31 October

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mills:

Lachrymarum - Stan Douglas

This, from the re-imagining by Stan Douglas (with John Medeski and Scott Harding) of the soundtrack for the Italian horror film Suspiria, is scientifically-proven to be the scariest song ever.

Feel free to use it to keep trick-or-treaters away.

Some scary music for Halloween, courtesy of Mills.

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Greetings From Bluffington

heliooh-tropion:

Love Always,
Judy Funnie

Great job! Doug was the best show.

My part-time job is a lot more exciting in costume.

Much more frightening than physical terror is existential horror. The bounds of physical terror are coterminous with death, existential horror, however, is eternal. H.P. Lovecraft understood this intimately. His best stories rarely end in death; confronted with a profound and disturbing truth about the nature of existence, his protagonists simply fall into madness. The greatest fear of both life and death, to paraphrase Hamlet, is not sleep, but an endless nightmare. Horror writers rarely understand this essential truth: vampires and zombies are scary for what they do, Cthulu and Ann Coulter for what they represent.

— Ben Dooley, in The Millions

Halloween Party, Librarian-Style.

Spock, Buffy, Zombie-Prom Queen.

So this just happened…

I want my readers to laugh sometimes. Many readers in Japan read my books on the train while commuting. The average salaryman spends two hours a day commuting and he spends those hours reading. That’s why my big books are printed in two volumes: They would be too heavy in one. Some people write me letters, complaining that they laugh when they read my books on the train! It’s very embarrassing for them. Those are the letters I like the most.

— Haruki Murakami

Google street view of where I’ll be staying in London next week.

We are old emphysemics, and when we talk we breathe out the past. It is history that makes mortals of us.

— Sarah Hall, How to Paint a Dead Man

Tumblr always adds the best features. I just made a neat little “likes” section at the bottom of my page, so everyone can now mock me for the things that make me click the little heart button.

Days I have held,
days I have lost,

days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.

— Derek Walcott, from Midsummer, Tobago

Like any good premeditated judging device, literary stereotypes do create an opportunity for the bolder sort to harness these associations to project a favorable image. While this trick can be employed very successfully (especially among young women professing a love for Salinger’s Franny and Zooey), it is not for everyone. For example, when done correctly, telling some young fellow at a party that you adore George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss can imply that you are (attractively) jaded and worldly. Incorrect application of the same novel, however, could result in that very young man mistaking your charming declaration for a hint that your taste in men is inclined toward ill-fated hunchbacks/painters and (provided that he is neither hunchback nor painter) is his consequently being less likely to ask for your phone number.

— from A Fiction Reader’s Guide to Social Interaction