City of Legends

When the powers that be in Brazil…the Western hemisphere country best known for its addiction to skin, sin and HIV…object to a beer ad featuring Paris "I have no real value to society" Hilton, you know the beer company has found a good pitch woman.  Not really any more smoking than a lot of the beer ads in this country that feed the notion that drinking beer gets you laid…

Van Morrison croons "Crazy Love" into my skull as I compose these words, these thoughts and noughts.  Let’s hear it for blip.fm, I am deriving great enjoyment from them.  Plus, a lot of my videos and recordings are bouncing around on there, getting international airplay.  No complaint.

Did some writing this weekend, but it was more of an experiential weekend.  Doing things…reading, going for walks, playing with the dog, discussing ten thousand points of wonder with the boys, making plans, agonizing over my reading lists for Guerrilla Poetry Day on July 5th (don’t get me started on the itinerary).  I even got my Brazilian phone connections to work and got to spend a few precious moments Liza Lorraine, with a friend down there (yes, the same one I have been writing poetry about…do your own math).

I am a fortunate soul.  I have seen things you wouldn’t believe and done things that would confound even me.  No ego to that, merely awareness of how complex and amazing of a life this is. 

My friend, Lupi Basil, surfaced on FaceBook.  Lupi, you may recall, is/was the publisher and editor of "Emotions" magazine, which has been very kind to me in the past.  Previously one of her sons did a breakdown of one of my CDs on this very blog…I’ll have to look it up again some time, it was wonderfully detailed and analytical. 

A few misplaced friends surfaced.  Some seemed to slip further into the dispassionate ether.  The suspected bone spur in my right heel is getting worse, but I am determined to intensify my training.  Pain is a state of mind.  I have developed, I find, an aversion to doctors for anything other than emergency surgery.  My limp is becoming pronounced as the pain intensifies.  Maybe Ann was right and I will end up in a wheelchair one day.

Oh, I am now ten days free of measurable caffeine in my diet.  The first several days were painful, but having seen the health risks, the damage already done and known so many people in my life over the years who have been bent and broken by their addictions, I am determined to identify and eliminate my own.

Okay, I could use a new addiction in my life.  Something in a new woman, perhaps…just a thought.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a slight streak of the iconoclast running, oh, everywhere within me.  About a week ago, I did something I had never done before, actually applied for a listing with a poetry organization that provides a directory of poets.

I sat down and filled in their form, aware that I do not follow the standard arc of most writers, but that’s my bag.  My addiction to the world of POD (Publication On Demand) publishing over the last several years keeps me out of the mainstream market and gives ample excuse for mercantile editors to sneer.  Bette Midler said it best.

Having not heard anything in 8 days, I wrote the site a note today.  Reading it after I sent it, I decided to reproduce it here, with a clear vow not to reveal the name of the organization, at this time or should they reject me. 

"I gave over what information I had readily available a week or so ago, but find I am still in a "pending" status for inclusion in the directory.  I do not know what that means, or if this is a normal waiting period (I tend not to read directions, a personal failing of mine, often).

William F. DeVault"

We shall see how this plays in Peoria.  This is not the first occasion where my casual attitude about keeping track of clippings and credits may cost me.  Such is life.  I am content with my legacy.

I shall let you know how it all turns out.

There’s a scene in my favourite movie, "All That Jazz", where Joe Gideon’s ex-wife challenges him to give the name of "that girl in Philadelphia" to illustrate how anonymous and meaningless his philandering has been.  Joe steps up to the challenge and brashly declares that he remembers her name because she meant something to him…her name was "Sweetheart".

"No," his ex ruefully points out to him.  He repeatedly guesses, but all his guesses are just pet names like "baby".

He then goes out, muttering to himself, and choreographs arguably his most brilliant and self-revealing work, ever, "Air-rotica", for his upcoming Broadway show.  Even his ex has to admit that, while it won’t go over well with critics, it’s his best work ever.

Genius, it seems, is fueled by our flaws, not our perfections.  God made woman because, with man, he didn’t get it right on the rough draft.  My best work comes out of the flaws and imperfections of my own life.  I have been accused of being an optimist and one who tries to make the best of things.  Wow, that’s a pretty nasty thing to say about someone, isn’t it?

This in no way excuses us our arrogances, flaws, weaknesses and vices.  I will put my list of vices (actual ones, not rumoured) against most and I am not a monster.  Flawed, yes.  Perhaps the victim of my own sense of romanticism, certainly.  But I am not a drug smuggler, child-molester, drunk driver, killer, thief or torturer of animals.  Not saying this pridefully, because my flaws and sins run deep enough to make sure I am acutely aware of my own failings.  As I said in one writing "An honest man cannot be the hero of his own memoir".  I penned those words after beginning on my memoir and suffering an epiphany that no one is a hero, except in moments rare and focused by our own perceptions and those of others.

Early today an old female friend (okay, she’s not THAT old, but I have known her for nearly a decade) dared me to write something in a poetic sense that was truly erotic and mind-shattering.  I obliged.  She is not someone who has any romantic interest in me, although I rather fancy her, but rather keeps me around for the same reason a cat keeps a catnip mouse…there are times when I am fun to play with, even if I am not the real thing.

Last I heard from her after she read the poem, entitled "sexorcism", was a short note that read:

"w o w

(speechless)"

I hope that’s a good speechless.  I hope.  I am not above a certain level of glee knowing how many people have had fantasies built upon or within my works.  There is enough of the rogue I am reputed to be by some that I do take subtle delight in knowing there are women who think of my words when they kiss (or otherwise engage) their boyfriends and husbands.  And, I know, there are enough husbands and boyfriends who would like to get a rope, get a tree and hang a poet for National Poetry Month ("modern love was invented by the minstrels in dark ages when they used to hunt them down from town to town" said Tom Cochrane) for this notion.

I almost laughed the other day when someone gave their analysis of the plotline of "Dr. Zhivago" as "a Russian doctor who can’t keep it zipped runs off and leaves his wife".  We focus on what is key to us, what drives us.  I see the same novel and film as a story of a poet trapped by circumstance and the fates and finding his small comfort in the arms of a woman who is also battered by forces beyond her power to control.  We see what we wish to see. 

Anyway, I do not know if there is a point to be made beyond that I am not asking everyone look at the world through my eyes, as it would be a damn dull world without forces against me.  If I was truly free to speak the truths I know, earnestly and without harm to the reputations and fortunes of others, and would be believed in the telling of these things, I think I would be a different figure in some people’s eyes and hearts.  Flawed, certainly, but not as malicious as you might imagine.

Maybe I need to include that poem in the new book…

Those of you who recall my stint as a humour columnist with AOL’s Writers Club will recall my Top Ten Lists (yes, I stole the format from David Letterman, sue me).

Tonight is the final night for the amazingly well-made Battlestar Galactica on the Sci-Fi channel (soon changing it’s name to "SyFy" just because shortening "science fictrion" wasn’t bastardizing enough).

But, anyway, for those of you who care, here’s my guess at the reasons why the showing ending after five impressive years.

The Top Ten Reasons Battlestar Galactica is ending now.

10.  Starbuck has run out of people to sleep with.

9.  The Admiral needs his naps.

8.  Hiro and Peter are over powered and…ooops…wrong show.

7.  The President has been ordered to surrender her position by the Supreme Court to Jeb Bush.

6.  They’ve run out of meaningful names from Greek and Roman mythology.

5.  At the current rate of sub-plot proliferation, the show would implode into a super-massive black hole within the next year.

4.  A Cylon mind is a terrible thing to waste.

3.  Tigh is getting too old to continue having sex 24/7 with two beautiful women without major health risks.

2.  SyFy wants to replaces the show with a "crappy cheaply-made monster movie of the week" in that timeslot.

and the #1 reason Battlestar Galactica is ending tonight?

1.  They need a frakking break!!!

Farewell and bon voyage, Galactica.  Many thanks to your cast and crew for entertaining us and inspiring some serious debate with your well-written and beautifully acted and produced offerings.  A special salute to Edward James Olmos who now has two science fiction classics under his belt.

To my friends and neighbors, a brief word in the battle against STDs:

Thank you. And of you think I am going to publicly dedicate this to anyone in particular, you are nuts.

For all my fanboy friends.  Word has been going around that Marvel Studios was about to make its first major mistake by letting the esteemed Samuel L. Jackson slip away (owing to tight purse strings) and have to retrofit the image of Col. Nick Fury for upcoming films.

Those of you familiar with the retro of the franchises in the Marvel Ultimates series know that they had redesigned, years ago, Col. Fury to be based on the appearance of SLJ, and it was a good fit.  He played the role in last year’s Iron Man, to much squeeing.

Word just in from Variety is that Marvel avoided their second greatest mistake ever (their first was not snatching me up as a writer in the 70’s when I tried out.  Damn you, Jim Shooter!) and ponied up not only sufficient money to keep him around, but signed a 9-film option with him, meaning he’ll be chomping on his cigar for some time to come.

Smart move. 

I remember seeing this film with friends, many of whom are recovering drug addicts, and having them freak about the level of honesty and authenticity in it.  Some pointed out specific scenes and said they had experienced that or knew people who had.  I found it as an available embed on Hulu and thought I would share it here. Yes, this is the full-length, R-rated film.

Warning:  There are some very graphic scenes in this film of drug use, violence and sex.  The cast is first rate, including Jared Leto, Jennifer Connelly, Marlon Wayans and Ellen Burstyn.  The subject matter is brutal, frank and may even seem a bit over the top to those who are in denial or have never met an addict.

My occasional project partner, Dan "The Man" McTaggart, has come out with a new book that I did not design cover for, edit, write foreword to or in any other way contribute to or tamper with.

It’s called Six Days in Santa Fe and I, knowing the kind of heart and soul the man puts into his work and his talents, would recommend it without reservation.

The TVC2008 has a winner!

It is SevenLamps, for their video version of DARFUR (Jesus Wept).

To see the video, please go here

SevenLamps gets a $100 cash prize and a bookshelf of my CDs and books worth more than an additional $100.00!  Yay!  And they get bragging rights!

The runner up does not go away empty handed…Minnever’s rendition of from out of the city gets her a free book and CD combo and a place of honor with us.

We will be announcing the details of the TVC2009 (yes, we’re doing it again) next week.

Oh…and, Happy Birthday to me.  Happy Birthday to me…

According to various sources, including myself, my web hosting company (web.com), my publisher, my friend Dan McTaggart, the remaining judges for the TVC2008 who have not yet gotten their votes in to me (harrumph), Barnes & Noble, my parents, my sibs, the media, my sons, one of my ex wives and two or three inspirationally-gifted friends, the next three days of my life should unfold with some of the following milestones.

Tomorrow we will announce the winner of the TVC2008. Mass hysteria will abound as we announce the TVC2009.

peacat.com will vanish, by midnight tonight. If no one with greater claim to the name asks for it before the registration runs out next year, it will go back on the open market.

I will give three two-hour readings at Barnes & Noble in Morgantown, WV, Sunday (10-12, 1-3, 4-6) with the assistance of the amazing Dan McTaggart, who co-authored Psalms of the Monster River Cult with me. I don’t think they could handle the intensity of the Long Beach reads, so I am trying to strike a balance.

Michael Phelps will win two more Olympic Gold Medals.

I will add ten more pieces to williamfdevault.com. Someone will blast me for the lovely nudity that is interspersed with the other artwork on the site. I will feel bad that I am being criticized, but will soldier on.

I will hear from someone out of an unexpected quarter.

I will write something inexplicably charming.

I will announce sometime today…oops, already did, that some of the Fields of Arbol pieces appearing on Amomancer will find their way onto williamfdevault.com.

Some doucebag will leave a stupid (definition: willfully ignorant), presumptive and irrelevant comment on one of my blogs.

I will drive over 500 miles in the next three days. I will still be alive Monday morning.

I will have dinner with my family on Saturday, and visit with my Grandmother, who is 96…bearing down on 97 next month.

I will discover a fantastic new muse.