Tag Archives: edgar allan poe

Oiled Rags, Hideous Mutants

24 Sep

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E.A.P.: Where are we?

H.P.L.: Back where we began….

S.K.: Anyone mind if I put “Hot Jet Chrome” by The Cars on the turntable?

E.A.P. & H.P.L.: Suit yourself!

The Masque of Red Death’s Shining Room 237

12 Sep

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I will not repeat or repost Poe’s story here, nor will I regurgiate with blood and feathers The King’s Shining.  

Room-237

The question lurking out of every his & her mussed-up/mashed-up/mashed-up must and will and well might be: so, if you watch the film backwards on 2 screens simultaneously (one in front, one behind you) while riding around on an exact replica of Danny’s POWER WHEELS while in a state of GENTLE autoasphyxiation, then, yes, you may just as well admit that whipping yourself right into Room 237 could easily be done; and what a dreamy room it ‘TIS! Okay, so, whaddya wanna yadda an yadda on about the film? There are crack-pot theories and then there are CRACKED theories; this one had them all, though I did buy the bit about the German typewriter…and of course the N.A. imagery is REAL OBVIOUS, so….

Poe’s Rude Rose

24 Feb

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“It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our old building; lighted a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams –reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets, arm and arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observation can afford.”

-Edgar Allan Poe, “The Murders of the Rue Morgue”