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So, you as you can see, I place him in high regard, just below a Great Old One, and just above the trendiest new undead craze this side of preening teen vampires sporting eyeliner and crushing ennui. More seriously, this shows just what I think of Paul's work not just as an artist, but also as a devoted and long-time Lovecraftian. He's important to The Scene. He's part of the New Roots.
I've already spilled the beans about Paul supplying not one but two pieces of original artwork for my respective stories "Flutes" and "In the Cave, She Sang," which will be published this summer in the toothy, hugely anticipated anthology the Aklonomicon, edited by artist/publisher Ivan McCann and award-winning mad poet and bEast of Berlin Joseph S. Pulver Sr. for Aklo Press.
Well, Paul recently unveiled his two pieces created specifically for my work via his Nightserpent blog. I now return the favor, creating some sort of reverse linkage, blogging about a blog and a blog and now this blog that just makes my head hurt. But I sometimes like it when my head hurts. It means that I'm still alive, and often that something PROFOUND is taking place inside (or just acts as a reminder that I'm getting old and hangovers appreciate with age).
I first viewed his two Aklonomicon pieces a few weeks back, and have since peeled myself off the wall in gibbering excitement. Now that Paul unleashed his noxious babies into the ether, I figure it's my turn to beam a little with coattail-riding pride at the stellar work he has done, born - in part - by the imagery of my prose. So...
BOOM! JAM THESE BAD JACKS INTO YOUR BRAIN HOLES, SUCKAS!:
This first piece is for my story titled "Flutes," which gives a glimpse at what might go wrong when humans start smashing very tiny particles in giant machines deep under the ground.
This second piece is for my story "In the Cave, She Sang..." about the fateful night on New Years Eve, 1968, when Charles Manson trudged up into the hills of Death Valley with a few worms in his pocket to decide the fate of the world. It could have gone either way, until he heard that song in the cave.... This story was inspired by a seed implanted in my brain by one Mr. Pulver himself. As a way to pay homage, That Which Paul Wrought above is my nod to him by way of Mythosian avatar (no, not the animated series or the billion dollar movie, silly). It's beyond exciting to see what has only lived inside your (sometimes throbbing) gourd leap into line, color, and shadow and light. Into writhing, pulsating life. It's a writer's dream.
Keep your peeled grapes glued to this space for more announcements about the Aklonomicon and Aklo Press, as the summer heats up, trees die so books can live, and the nights get darker later, and far noisier, as things crawl to the surface to breath the humid air and bask under queer stars...