I've just added a link to our fan page on facebook. You should see it over to your left hand side. We'd appreciate it if you'd add us so we can get an idea of who all is reading this thing.
- Julia
I've just added a link to our fan page on facebook. You should see it over to your left hand side. We'd appreciate it if you'd add us so we can get an idea of who all is reading this thing.
- Julia
To hear Samm tell it the birth of Cell 144 starts and ends with him and Julia and series of experiments involving the conjuring of a tesseract. The truth is our roots go much deeper than that. Samm doesn't usually talk about those roots, because until last month he saw them as something with no ramifications for anyone who didn't grow up in the shadow of Harmony Hill. Converging on the old neighborhood last month, we saw just how fucking wrong he was about that. It was the first time the two of us had shared that space since we were kids and well... The neighborhood was always weird, and its weirdness always seemed especialy responsive to Samm. That much about the old neighborhood has not changed.
When the defacto leader of our tribe took his own life, we all looked to Samm to fill the void. Though he was really too young to be asked to do such a thing he never let us down for as long as he lived with us. We called Samm and a sfew of his friends, the Hounds Of Harmony Lane, not just because they were an inseperable pack, but because nearly every kid who spent any time in that neighborhood has a story about the strange dogs that showed up every time they dissapeared. I don't want to get too far ahead of shit though...Samm will be telling this story a few pages at a time for the next month or so. The first two pages, however, are mine. Excluding the art anyway. I watched Samm create the images accompanyng my introduction, so I can say firsthand how much this process is going to take out of him.
Big things are coming, for us, and for you, whoever you are, sitting there reading these words. Take this work for the gift it is, but if you happen to see the Hounds....give them a wide berth, it's been a while since they last ate.
The Hounds Of Harmony Lane: An Introduction To The Living Text, 'Wisdom Of Snakes'.
As another famous person dies, I see once again, many of my friends lamenting. And again it feels foreign to me. I loved Hughes' movies, and as my roommate will attest, I could watch many of them everyday of my life. Sometimes I've loved them because I could relate to them, sometimes because well...I grew up in the 80's so of course I like Hughes' flicks; they don't really capture the reality of that period but they do what art does at its best and that is capture the essence of something however fleetingly.
But I guess the thing is, that as much as I love them..or relate to
pieces of them..they don't and never did define me. I see that's not
the case for many, and I know it's bound to sound like I'm saying I'm
better than someone, but really I'm just wondering...Is it so good to
be so passively defined by art? For most of my growing up, the things I
did with my friends (Cell 144 as an example) are what defined me, consequently almost all of my
art hearkens back in some way to that period. I will always be that
little boy growing into a man, I will never be Duckie wanting so badly
for Andie to notice me.
But then again even as I write this I remember that in the novel I'm
desperately trying to finish, I make reference to not pulling an "Andy
Carmichael" so perhaps these pieces of media define more of me than I'd
like to admit...at the very least they are a frame of reference through
which I can communicate to the world something about myself that they
will understand, however imperfectly, however fleetingly.
Maybe this is part of why I don't feel impacted by the passing of writers, or musicians, or actors. I've always fallen in love with the stories and the characters, seldom the artists who created them. What I have fallen in love with is, more or less, eternal. What I have fallen in love with is myself in relation to the story not the story tellers. Fitting considering my low esteem of rock stars and artistic popularity I suppose. I like to think of it as a philosophy I came to but perhaps this too is just a product of mediation?
It's a difficult ball of yarn to unravel for sure.
To date the death of an artist that affected me the most was the death of Madeleine L'Engle. I'll admit even to actually shedding a tear over that. But why did it affect me that way? I think because it was her work that first instilled in me the reverence for the narrative and the corresponding necessity of humility for the artist. It was still mediation of a sort, I mean, I wasn't mourning her, but who her media had made her become in my mind. I was mourning a kind of person who the living L'Engle may or may not have resembled at all. And perhaps, as odd as it may seem to me, Michael Jackson was that to others, certainly I can very easily see how Hughes fulfilled that role for people.
Media theorists with sharper minds than mine might have an easier time sussing it all out, but as a person who likes to help a story tell itself I can say at least these two things:
First, that the power of a narrative to define us or to help us understand each other is as important, and mythic as the idea of God, and with that in mind..we ought to be very careful about the kinds of stories we help to tell. Second, that whether you fall in love with a story , or the person who tells it...the best way to celebrate their lives and their deaths is to live the kind of life that will allow you to tell the kinds of stories that will do for others what those stories and their tellers did for you.

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