Of Bodies and Bawdies
As to where I’ve been, well, my mother was in town starting Saturday the 14th; if only she’d come a day earlier. Stumbling from bed obscenely early, wailing the strained moan of a heavily decomposed zombie, Jen and I readied ourselves for a long weekend of sightseeing and debauchery. Well, not debauchery. Justin graced us with his presence, and we forged ahead to the Museum of Science and Industry to wander aimlessly through its ridiculously vast expanses before finally subjecting ourselves to the macabre display of Body Worlds. An exhibit from which Mom excused herself early, overwhelmed with sheer exhaustion and heat of the crowded area, and Jen seemed to barely tolerate the admittedly gruesome displays. I would have spent more time there, but it’s not an environment conducive to lingering, despite the expense.
And then, as usual, I wrote my own tales of fancy. I write too much, it seems. Aside from my morning DDR compunction, I haven’t played a video game, or watched TV in weeks. And it’s odd, that something so akin to harrowing toil would supplant my most enveloping means of entertainment. I’m almost sad I didn’t embrace this earlier. But I maintain I wasn’t ready, not even a few weeks before I finally started this endeavor. So far, my characters are building momentum, and I’ve begun on chapter five, which will truly start the torrent of philosophy and imagery I feel the story absolutely requires.
Why wait so long to make things interesting? Because this story is meant to start as a snowball and end an avalanche, subtle yet accelerating perceptibly as I pour hot momentum into the furnace. I promise, that from chapter five onward, the death of Dr. Z will seem a bygone era of candy and rainbows. It is the horror that vomits lead into my stomach, renders my legs nerveless and slack–this is what I share with you. Kyle’s nightmare is only beginning, and just think, I still have three more books planned in this grand arc. Just remember, I aim to unsettle with philosophy, so through all of this, read through the lines to the implications I don’t directly spell-out. All my imagery, no matter how terrifying, is not meant to bow to Lovecraft’s genius, but to augment things he missed–beyond nameless horrors and cracking sanity.