City of Legends

It is the return of the "From Out of the City" podcast.

Featuring a funked up, cathedral organ pure testosterone and tears fueled delivery of "The Sacraments" from "Apokalypsis".

Well, what the hell are you waiting for?  Here’s the link:

From Out of the City for January 1, 2011

This Friday night, at approximately midnight, as the new year turns on the East Coast of the United States and the people closest to me are, for the most part. elsewhere, the "From Out of the City" podcast returns with something remarkable, "The Sacraments" from the forthcoming book Apokalypsis, perfromed with my band.

I just listened to the revised music, now I have to go back into the studio and tweak my vocals, as I need more from my voice.  The integrity of the original take is amazing, so powerful that the Sunday Girl herself refuses to listen to it.  I need more.  I need incandescence.  I need a religious fervor worthy of a Joan of Arc or a Saint Stephen.  I need to dig deep and release it all.

And I will.  The next three days are very important.  They are a time of great turmoil and pain in my life, or survival and passion and the last romantic verb.  And I don’t want all of you who have waited the last couple of years for the return of the podcast to be disappointed.  I don’t want to be disappointed, not by myself (I am disappointed enough in others, you know).

I’ll post the link once the podcast is up and you shall see, you shall hear, did I take it all the way?  Did the afterburners kick in and the last wisps of fire really press things as far as they can go?

Let’s find out what I have left, shall we?

A few months back the manuscript for my "next" book, Apokalypsis took a 176.25 degree turn when I decided to turn it into a full on love letter to the extraordinary woman I call "White Sunday".  No problem.

But then I kept writing more "White Sunday" poems and the book kept growing.  I asked a good friend, fellow poet Mary Katherine Brake, if she would be so kind as to take over the editing duties.  She agreed, but she also said that there was no logical end point for the book until either I stopped writing "White Sunday" poems (at this moment around two hundred and growing daily) or the relationship took such a dramatic turn that I had to change the muse’s "totem".

I agreed and handed off the project, realizing it could be months, even years, complicated by a complicated relationship the likes of which would make the most love-starved fan go "Phew!  I’m glad he’s not involved with me!"

So I decided I needed to do a different book in time for my Spring Tour.  Something different, something stunning.  Something so overladen with images and poetry that it would explode in your mind and eyes like artillery shells full of ecstasy and pain.  This was the book currently called "orphans", but it will undoubtably change names as now, thanks to the editorial tutelage of Ms. Brake, I have ample reason to postpone that book until mid-Summer 2011.  No problem.

I’ll do a third book, something powerful and romantic and poll my readers and find out…they want what?  Erotic?  Sheesh.  And at the very moment I am trying to demonstrate to that small piece of the universe that matters to me that I am not some overly-intense screaming Byronist.  Okay, I am, but I have other sides to me as well, really. 

Thus was born the need for a fourth book.  Something patoral, gentle, true but in the subtle whisper not the cataclysmic bombast.  I am right now working on the concept, but I think you will find it oddly refreshing.

So, here we go.  I was going to do a book in 2010.  Instead, no book in 2010.  Four books (maybe) in 2011.  Blame my editor.  I knew there was a reason I hated editors.

The good news?  I already have the covers to the first three designed. Really.  No, you can’t see them…yet.

 #1:  If you haven’t been over to my pure poetry blog, Amomancer, http://amomancer.blogspot.com , you are missing the show.

#2:  I am going nuts trying to figure out who my most loyal visitor is, all I know is they come on from a Mac with a Katy, Texas node point.  They’re the reason City of Legends beat out williamfdevault.com  last month by THREE visits!  Drop me a note, leave a comment, you deserve recognition or at least a tip of the hat.

#3:  The book situation gets wilder.  Recognizing that Apokalypsis might be a while, I conceive the new project, my editor, God love her, comes up with a brilliant idea that would make that book even more amazing, but it would mean postponing its release until next summer.  Meanwhile, I was planning to use it as my tourbook, which means either a) postponing the tour or b) coming up with a third book idea…I love my editor.  I love my editor.  I love my editor. (I figure if I keep saying that I will unclench my jaw)

At this time the White Sunday poems, both the titular ones and the dedicated ones, number nearly 200 works.  That’s a lot of poetry for less than a six month run.  I actually pity the poor editor who has made the decision to cull them down to a book sized manuscript.  I really do.

But that is what an editor is for.  Funny, I don’t much like editors, as a rule.  They get in the way of the pure creative drive, they alter what has been done and for good or for bad, that’s like some guy with a magic marker getting hands on the Mona Lisa.  To me, poetry is truth is god is love is art, and adulteration of that isn’t true.  But, I am learning.

The rest of the world looks alien to me, again.  I am lost in the poetry, lost in my affection and passion for my Sunday Girl, even though there are very real signs that her passion for me has run its course.  Maybe it is just the echoes of Aubergine and the Leopard that make me so dread the future, fearing that she, like they, was here for the anointing of immortality but doesn’t really want to hang on Olympus.  Dread, what an awkward word in my mouth.  I spend a portion of every day lost in it, the physiological symptoms growing stronger as the stress tears at me.

But many years ago, at the denouement of the Panther Debacle, I vowed I would not bend again, that before I would surrender to despair you would hear the bones crack and shattera s I stood my ground.  Such inflexibility does not always serve me well, and the frustrating complexity of my relationship with the Sunday Girl is an abattoir for my soul.  Every doubt, every apprehension, every misstep or miscue, I feel a thousand sharp and sinister electric shocks, scorching me.  But I have made my vow, and the vow was founded upon yes, nothing less than a love I would stand resolute in for the rest of my days…even when that epoch seems marked in seconds rather than decades.

I cannot write enough poetry to purge my soul of all these feelings.  There are not words in any language of man to express them.  I do what I can and try everything to control the pain.  It is, of course, in the end, a losing battle, but those are the only battles worth showing up for.  I hope this one rages for decades, that it is marked with some gains before the inevitable loss of death and separation, that there is truth in her.

In the meantime, enjoy the poetry.  You will not see anything else like it in your lifetime, that I can assure you.

I opened up a Word file this afternoon, ready to start on one of my infinite sequence of unfinished novels, but with the realization that this one might achieve that transcendent state of "completed".  The characters are resonant, the plot, relevant and timeless, the setting and events have a certain sparkle to them, like diamond encrusted dental floss.

The first line kicked like an electrocuted mule. 

I wrote one paragraph, started the second. 

Went back and read it and closed the file.  It is too true.  I would probably lose everything of value in this life if I wrote that novel.  I deleted the file, put on my iTunes, and slipped over here to ask the question of myself and my readers as to when people began to count more to me than amomancy?

I know the answer, I have the poem that foretold it, that began the cascade.  It is called "faith healer" and it was written in early 2009.  "faith healer" is also the subtitle to the second volume of the Apokalypsis series, the White Sunday poems.

I have been hoisted on my own petard.  So here I am, trapped between the fire and the ice, the stone and the steel, the passion and the purification.  For once, truly, those elements of my life which I have always held perfect control over, even when everything else tumbled down, it is out of my hands and I am having to place a higher premium on loyalty and faith than on my own intellect and creativity.

The jack becomes the knave becomes the jester.  Humbling, but there is a lesson in this for me.

I just have to figure it out.

As I am utterly dependent on the Sunday Girl for the editing and therefore the release date for "Apokalypsis", I have turned to other volumes for publication.  No shame to her, she has a lot on her plate just putting up with me, and I am resolute that no one but her will have a say in the final publication.

But, to those of you who have been part of my mythology for the last few decades, the publication of the book "Malevolences" may be more interesting anyway.  A collection of works from my black catalog, those poems I had earmarked only for publication after my death, I have grown weary of waiting, my patience is needed elsewhere and thus I steal from that account.  Look for it early in 2011.

The third book is starting to take form, but will suffer the same fate as "Apokalypsis", and this is the second of the books in the poetic tale of the Sunday Girl, entitled "Faith". 

Such is my resolve to release the books as I envision them that, should a final publication date for "Apokalypsis" not be announced by October 20th of this year, it will not see publication prior to next August.  Sorry, children, I am bound by my own rules.  I’ll explain this all, soon, perhaps on October 21st?

To celebrate several events, but most explicably the 1,000th post that I have made to my pure poetry blog, Amomancer, I have posted the entire 99 poem collection and contents of my forthcoming book "Apokalypsis".  I edited out a few small elements in the dedication and author’s section, to obscure the identity of White Sunday a/k/a The Sunday Girl, as she is not yet ready to go public, but otherwise, it is all there; the Sacraments, Lighthouse, the first 60 of the White Sunday poems, various villanelle, haiku, sonnets and projective poetry of love, lust, desire, affection, despair, pain, sorrow and consummation.

One hell of a ride. 

Here’s the link:  Apokalypsis at amomancer.

Enjoi.

Right now the cats are scared.  If you have ever seen me with my headphones on dancing to the Ike and Tina Turner Review’s "Nutbush City Limits" you understand.  I have heard they have applied for a UN peacekeeping force.

Long time readers know how surreal this week is.  Within a handful of days we have my Grandmother’s birthday (she just turned 99!), and the birthdays of both ex-wives (hello, Jan and Ann), as well as usually at least a few auspicious days under some semblance of control and scheduling. As well as the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.  Strange days, indeed.

I have completed my first draft-cut on Apokalypsis.  It is fantastic.  I am turning it over to the muse herself, White Sunday, for review and approval.  There are some issues and I give her full authority in those matters.

I chopped off my ponytail yesterday.  Okay, not me, a young Albanian hairstylist did the actual cutting, but I authorized it.  I feel good about it.  Many reasons (ever hear me doing something for a solo motive?  Nope!) for the action.

Well, just wanted to check in, my lovers and lovelies.  I feel good, I feel strong, and as "Station to Station" by David Bowie cycles up on my iTunes, I bid you a good day.

Yes, RenaissanceFive, my lit and arts mag, is still being slaved over.  You would not, can not imagine the people we have working on this thing.  I can assure you, if you are a long-time reader, you will be blown away by our creative team on the first issue.

The new book, Apokalypsis, is on hold…not because of anything other than it is changing direction.  It will now be single-muse focused.  And if you can’t guess which muse, you really need to read more.

The legendary Ophidian himself, Conrad Hoyer, and I are beginning a musical/poetry collaboration that may surprise a lot of people.  Stay tuned.

Yes, I am going to retrofit williamfdevault.com and yes, I am considering a monograph of my poetry suite "The Sacraments".  And, yes, I am giddy to the point of madness in love.  It is starting to annoy people.  Not me.  It is good to be happy.

I will be changing my geographic base of operations within the next twelve months.  To where. depends on several factors.  I will keep you in the loop,

Today my father turns 87.  He is in good health and I am happy is is strong and well and in my life.  I am blessed.  He is a good man.

As I write I am sitting here with my headphone son, bombarding my soul with the most gut-wrenching songs I know.  Not to punish myself, but to test the fibers.  In case you have been living in a hermetically-sealed mason jaw on Funk & Wagnall’s back porch for the last several weeks, I gave my heart.  Vegas oddsmakers are disappointed, as they had me as a 3:2 to never say "I love you" to a woman again.  I love it when I confound my critics.  I think I’ve made a career of it, and a legacy.  Always bet on red.

No, people, I will stop giving my heart permanently when I am dead.  And maybe not even then, I have hope of an afterlife.  I may fall and get bloodied, but I am resolute.  I have every hope this will not be necessary to test, again, this one, this "Sunday Girl" is extraordinary. 

But I am sitting here listening to the likes of Bush’s "Glycerine", Art Garfunkle’s "All I Know" and Neil Young’s prophetic "Heart of Gold".  Glutton for punishment?  Nah, just sparring with my soul.  My last two significant relationships bloodied me pretty badly.  I have to get tough, strong, fast and resilient.  I don’t plan to fall or fail, or to see this one slip away and crumble to dust, but that, in the end is an exercise of her free will and beyond my ethical boundaries to control.  Yes, I have shown an ability to influence people with my words, but to usurp free will?  No!

I have updated my Amomancer blog with more of the White Sunday works…I am considering a totem shift (yes, I know I foreswore the totems during the Aubergine era, but we all saw how well that went).  I am considering (furtive glances to the side) changing her totem from "The Sunday Girl" or "White Sunday" to…Apokalypsis.  There’s a couple of very valid reasons to do so.  I’m thinking about it.  Suggestions?  Ideas?  Bribes?