At Haute Macabre this week, all the books we’ve been gorging ourselves on lately! I foresee your summer reading list getting a little out of hand. Here’s a quick link list of each of the books mentioned–plus two that didn’t make the list, but were worth a mention…
Additionally, I read the oft-recommended The Troop, by Nick Cutter. I finished it just before starting The Hunger, and it was an interesting juxtaposition, these two books about insatiable appetites and voracious hungers. The Troop largely takes place on an isolated island where a boy scout troop has taken their annual trip, during which they are stalked by, and exposed to a terrifying biologically-engineered nightmare. Described as “part Lord of the Flies, part 28 Days Later”, this was probably one of the grossest books I have ever read. But it was a lot of fun, too!
Just a few nights ago I finished The Family Plot by Cherie Priest; previously I’d only read Boneshaker and Maplecroft–the former a steampunk type affair and the latter a Lizzie Borden/eldritch horror sort of mash-up, and while both were wildly enjoyably, I felt I hadn’t yet read any proper “spooky” horror from her. The Family Plot a, haunted house tale with southern gothic trappings, volatile family dynamics, and lots of oddly precise details about how to salvage parts and hardware from a beautifully decrepit old home, fits the bit perfectly.
Bonus! I know my book lists consist, predictably, mostly horror and ghosts and spooky stuff. If historical fiction is more your cuppa, might I point you to my darling sister’s picks for the month of May, in her ongoing, monthly, “Brilliance of Books” selection?
“What fresh fuckery is this?” by Félix Armand Heullant
I try to hold kindness and compassion in my heart for people and their foibles and foolishness, but you know, sometimes it’s all too much and I have to make a complaint. To whom? I don’t know. I guess it’s sort of an “open letter to the universe” type of thing. I used vent these snarks on Facebook, but I think more people read my facebook posts than my actual blog here and I have to keep up appearances that I’m, you know…a nice person. Which means that I must keep myself in check on the old book of face, and instead, funnel my grievances and gripes over here. I guess it has become a bit of a secret spot for such things. Let’s keep it between us, eh?
Ok, so two things currently driving me nuts…
I am the first person to say, “OH I HATE DRAMA,” but you’d best believe that, when there’s some internet drama going on, especially in the outer rings of my social circles, I am all over that spectacle. My gripe has to do with people who can’t express their drama eloquently, articulately, and with proper punctuation. Your run on sentences take me, as a reader trying to suss out the complexities of narrative and timelines, right out of your epic breakup saga with the person you only met a week ago! I’m over here trying to pay thoughtful attention to your crazed rants and your breathtaking public meltdown, but your tenuous grasp on how written language works is a very real hurdle. Now, I am not trying to be a grammar dictator; I mean, a few missing commas isn’t the end of the world or anything–especially in the heat of the moment when you’re pounding out your desperate diatribe about how everyone’s out to get you, or whatever–but you know you can go back and edit that shit, right? Your Facebook posts are editable, people. YES. They totally are. Don’t leave your misspelled ravings on your facebook wall to haunt me, in perpetuity, as people continue to comment on your mess (probably with unsolicited advice or to call you hateful names) and I continue to receive notifications about it.
Thing number two. The buyers on all these “sell your old stuff” sites like depop or poshmark or tradesy or eBay. They are really kind of awful, and that’s why I no longer sell on these sites. I just can’t deal with their nonsense. They’re either asking you to knock down the price on your $300 piece of jewelry, to like, $7, and I mean…that’s pretty nervy, you know? I would be too embarrassed to even think of asking something like that, but these folks are shameless. And if they’re not trying to get you to sell them something for pennies, they are asking you to hold an item, because maybe they don’t get paid until next week and they don’t want someone to snap it up from underneath them in the meantime. So, you take the listing down, you reach out to the person a week later to get them to pay…and they ignore you repeatedly, and you realize this jerk just wasted your time and potentially cost you some money. And because the community in which you sell the certain items that you have to sell is pretty small, sellers talk amongst themselves, you find out that it’s always the same scammy, scummy people who are trying to talk you down in price or get you to hold items for them and then disappear, or who come back later and say they can’t afford it because grandma died or whatever and it’s like goddamn, how many grandmas you got there? Because your story is starting to sound very familiar (and boring– get a new story, FFS.)
So, no more depop, etc., for me. Thanks a lot, cheapskates and ghosters!
I know I am a little late to the party on this one (how did I not know about this?) but Austin folks, you are in for a treat! Our friends at Recspec Gallery have curated a group show featuring new interpretations of the long-standing tradition of the bookplate. EX LIBRIS is a collection highlighting the work of 22 artists, and will be on display through June 9th, 2018.
At Haute Macabre this week I share my recent, thrilling NYC adventures, featuring a feverish witches’ orgy and that time I tried to buy a Versace exhibit.
Or, more to the point and as promised in the title of this post, I share my thoughts on a trip to Sleep No More and how to navigate this experience as an anxious person, and I also use it as an excuse to share a slew of photos from my visit to The Met’s Heavenly Bodies installation.
A gathering of death related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From somber to hilarious, from informative to creepy, here’s a snippet of things that have been reported on or journaled about in or related to the Death Industry recently.
I found a lovely violet-hued gin this afternoon and would love to make something nice with it, but I’m rather a dud of a mixologist. I’m tempted to concoct a potion with elderflower liqueur and crême de violette and lavender bitters just so I can call it “The Secret Garden”, but something tells me that I am trying to mix in too many things and the end result might not be verypleasant. Any ideas for me?
We’re big fans of the work The Creeping Museum does, both their supporting of artists and the arts, as well as their giving back to the community through their efforts. Read more about past Creeping Museum exhibits and shows here, here, and, here.
The artist herself will be in attendance at the Garden of Grief installation, to talk about her work–which focuses on the ongoing themes of loss and mourning, intertwined with the compulsion to protect the relics left behind by the dead. Additionally, Megan Devine, author of It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture that Doesn’t Understand and Coleman Stevenson, creator of the Dark Exact Tarot and author of Breakfast: 43 Poems, will be attending the event for a special “Porch Salon” conversation about grief as it relates to the themes of Rebecca’s art: Megan will be talking about the importance of sharing our stories of loss, and Coleman will be reading a poem inspired by Rebecca’s work.
If you’re in Portland tomorrow night, I can think of no better plans than to stop by and see Rebecca’s beautiful, heart-snaring works, and to listen to the artist and the various guests share their experiences and stories. And if you do, fill me in, for I wish I could be there with you!
I am excited to announce that Unquiet Things will be featuring an in-depth interview with Rebecca Reeves later this autumn, so please remember to check back at that time! Until then, fill your eyes with her hauntingly thought provoking art at tomorrow’s Garden Of Grief.
I had to change the date in the title of this post three times because I honestly could not remember the date, or when I was, or, quite frankly, even where I am.
I has been a strange few months, full of extremes, and I feel like I am just now having the opportunity to take a deep breath (but hopefully not the sort you take before you plunge back into the fray, because I am tuckered out!)
In April, our merry band of weirdos met up for our yearly adventure, and this time the destination was Seattle! (See previously: Portland & Austin). Seattle is the home of one of my very favorite people, and I had actually planned this trip around the fact that they were getting married this spring. What an honor to have been there for their joyous occasion! And to have met their adorable mother, reunited with old friends, and have had my photo taken the bride and a life-size cardboard Nick Cave! Weddings freak me out, but this one was pretty low-key, had beautiful cakes, and a great soundtrack. (It also introduced me to my new best friend, Spanx shapewear, about which I wax poetic over here.)
One of the highlights of this trip was definitely The Scared To Death exhibit at the Museum of Pop Culture, spanning more than a century of cinema and featuring more than 50 props and costumes from film and television. I didn’t even know this treasure was a thing that existed, let alone present in a city I was traveling to, when I was traveling there–what a treat!
Aside from that, we took in the city, visited a thousand breweries, played countless games of Splendor (my favorite board game right now because it involves baubles!) ate at least five bowls of ramen a piece, got some new jewelry for both my face and my fingers, saw some art, devoured some donuts, spent some quality time with this beloved, beautiful face, and had a pretty fantastic time.
I barely had time to catch my breath before I was again flying away from home, but this time it was to see my BGF, who relocated to the Northeast late last year. (The photo from the top of this post was taken on my first morning there, while we relaxed on her gorgeous balcony with super boozy coffees.) I know we were both desperately looking forward to this visit, and I had a such an incredible time with her, both in catching up on our lives and spending my birthday weekend with my one and only Best Good Friend. We ate delicious cheeses, watched Teen Witch (I had never seen it! It’s pretty bad!) drank a great deal of Japanese whiskey, watched lots of Drag Race, and toured gorgeous gardens with fountains that looked like imaginary views from rich people’s windows in the 1950s, blossoms that look like truly outrageous, villainous rock stars, and romantical towers with dumb people in front of them, ruining my photo.
Whilst visiting, we also embarked on a side quest to NYC where mysterious adventures were had and beautiful artifacts were admired, and I will be writing more about that in a travel diary over at Haute Macabre, in the very near future! Oh, and most importantly, before leaving, I was introduced to what is quite possibly the worlds most delicious snack.
And so, that just about catches us up to present day. Present day being two days after we finally closed the sale on my late grandparents’ home. We’ve spent the last year and a half trying to close out their estate, and with the selling of the home, we’ve crossed a major item off the list; I feel like we are finally getting somewhere, and maybe there is a light at the end of this long, tedious, depressing tunnel. So on one hand I am feeling fairly celebratory! On the other, though…
My grandparents lived in this house since 1985; they had it built for them to move down from Ohio and live out their twilight years in. They were the only people to ever live in this home, and my family enjoyed (well, mostly enjoyed) thirty or more Thanksgivings at their table. My sisters and I sought refuge there when life with our mother became too volatile; I hauled my laundry over there every Sunday afternoon when I was in my mid-twenties and still living in a small apartment with no washer or dryer. Whatever the reason we were in their home, my grandparents were happy to see us. It was our home, too. And on Tuesday, May 22, 2018 at 2:30 PM it became someone else’s. If they are even half as safe and happy there as my sisters and I were, then these new owners will have spent their money well.
Some highly recommended reading: The Hunger by Alma Katsu, a thrillingly creepy reimagining of the Donner Party’s history and characters, and Experimental Film, by Gemma Files a strange and excellent story, a sort of pseudo documentary, rich in history and myth and weird technical details, about a mystery many decades old and how it begins to seep into the life of the woman obsessed with it.
The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes it makes spontaneous decisions to purchase something kinda weird that it has been subconsciously been looking for, for a very long time.
To back up, just a bit: it’s true that instagram can be kind of not great for me (and my wallet); I’m always finding beautiful jewelry or makeup or other frivolities to fall in love with, and with which I desperately desire to fill my greedy hands. But then, when I peek over to see what @phantasmaphile (the luminous witch and wise woman Pam Grossman) is up to, I am always reminded of the things my heart wants….and these things usually have nothing at all do to with that itchy need to continuously fill my hands and closets and shelves with more More MORE.
This thing in particular, if you go by Amazon’s listing, is a “Dewi Rice Goddess Flying Hanging Mermaid Lady“, and I remember seeing their weird, wild likenesses flying from the ceilings of a store in St. Augustine, Florida thirty years ago. I’m sure I didn’t have the money to pay for one at the time, and I probably couldn’t have articulated to my grandparents why I even wanted it, I just knew that it looked beautiful, felt magical, and belonged close to me. I had forgotten all about it, or so I thought, until I saw a little carved wooden lady in one of @phantasmaphile’s instagram stories earlier this week. Her unblinking, expectant gaze immediately sparked this recollection for me, and over the next few hours my mind drifted back in time, to when I was eleven years old, wandering idly through a gift shop, trying not to break anything, and finally settling upon the first time I locked eyes with this representation of something far older and more wondrous than the tourist baubles I had expected to find.
What Pam shared in her instagram stories wasn’t the same exact thing I held dear in my memory, and I wasn’t even sure how to go looking for it. However, my Google search for “carved wooden mermaid flying goddess” eventually lead me to this Dewi rice goddess, and to be quite honest, I am not even sure if this if she is the right one. I think the flying mermaid goddess in my memory held a mirror and a comb, and now that I look again, I think mayhaps I purchased the wrong one. Too late to second guess now!
Well, but I mean, really, is it? I could always get her a friend…
Dewi Sri is the Balinese goddess of rice and prosperity and is believed to have dominion over the underworld and the Moon. I am not sure where or how she becomes a mermaid or a winged creature, but hey, she’s a goddess. They do what they want.
It’s a funny thing when you set out to track down and procure for yourself the things that have been haunting your dreams for over half your life, isn’t it? Are they at all the way we’ve perceived them when we finally get them? My goddess’ wing is not cut the right size for her wing slot, and so it sits a little crooked. I suppose that gives her a jaunty sort of charm. She seems to think so, if her arch smile is any indication. And she may already be bringing bringing me prosperity! She arrived yesterday, and just today we finally closed on the sale of my late grandparent’s house. Coincidence? Well…it was scheduled before I even ordered her.
What does your heart remember, and long for through the years? Did you eventually receive it/retrieve it, and was it all you had dreamed?
I had to change the date in the title of this post three times because I honestly could not remember the date, or when I was, or, quite frankly, even where I am.
