Wednesday, October 31, 2012

10/31 51st Ward Notes.

Happy Halloween!

Take Flight (h/t Stephen Wise)

Dopplegangers lose weight to fit into their ideal person. It's why you tend not to deal with dopplegangers during the winter holidays.

The Ballad of the Georges:


Hurricane Sandy has got the Naiads all excited. The revolution will be damp.

They all float down here...-Eamon.

I'd give you all a scary quote, but I have guests in today. - Eamon.

What's that coming over the hill? George knows. (1972-2005)

THE GATES WILL NOT HOLD. THE GATES WILL NOT HOLD. - Last text from Rosehill Cemetery

Monday, October 29, 2012

10/29 51st Ward Notes

Falling leaves, falling pixies. What a wonderful season.

I saw a man in a pink dress staring forlornly at the gasmasks over at the army surplus store. I handed him the calavera de azucar that I had his name written on it, and promised him I would always remember.

I am the Arm and I sound like This. - Eamon.

Think about all the things you like and decide if they're worth sticking around for. And if they're not, then you go away, and you don't get to like anything...ever. -eamon

Friday, October 26, 2012

10/26 51st ward notes.

For those who wonder about Bristol Books store policies, keep in mind, I spent my childhood at Larry's Comic Book Store on East Devon.

Spiced Cider, Falling leaves, a fire and some music. I'm not -all- doom and gloom. -Eamon.

In the wilds of Wisconsin, Bear spirits take human form, and offer haunted tours. You can always spot them by their purple hair.

"I solved the puzzle!" -George (1939-1965)

Thursday, October 25, 2012

10/25 51st Ward Notes.



You've always been the caretaker. -Eamon.

There are places that are outside the Ward, but still within the city. The 65th Heaven. Villa del Muerto. Outer Belmont.

Here at Bristol Books, we always choose Trick, and then release the bandersnatches.

Speaking of bandersnatches: Lovecraftian science fiction with Lewis Carrol Monsters

The Kelpie says 'Rawr'. The George says 'Gurgle Gurgle Gurgle'
(1990-2012)

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Step High, Stoop Low, Leave Your Dignity at the Door.

The only notes on this weeks episode, is to have a view of Speed Levitch's full-on tour of Chicago's Hobohemia and the history of the labor movement. Otherwise, enjoy the show.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Notes on Tsuru

Tsuru is a japanese word for Crane. Appropriate for a Crane Wife story.

There are some versions where the protagonist is a bastard, some where the animal spirit has been trapped, but a lot of the stories from Japan that I'd read would just evoke an emotion, without there being a real hero or villian. Just an 'ah' as you feel the emotion.

Naming is important in folklore, as it is in the world. When we name something, our minds naturally chart all the things associated with that name, and put them together. It's why words like 'cross' 'flag' 'patriot' 'faggot' are loaded with so much more than the objects or concepts those names represent. When I was young, my birth name got associated with a whole lot of negativity. I couldn't hear my name without feeling the definition I'd built for myself. So I created a new name. And with the dawn of the internet, that name spread and grew. Naming is a big part of this story. The name forces a perception, an identity, but that perception isn't the truth.The people you know are your perceptions of them. I think true love comes from being able to go past that perception and embrace the whole person.

The biggest thanks goes to Brenda Kelly, our reader for this week. I've known Brenda all my adult life, and she's an incredibly gifted and skilled performer. It's been a pleasure to work with her, and I hope to have her for future Burnham projects. I hope you enjoy her performances on Episodes 10 and 11.


Friday, October 5, 2012

A selfish request

When I was an editor at Legacy.com, there was a lot of 'sanitizing'. Making sure the content was acceptable and didn't offend anyone, and making sure the guest books didn't have trolling or angry bitter messages from people with grudges. I remember deleting a whole bunch of thuggish posts from a guestbook, only to have a family beg to keep them...Because he was a gangster, and they were proud of i
t. Another was a memorial to an alcohol-fuel racer who died rather explosively on the strip. His family celebrated that death, saying 'he lived as he had died, one tenth of a second ahead of everyone else'.

Where does this all come in? I don't fear death. My beliefs don't have an afterlife so much as a long-form conversion of matter. But my story is important to me. The unedited one. The one with the weirdness, and the quirks, and the hobbies. Also the one with the betrayals, abuses, and rough edges. I was a difficult son, I was a terrible brother, in relationships, I hurt as much as I was hurt. But don't edit it. I love who I am now. Warts, folds, silver and all. When I die, if you have a grudge, tell everyone. If you remember the time I fought you until you had a seizure, tell that story. The night we fucked while you were tied to a tree in the middle of fair? Tell it. How you realized I was gay when I swanned around in my 'superhero' costume that was a toga and paper wings? -TELL IT-. Find my embarrassing websites. Display that hidden art collection. Find those people who are -actively- joyous at my death. Remember that I still owe you money, or you never forgave me for sleeping with your godmother. Mix it with all the good and noble things. Mix it with the good deeds and kindness. Because the more you mix the good and bad of me, the more real I will be after my death. And the longer, and truer my story will be.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Josey


So...

You all know I'm big on stories. That we're in effect walking stories, and that's how we're made immortal.

A few years ago, I was hanging out in Northern California with my friends and playmates. There had been a lot of highs and lows, but over one day, we'd hit a vibe that was completely fun, delightful, and us. We were taking a respite, watching 'American Pickers' while still in full costume, when I got a message from Tery informing me that his internet friend Joe Pratt was coming over, with a graphics card that he was selling Tery. We all rolled our eyes, hastily getting out of everything to deal with someone outside the bubble. I asked my friends about joe, and discovered he was a sweet guy, but a lot of eye rolling. I knew immediately that they had a tery in their life as well. A few minutes later, as we're no longer dressed like something out of a failed children's show pilot,  Joe comes with his girl. Joe is like a million feet tall, and rail thin. bearded and bespectacled, and just really energetic. His girl is a sullen bitter mess, that holds a tight leash on him. I feel the vibe, and know it well. I wasn't 3 years past being in that situation myself. As my close friends are trying to figure out what to do with Joe and his girl that doesn't involve strangling them on the spot, I show off to Joe my haul from Japan Town. The cookies, the costume pieces, the toys, and most of all, all my fashion rags.

It was like Oppenheimer watching Trinity.

He'd mentioned he'd seen some clothes like that in costume sites. I hit him with every brand name I knew, every style descriptor, the names of individual articles of clothes, and as he's flipping through magazines like Kera, Gothic Lolita Bible, and Alice Deco A La Mode, I'm showing him my archive on my computer of costumes and designs. He's ensnared. I even manage to show his girl a bunch of stuff that's dark and edgy that makes her day. Rael and Trajan just sit back, letting me babysit these two. We have dinner and I get back.

Over time, I learned about Joe's network of friends. He was close with a lot of people I was close to, and had an online presence as an artist and player. Tery was close with him, and he had interests as a tech-head and gearhead that weren't mine. But I'd notice that other artists would reference him, and he'd be featured in someone's webcomic. Now that I knew his interests and passions, I would send him photos and illustrations that would reflect his interests. Always he would be warm, exuberant, and delightful. Every time he wrote an email, you could practically see it in cursive. His drawings were sweet and cute and playful, and reflected something you didn't see in a lot of art in our 'community'. How -fun- play can actually be, and how much it can make you laugh, and giggle, and know affection. His 'scott pilgrim' leilei is one of my favorite pictures, and the archives of his work through the internet reflect his joy and his internal journey.

Most important for me, was how much he loved my friends. I could see it in every email, and would just bend over backwards if I needed something done for them that was special.

In time, the bitter sullen girl left, as bitter sullen girls are wont to do, and he was adrift for a bit, but from what I saw, and what I read, he was coming into his own, understanding who he was and what he wanted. And I saw the love he had for some special people in his life. I would tease him about getting him dressed, and he would tell me that it was sometime soon. The next time I came over, we would all go shopping together, and I could work my magic on him.

On Saturday night, Randy woke me up with a call from Tery. A driver had run a red light and plowed through the drivers side of Josey's car. He died instantly. I told the people I had to tell, the ones who had only just begun talking to him online, the ones who were close friends but who were far away. I shared stories with the people that were on the other side of the rael-trajan bubble, and then was on the phone with my darling rael and trajan sharing their sorrow. Like Renfaire, the fur/kink dipshit network started expressing their grief on the boards, many having never once encountered the person, but wanting to be part of something. In some cases, though, I saw the real impact Joe had on people's lives, and got to see their stories about him which were the same and different than mine.

He was magic. He was warm and sweet, and nerdy and awkward, and magical. My only regret is that I waited too long to take him out to play, that I thought there would always be tomorrow. All I have now is his story. And I loved him, and I still love his story.