this case an old newspaper item and the notes of a dead professor. I hope that no one else will accomplish this piecing out; certainly, if I live, I shall never knowingly supply a link in so hideous a chain. I think that the professor, too, intended to keep silent regarding the part he knew, and that he would have destroyed his notes had not sudden death seized him.

My knowledge of the thing began in the winter of 1926–27 with the death of my grand-uncle George Gammell Angell, Professor Emeritus of Semitic Languages in Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island. Professor Angell was widely known as an authority on ancient inscriptions, and had frequently been resorted to by the heads of prominent museums; so that his passing at the age of ninety-two may be recalled by many. Locally, interest was intensified by the obscurity of the cause of death. The professor had been stricken whilst returning from the Newport boat; falling suddenly, as witnesses said, after having been jostled by a nautical-looking negro who had come from one of the queer dark courts on the precipitous hillside which formed a short cut from the waterfront to the deceased’s home in Williams Street. Physicians were unable to find any visible disorder, but concluded after perplexed debate that some obscure lesion of the heart, induced by the brisk ascent of so steep a hill by so elderly a man, was responsible for the end. At the time I saw no reason to dissent from this dictum, but latterly I am inclined to wonder—and more than wonder.

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On This, the Day of the Pig, a New Horror Novel by Josh Malerman (Bird Box, Unbury Carol)

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On This, the Day of the Pig by Josh Malerman


About the Book

Jeff looked over his shoulder back to the hidden pigpen. Pearl was all he could see. Pearl. Sitting on its ass like a person might, it’s front hooves limp at the sides of its belly, head was cocked slightly to the side, pink ears straight high above its head. Its bad eye looked dark, hidden; its good eye was fixed on Jeff. In it, Jeff saw an intelligence that scared him.

A half smile appeared under the pig’s snout, or maybe it was just the way its lips naturally curled up at their ends. Jeff fingered the latch. Pearl watched. Staring. Assessing. Planning? He pulled his fingers away. A streak of shame ran down his back, like he’d come close to letting something very bad out of the pen…

Special Cemetery Dance Hardcover Signed, Limited Edition

• Limited to just 1,000 signed copies
• Personally signed by the author on a unique signature page
• Printed on 60# acid-free paper
• Featuring a high-end binding with colored head and tail bands
• Printed and bound with full-color marbled endpapers
• Sewn-in ribbon page marker
• Featuring hot foil stamping on the front boards and spine
• Smyth sewn to create a more durable binding
• Limited ONE TIME printing of this special edition
• Retail price just $40!

Get the book, here…

https://www.cemeterydance.com/on-this-the-day-of-the-pig.html?mc_cid=3cb26fcdc9&mc_eid=3fe9b7a2a5