City of Legends

Let me see…my Dad’s 88th brthday, my 56th.

Dropping Elric off at University of Hawaii at Hilo.

Dante starting to Old Dominion University (ODU).

Earthquake.  Hurricane.

Yep, that was August.

I miss my boys.

Delivered Elric to his new college at University of Hawaii at Hilo, Dante leaves for Old Dominion University in two days.

Still haven’t finished release of "Selected Poems and Passions"…don’t have the emotional stamina for it, with all else that’s going on.

Survived my birthday on the 16th…hundreds of well wishers, which still was not sufficient to overcome my funk for my Sunday Girl being out of touch.  I admit, wounding…but one embraces what one can and accepts the rest.

I have been writing, sporadically, but some good material.  I need to find a way to decouple my creative/emotional energies from the roller coaster ride of my lovelife…

My front license plate was stolen, right off my car, inconvenient.

Just staying busy, as best I can…feeling in a bit of a holding pattern.  Why is it that whenever I fall into the horse lattitudes that random women come out of the woodwork, seeking a position as new muse? 

Oddly enough, professionally and personally I am doing well…just feeling unmotivated to blog.

Elric and Dante both leave this month for college…I, personally, will be escorting Elric to the University of Hawaii at Hilo for orientation.  Poor kid, trapped for 4 years in paradise.

Dante is gearing up for Old Dominion University, he is majoring in Math with a minor in Physics.  He is giddy over getting into a true academic environment.

My relationship with the Sunday Girl remains strong, if complicated…in time I will tell you the tale and you will go "Huh?"

The delay in final release of the last book ( Selected Poems and Passions: 2004-2011 ) seem to be resolved, and it should ship in the next few weeks…

My son, Elric, the other day dared to ask me if I understand women.  He pointed out I have a great deal more life experience than him, have met and dated many incredible women (by whatever standards one may apply to extraordinary) and have been married, write some pretty decent love poetry and have an above average IQ.

I think I may have confused him with my answer.

First off, I told him that women are neither more nor less complex than men, just different in that both their brain chemistry and the experiences they have in this life can and are often very different.  I have met no men who have had an abortion.  I have met few men who have traded their body for drugs.  I have met no woman stupid enough to get her hand caught in a jar or so cruel as to not give a truly penitent friend a second chance.

Then I created, for him, an allegory.

Let us presume there is a wild animal in the back yard.  Doesn’t matter what sort, but let us say a fox.  I know what a fox is, what it eats, its methods of hunting and the way it socializes with other foxes.  I know female foxes are called "vixens", baby foxes are called "pups" and that fox hunting is sick and disgusting.  I know many folktales and fairy tales that include them, and I know they are often considered a symbol of sly malice.  I know a great deal about foxes, including that they are considered a high risk for carrying rabies.

I know a great deal more about women than I know about foxes, but I also know this:  Generalizations are dangerous.

I do not know if a particular fox is rabid.  I do not know if it is hungry.  I do not know if it has had rocks thrown at it by stupid boys or ever been hit by a car or chased by a dog or accidentally eaten poison.  I do not know if it is currently under duress, deaf, blind, in estrus or high from eating some stoner’s stash in the woods.

To have a one in a million chance of predicting what that fox would do if I walked down into the back yard and offered it my hand to sniff, I would need to know all these things and more.

And women, as a rule, are more complicated.  At least the ones worth getting to know.

Do I understand women?  Enough to respect, love and fear them as a feral race placed upon this earth to challenge my eloquence, my patience, my heart and my IQ.

God love ‘em all.  Of course, now Elric knows the secret, the obvious secret of the complexity of people, regardless of gender, and the folly of ever thinking you’re one step ahead of the curve.

I’d tell Dante (my other son) the same thing, but I don’t think he wants to hear it, yet.  he’s going to need to have his heart broken a few times before there is a need for the secret to understanding women.  Which is to say, we don’t understand them, we love them and find their most arch elements to be charming.

I know I have been quiet the last few days.  Much of this has been because I have been out of town and out of touch.

Friday night my nephew, Joshua, was married.  I travelled down to Wytheville, Virginia, to attend the simple but very sweet service.  I like his new bride, she is very pleasant to talk with and I think it will do him some good.

Saturday was my father’s 86th birthday.  He and my mother were down at my sister’s for Josh’s wedding, so I and the boys (Elric and Dante) had come down not just for the wedding, but to see my Dad and spend some time with him.

Saturday morning we went with him and my mother to a friend’s house who restores antique cars and they posed for photos with a 1933 (the year my mother was born) Buick and a 1923 (the year my father was born) Chevrolet Superior.  Then we took a ride in the Chevy.  Nice car and well restored.

On the way back I and the boys bonded by listening to a recording of Denis Leary’s classic "I’m an Asshole" song, which they joined in with me in singing along with.  It’s a guy thing.

I was getting ready to post a heady essay I had just written on the nature of Christianity divorced from mythology.  It’s not bad, and it makes some valid points and I will eventually post it.

But…

It occurs to me my world is all but abstract to most of my readers.  They don’t know or see what is and isn’t happening in my sphere, so I am going to try harder to be more earnest and forthright on a personal level.  Nothing, God help us, against the poetry and the thought.  I just felt the need to connect as a human being.

A long time back I wrote a poem about such things, during the darkest days in Venice, where I despaired that so many women saw me as an abstraction that I was never going to find anyone to settle down with.  Half true to history, but the mystery of my second marriage and its eventual demise (that’s for another day) only tells a part of the tale.

Hi.  I’m William Francis DeVault.  I am 53 years old.  I was born August 16th, 1955, in Greenville, South Carolina, in the United States of America.  I have three children, two ex-wives, my parents are still alive, as are my four siblings. 

I am most often associated with Morgantown, West Virginia, where I came of age as a poet, and Venice Beach, California, where I feel the most at home and have written some of my best work.

My life, which seems exotic to many, seems rather average to me.  I have been places and done things that many have not, but not so much as some.  I have never jumped out of an airplane, fired a handgun, or been elected to public office.  I am above average in IQ and if my ethics and morals seem a bit hard to explain or understand, the key is simple:  I don’t always blame others or even try to justify my mistakes.  I have had several times in my life where I told a friend or lover that, should things go badly, they are to tell whatever tale gets them out as injury-free as possible, they can count on my silence.  Although I have been driven to near madness more than once when an unprincipled person takes that too well to heart, I have held up fairly well.

Despite my years, I still feel quite young.  I sometimes have to fight for that…but that’s okay.  I like feeling 17, especially with the experiences of this life to call upon (the old "If I knew then what I know now").  And before you begin to snicker know this:  The last woman I was with was my second wife, on February 12, 2004.  Prior to that I had not been with another woman since the summer of 1997.  So let’s lay aside the "can’t keep his pants zipped" assumptions.  They are ignorances and prejudices, two things that are not tools for the evolved mind or heart

I am passionate and sexual, but I have chosen to guard well my heart and soul this time, as I know I am passionate and sexual, and I am just gullible enough to allow myself to walk into disastrous situations with blinders on when lead by my hormones.  I still write about the joy of a woman’s body and presence, but until I find one trustworthy and just plain worthy, I think I will stay the dichotomous monk I have evolved into.

Yes, I have been connected with one or two women who were married in the past, but with one minor and notable exception (a long time ago), in every case I was lead to believe the situation was far more dissolved than it was.  Nothing quite like getting an angry call from an ex-husband who isn’t an ex-husband.  Have I allowed myself to be gullible because that was the most convenient thing for me to believe.  Yes.  Without a doubt.

My father, who is going to be 86 next month, was the best man at my first wedding.  He is still someone I love and admire.  At the time I did not have a male "best friend", so I gave him the job.  I hope he was touched.

Of late, I have four good male friends.  Friend is a hard word for me, as I have a brutal definition of friendship, having been quoted as saying "A friend is someone you can trust behind you with a sharp knife and a good reason".  I hope I will pass that test of character even with a stranger.  Of these four friends, two are fellow poets, one is a musician and one is my older brother, Robert.  We spent most of our lives at loggerheads, being the alpha pack dogs we were…it is nice we have learned to cooperate.

When I fall, I fall hard and completely.  Aubergine, the last woman I said "I love you" to, warned me that she wasn’t very good at relationships and I would fall from a great height.  I accepted the challenge and the fall was great and terrifying. I have empathy and sympathy for those who continue to dare to love and accept their fall.  I will see you on my next trip up the pillar and off the cliff.

My mother just turned 76.  She’s a firecracker.  We have lively political and religious debates, as I have drifted to the left of Al Franken over the years, she to the right of Dick Cheney.  I love her greatly.  I would not vote for her for President.

My children are joys to me.  My daughter, Peri, lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Brian.  He’s a good guy and they are good for each other.  She’s half me and half her mother, not always having gotten the best of us.  But I adore her like no one else in this life, even when she treats me like tick crap.

My sons, the sons of thunder, turn 16 in about a week.  Elric is so much like me as a teenager it is frightening, although Dante has some of my traits as well.  Between the two of them there’s enough energy, intellect and appetite for life to start a new civilization on a distant planet.  Of course, they’d need to find the right women, first.  Good luck.

Today is an ordinary day.  I am in the office, doing some work for a defense contractor, helping with some proposals and quality programs.  Not poetic, but it pays okay.  I’m worth a lot more than I am getting, but in this economy its good to hold onto a job.  The building we are in shuts down air conditioning on weekends.  It is about 2:20 in the afternoon, the sun is shining and you could wring my sweat out of my shirt.  Not ideal writing conditions.

Contrary to what I have heard, last summer’s illness was not self-inflicted.  I am violently opposed to that avenue.  But it did screw up my tour, my digestive system, my schedule, my overall health and physical conditioning.  Remind me to only eat at Taco Bells in my own neighborhood.

Well, I have meandered enough.  Thanks for taking the time to read.  Yes, I know there are a thousand unanswered questions.  Be patient.  We have time.

And if you know a nice woman who wants to be worshipped five hundred years from now as an icon of romance and passion, send her my way.

Weird week?  Yeah.  Weird week.  Everyone I usually talk to is off on various tangents.  The people I usually don’t have a lot of time with are filling in the gaps, some aggressively.  To whit, in the last 48 hours:

I have had three different women confess that they love me.  None of whom I’d have suspected before.

I had a lengthy discussion with a Government networking engineer on the virtue of Po Boy sandwiches.

I have written dozens of fragments of poems.  Not full length pieces, just phrases and metaphors, like I am shaking the crumbs out of the Oreo bag (which is, in and of itself, a great image.

Reminded several friends to wish a happy birthday to an old friend I am out of touch with (but cautioned them not to tell them it was me who reminded them).

Helped my son, Dante, build a 4-generation family tree, filling in some interesting elements along the way.  For instance, my maternal Grandfather was 39 years older than my maternal Grandmother (the one who is now 97 and recently broke her hip).  And I, my father, and his father were all born between August 1st and August 18th, must be something about the month of November and DeVault boys named William (note, had they not been a month premature, my twin sons would’ve been born in August, as well…).

Laid down a screeching guitar track for my next CD, to accompany some cathartic poetry I have recently produced.  Be afraid.  The cats are being…circumspect.

All in all, interesting times.  At least, to me.  And since it is my life, that’s what counts.

If you’ve ever watched the film "Wanted" with James McAvoy, Angelina Jolie and Morgan Freeman?  McAvoy’s character achieves a sort of an epiphany in the course of the story, and the film ends with him addressing the change in his life.

I understand and relate to his words, even though I am not a man of violence, as his character becomes.  I’m not so much into the final line, but in the entire soliloquy, especially when he addresses taking back control of his life from all the corrupting and distracting elements that had always sought to manipulate, use and abuse him.

I always believed enough in myself, my intellect and abilities, to believe that I could walk into a random event and still come out the other side in a good position.  One of the best friends I ever had used to marvel at the fact that I had never stepped outside of society to live by my wits alone.  I didn’t have a good answer for him, aside from the fact that I had just always played within the confines of the game.

Some would call that cowardice, or a constellation of cowardices and fears.  Some would call it arrogance (believing that I could step into an existing framework and still win).  I don’t have a good answer to that.  Some have called me too passive, others too cruel.  Some think I am a bully, a victim, a hedonist or a saint.  Again, I can’t answer that question to the satisfaction of anyone, including myself.  Certainly the partial ignorances and arrogances of others drive their perception.  Knowing only what they themselves have seen or said or heard in rumour.  It is a source of occasional bemusement and constant annoyance to me.  The fact that I am, in some cases, proscribed from correcting false impressions due to a rather Gordian code of honor only makes the conflicts more vivid.  I know people in this world who despise me out of ignorance, but to correct those misconceptions would bring harm to others. 

My son, Elric, has recently taken to posing the question of who he is, of how he would be defined and perceived.  Not unusual when you are 15.  Not unusual when you lack the focus of the truly driven.  His twin brother, Dante, is more like a laser-beam in his drive to excel, academically, and thus has less time for self-contemplation.  There are times I think I, and certainly Elric, should envy him. 

I do think I have gotten a bit lazy, allowing forces and people around me to dictate my agenda.  While this seems just good manners to some, not wanting to create conflict, it also means I am operating well below the red line.  No one benefits in the long run when I sit in the back row.

So, I need to reach deep, tap in to those last few thermonuclear reactions at my core, and take control of my life and environment.  I need to take back control.  It won’t be easy.  It won’t necessarily be very popular with some.  But it is the thing that is necessary, for me not live as a hypocrite.

I am writing this, like most things, on the fly.  So, please, gentle reader, forgive me if I am incomplete in my thoughts and come back to it later.

I have always been fascinated by language.  It is almost a mystical thing for me, examining the words people choose to use, or choose not to use, and breaking that down for the meaning behind the expression of the thought.  My sons and I get a kick out of analyzing things written, said or unsaid, from time to time and the humour we find in the peculiarities of the English language is great, and we find great commonality on it.

I grew up all over the country, being an Air Force brat, and picked up a lot of touches of local slang in the process, but also was largely insulated from neighborhood slangs, which evolve almost like twinspeak (which my sons so ably demonstrated when they were toddlers) when there is an insulated sub-population that turns inwards for definition and concept.  The internet and cable TV has cut down in it, but not eliminated it.  And you even have phrases and words that evolve within a family or sub-familial unit.

Thus was born the immortal phrase, between myself and my sons, occasionally borrowed by my ex-wife,

"I gotta piss like a banshee"

which is very evocative, but also very peculiar.

On the surface it means "Out of the way, I’m heading for the restroom and will die if I don’t make it".  It is usually accompanied by a certain shrill, urgent tone and a facial expression that is nothing short of a grimace.

For those of you who never saw "Darby O’Gill and the Little People" (one of the first movies of any sort I recall seeing, and certainly the first Disney film I ever saw and absolutely the only romantic music-comedy with a mystical twist I have ever seen with a young, pre-Bond Sean Connery singing.  Yes, singing.  He’s the love interest to the titular character’s daughter.) or never played Dungeons and Dragons or never read classic horror literature, a banshee is a female spirit that appears as a warning of (or threat of) impending death and is known for her keening screech or wail.

How this term came to be, to "piss like a banshee", I have my theories and vague recollections.  I have a tendency to mix metaphors (you can only absorb so much information before it gets jumbled and overlaid (I could make a run on that word)) and I am sure at some point, trying to dodge the obstacle course that my sons can be when they are sprawled on the family room floor, consuming oxygen and Doritos while playing video games, on my way to the restroom, I said something to the effect of "Come on, move it, I gotta piss like a…(wait for it, searching for random metaphor)…banshee".

I am sure, knowing his sense of humour, Dante pounced on it.  Elric would have been two seconds later, but more expressive, something like this:

Me:  I gotta piss like a banshee.

Dante:  What?

Elric:  Should we cover our ears?

Me:  What?

Elric:  So we don’t hear the screaming.’

Dante:  Dissolves into spasmodic laughter.

Me:  I didn’t say I was going to piss "on" a banshee, but "like".  (pausing a beat)  But it is an interesting image, I gotta write this down.

My bladder:  Come on guy, move it unless you wanna find out what it’s like to explode like a very wet fragmentation grenade.

And thus a whole new phrase entered the lexicon.  Innocently enough, but I am certain that years from now, when language experts ponder the use and image of a pissing banshee being used to open the State of the Union Address in 2047, people will want to know how and where it started.

Thus endeth the lesson.  I have to piss like a banshee, cover your ears.

Barbara Holmes, known to the crew who used to populate the legendary Writers Club hangout on America Online (named by Wired Magazine as one of the best places for cybersex) was ringmaster, interviewer and host for various online chats and rooms within that hallowed space that sheltered and embraced such authors as Margaret Moseley, Harlan Coben, Tom Clancy and John Gilstrap.  She was the editor of my Top Ten Lists that were archived there (over 500 of them) and interviewed me more than once for online chats, along with many, many other authors (some of whom I just mentioned).  This is not her first interview for publication with me, and I hope it won’t be her last.

The interview was conducted over the past two weeks, online.

Call Him, William
By Barbara Holmes (TwisterB/Twist) with William F. DeVault (WFDV)

We met in an old AOL Writers Club chat room back in the late 1990’s.  Amidst the groups collective sat me, a fledgling interviewer and humor writer, he a poet and writer of fiery wit and personality.  I dare say neither were surprised at our first offline meeting.  We were what we were, exactly as presented online, honest and forthright.   Screen names and nicknames, yes, but no phony personas, no make believe life stories.  In one word:  Real.

Eight years ago I asked “But why poetry…?”  He answered “Poetry is not a decision, it is a disease.”   As the poet has grown, so has his abundance of work.  Still one of the most prolific poets on the internet, if not “the most”, William F. DeVault continues to captivate us with an absorbing anthology of words.  The result is a personal Everest, a legacy.  One which, I no doubt, in our first interview he only fantasized.  So, how long will he be able to maintain this frenzied pursuit; one can only chance a guess.   For our sakes, if the fates rain kindly on this ever-growing garden, we will indeed be blessed. 

Long live the disease of poetry.

Barbara:  You’ve recently made an enormous change to your website, integrating your original website with your blog. Why?

William:  It was actually on the advice of my ex (Aubergine), who was very high on the power of WordPress.  She had converted her blog to it, and suggested converting my blog to it and raising its profile, its visibility, somewhere along the way it became the front-end to my site.
One of the reasons for the emergence of www.williamfdevault.com.  It is going to take over the heavy lifting of displayed poetry, the City of Legends blog will remain a blog.

B:   Has it changed the way you relate with your fanbase?

W:  It has not seemed to have a major change, except it is easier for fans to leave comments. Which they rarely do…as they are disused to the idea.  Most often my comments are hellos from old friends or hatchet jobs from someone with an axe to grind and bad information.

B:   You’re a poet, what axes would there be to grind?

W:  Good question.  Actually, over the years I have made more than one less-than-admirer for my stance on the status of poetry as an art form, my opinions expressed (sociologically, theologically or politically) and the gravity of my romantic works.  I will give you an illustration:  In high school I was once administered a beating by a young man whose girlfriend had a crush on me because of my works (I didn’t even know her).  I have gotten in the face of more than one other writer or editor in my life, and I have a sharp tongue.  I have had ex-girlfriends call me and tell me that their new boyfriends/husbands know nothing of me and please to keep it that way, or confess they lied to me about their relationship status, when we were involved, to me and that their boyfriend/husband has just found out and is not happy with me.  I can’t go into more details without breaking confidences, but I am far less evil than gullible.  Which I guess, in its own way, is a harder confession to make about oneself.

B:   Between the years of 1995 and 1997 your writing exploded with the Goldenheart Cycles, the Panther Cycles, the Great Cycle to the Goddess of Fire and Poetry and hundreds of other works. How do you think this compares to the more recent upsurge in your works?

W:  I have actually been thinking about this.  I view it as one of three distinct "explosions" of work (the Panther-Goldenheart era).  The first was the early-mid seventies, with a lot of those works filtered now by time so that only the cream survives. The Second Era (the Panther-Goldenheart era) has just started getting the filtration, but in large part because of my insistence of the retention of the integrity of the cycles, there has been little elimination of lesser works.  The most recent era was kicked off by the podcasting and recording I began around 2006, but also as part of a delayed healing process from my second divorce. It reached a fever pitch during the Aubergine courtship, then the death spiral of that relationship played out in poetics, which had integrity, but is interesting now to go back and read.

B:  It’s been 13 years since the writing of the first Panther Cycle.  Where do these poems fit into your legacy?

W:  The Panther Cycles are a monolith.  They are a block of work that does not cap, but cornerstones a whole section of my works.  There are some extraordinary works in amongst those 600 and some odd works, including my first work with villanelles.

B:  How can they be compared to your present works? Or can they?

W:  I think the Panther Cycles are a little less sophisticated, structurally, than the more recent works, but there are certainly some moments in there that are as good as anything I have or ever will do.  The recent works are more evolved, more thoughtful, more earnest, but neither era can claim primacy in my catalog.

B:  Do you ever have the urge to add to any of these previous Cycles? Situations or settings that trigger a memory…

W:  Not really the Panther Cycles, although I did write a few poems over the years as a follow up when situations demanded it, like when the Panther broke a promise to me.  I am far from perfect and have made more than my share of blunders, but I have never held much with people who live for each re-invention with a disdain for what made them who they are and brought them to their change.  I believe in the human capacity for growth and change, but not at the cost of the truth.  There have been a few works, but not enough to tamper with the framework that is the ‘Cycles.

B:  The bond you had with your daughter, Peri, developed numerous fractures which began during the Panther era. Why was this particular cycle of work so crucial in the relationship’s demise?

W:  I think the evidence of my involvement serves as sort of a slap in the face to her mother, upon whom the dissolution of my marriage to her the affair rested, and that leaves a festering wound, for both of us.  The funny thing is, she now manages a bookstore in Los Angeles.  I have not sought, nor will I seek, to have my books sold through her chain, for the very reason I don’t want that aggravation in her face every day.

B:  Yes, the Panther Cycles would be bit of an irritation but why not your other works?  Don’t you think she would be proud to show off her father’s work?

W:  Ours has always been a complex relationship and reality.  I believe she sees me in a less sterling light than perhaps she did when she was younger.  Even I am not aware of all the perspectives and perceptions that have gone into our dissembling relationship.  I am hopeful we shall patch it up, but I know that there are some wounds that, no matter how skillful the surgeon, there will still be a scar and a memory.  You also must recall she had to endure my second wife, who was very jealous of her and did her own share of hand-grenade lobbing into the chaos.

B:  Did it affect your sons as well or just Peri?

W:  Yes, to a much lesser extent.  Elric and Dante did not have the pre-existing depth of relationship with me when the divorce and exile to LA came.  There was no real sense of losing their best friend, not on the scale of Peri and I, who were best friends for many years.  In some ways I think what really hammered the issues between Peri and I were not the Panther events, but the events in my second marriage.  My second wife was very jealous of how close I was with Peri and on more than one occasion I was forced to publicly give Peri the back seat.  That hurt, I know, and I wish there was a way to make it up to her.

B:  We’ve spoken for years of your need to return to Los Angeles.  Do you see yourself there in the near future?

W:  I had hoped to return to stay later this year, but it is now looking more like sometime next year.

B:  What necessitates this desire for LA?

W:  It feels like home to me.  It is where I want to live out my life, where I want to die.

B:  Why do you feel such a strong urge to go back?

W:  It’s funny, I almost feel like a salmon, justifying his need to swim upstream at spawning time.  It is a primal thing, I am only aware of it as a drive within me.  I am at peace there, and peace eludes me.

B:  I know you’ve not been feeling 100% in the past few months.  Has anything else reared its ugly head to stall your departure?

W:  Well, aside from nearly dying of food poisoning and having my heart brutally plucked from my chest, no, all is as it should be.  Ha!
The food poisoning I acquired while visiting my daughter in Los Angeles left me hampered to a degree I would not have predicted, the side effects were staggering (and, no longer being a teenager, my powers of recovery are not as potent as they once were). 
And, as you as well as anyone knows, I am driven by the champion vector of my personality.  Losing Aubergine as a focal point for my energies stripped me of my vector, I became depressed and bored and boring, a laser beam became a series of small, smouldering brush fires that had no purpose or path.  It has taken all I have, all the coping mechanisms and techniques for my own emotional and intellectual self-manipulation I have developed and learned over the last several decades just to rise to my feet.  My energy levels were and are depleted.  I am in recovery, emotionally, spiritually and intellectually.
And, as with all such actions, reality plays its role.  The logistics of the move, my sons, my aging parents, my grandmother (who just turned 97 and is fading) all play into the timing.  As much as I like to tell myself I am immune to the fates, the truth is I am always at their whim.

B:  You and I have had stimulating discussions on the subject of Muses, and your oft times dependence on them to write.  Who was your most recent Muse?

W:  In the absence of a dominating muse, such as the Panther or Aubergine, I am reacting to moments and minutes, so there are many muses in the sky at this time.  I foreswore the use of the totems, last winter, and am now evaluating going back to them.  I don’t honestly know what is next or who is next or where my soul is at this time.

B:  What work did they inspire you to write?

W:  Readers should look at the last two or three months of Amomancer (http://amomancer.blogspot.com) for some of the new inspirations and works.

B:  Who would be perceived as your greatest Muse?

W:  Wow.  The natural, safe answer would be the Panther, but you have to realize that she makes up only a tiny percentage of my works, and not the best works.  If I died tomorrow, Aubergine would end up with the crown, owing to the recency of her regency.  "More than Gods can comprehend", "Aubergine", “ the entirety of the book "As such…" and the works that frame the end of that age of grace, all are so powerful.  Who knows what happens tomorrow?

B:  Who is “Aubergine” that she deserves this lofty state of regency?

W:  Remind me to set boundaries next time.  (Scowl)  She was a friend, a writer, whom I had a crush on for some time, mostly because of the power of her writing, there was an earnest, raw energy to it, and I admired her greatly.  I can’t go much more into that without dragging her fully into the fray.  The relationship evolved unexpectedly, intensified at a speed and on a curve that would astound a hurricane forecaster, then fell apart under its own intensity mere days after my last book came out (some cynic pointed out that women tend to wait to leave me until after their book comes out, but the Panther was 9 years gone from my bed when "The Compleat Panther Cycles" came out!)  [Note: The interviewer is not the aforementioned “cynic.”]
In four years, she was the first person to say and do the right things to get around the walls I had put up.  I had not really given myself in some time (by the way, celibacy is a bitch) and I threw myself into the relationship with the blind emotional vigor of a teenager.

B:  What caused this fall from grace?

W:  I have my own theories, and have had many (some who have no knowledge of what transpired or was said within the relationship) present theirs.  In the end, even if there were sworn testimony of a thousand angels, I would probably still not know all, and I was privy to most things. 
I think it was the old Rita Hayworth trap.  She once said that men "go to bed with Gilda" (perhaps her most famous role) but wake up with her.  Over the years a lot of women have fallen in love with the poetry, ironically enough it is often works written to another, but then can’t find room for the third dimension when I am off the page and in their lives.  No shame to them.  I am not an easy person to love, in the real world.  I am mercurial, literal, intense, sexual and can be slow on the uptake (dropping clues on me is usually wasted, use anvils and shout a lot, that works better).  I shoulder my failures.

B:  In recent years you’ve become more politically active, with such works as "Darfur (Jesus Wept)" and "An American Father".  Is this an evolution in your conscience or just a side ultimately being revealed?

W:  I have always been politically active, but have kept that largely out of my poetry. I am a liberal pacifist feminist Democrat.  Tom Clancy calls me an anarchist.

B:  You’ve graduated from exclusively written prose to recording your work. Why now, why do you feel your work needs a voice?

W:  It adds a dimension, and it records how I perceive a work should be read.  I fell into it, after reading an article on podcasting.  Now we have five CDs and a 24/7 internet radio station at Live365.com

B:  You have also stated these recording take an enormous toll on you so why not another voice, why yours?

W:  It would be disingenuous to give the job to someone else.  These are my words, my thoughts, my soul.  No one else can speak for me, I wouldn’t want them to.

B:  Undoubtedly, you’ve heard other people read your work.  Weren’t you satisfied with their readings or do you just feel you give a better presentation?

W:  Better?  Not so much, but more accurate to my intention.  As an example, there’s a band in North Carolina named "johnnydirtyshoes" that did a reading of my poem "Darfur" at a fundraiser for "Doctors Without Borders".  You can see it on YouTube.  The reading is technically fine, but the nuance isn’t my nuance.  Writers write for several reasons, but part of my motive is to be understood. 

B:  You’ve spoken a few times of the CDs’ “band”.  It has a synthesized ring to it so who or what is this band?

W:  Mostly it’s just me, with Garage Band on my Mac.  I have had a few quest musicians and vocalists contribute, notably Alan MacDonald, Kevin Bond and The Selke.  I manufactured a second face for the band’s lead guitarist, Izzy Durden, when Izzy is me on the synthesizer, indulging my love of the film "Fight Club" and the notion that no one would imagine me as a wild-man guitarist. "Is he (Tyler) Durden?"

B:  The "Evangelist" is your fifth CD in three years.  How does this differ from the others and what is the symbolism behind the name and cover?

W:  It has some cuts from the previous CDs.  Aubergine had suggested a "Greatest Hits" compilation, so I met her halfway.  The cover is a woodcut of Paul on the road to Damascus, struck blind by his confrontation with Jesus.  I added the blood effects to intensify the look and contrast.  The symbolism is that the "Damascus Road" moments we have, when we think we have been transformed by our finding love, are real, but only within a frame of reference.  It took me months to recover from the break-up with Aubergine, and the CD kept changing form…finally I realized I needed to make a testament to love itself.

B:  Which of your books are you the most proud of, so far?

W:  Pride is a tough emotion for me, they are all flawed.  I have to admit a certain awe for "The Compleat Panther Cycles" though.

B:  Which of your CDs?

W:  "Evangelist".  It is honest, earnest and true, and it brings together a spectrum of my works and styles.

B:  Which do you feel exemplifies your work?

W:  Books?  "Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite".  CDs?  "Evangelist".

B:  Which process satisfies the real Amomancer? The writing?  The readings?  The recordings?

W:  None of it.  The writings are necessary as my adaptive mechanism for life.  The readings became a tool for interfacing with my public, meeting new people and selling books (plus, when I press for it, I can make more money on a single night’s reading than in a month of book sales, plus sell some books and CDs).  The recordings?   Damn, I don’t know why I am doing that except that I can.  People seem to like it and I have some fun doing it.
I am not satisfied with anything.  I sometimes wonder if it is possible for me to be satisfied.  Hell, I sometimes wonder if it is possible for me to be in love, that maybe this whole tapestry has been an illusion, played to random chance or otherworldly amusement.

B:  An interesting personage you noted on your “who influenced me” blog list was “Dangerous Liaisons”, Viscount Valmont.  This character was exceedingly egotistical, a tremendous womanizer not to mention emotionally abusive.  How and why do you feel this type of personality influences the growth of your own moral fiber?

W:  Valmont discovered his conscience through love and did the right thing in the end.  I have never been the kind of man he was in the beginning of the story, although I have seen that beneath the surface.  When he saw the monster he was, he gave himself up, and gave others the power to see the truth.  I’ve spent too much of my life working with people who have been abused, trying to help them get their lives together.  If I ever thought I was Valmont, the monster, I would have to take myself out.  I lack his ego, his skill with women and his hollowness, ethically.

B:  The list also contained many individuals who could be classified as “Heroes”.  Do you see yourself in this light?

W:  I have my moments.  I want to do the right thing, which is sometimes clouded by the arrogance of life and the nature of the world.  I think if I was truly free to speak all truths I know, the world would see me in a gentler light, for sure.  I have a certain stripe of the heroic bent, the sort of kid who burns himself pulling moths away from the fire.

B:  You had the chance to “speak the truths” in your book. Why haven’t you finished it?

W:  Many times I am constrained by the "Dragnet" clause.  "Names have been changed to protect the innocent".  There are things I cannot say because they would hurt others, but at the same time there is the compulsion to speak the truth, so I let myself come as close as possible, sometimes even destroying works before they are published, as I find they will reveal something that hurts another.  Sometimes I don’t realize I have crossed a line until after I have crossed it (I said I can be dense).  Those are moments of great moral conflict and true horror.
I presume by "your book" you are speaking of the body of my works?  Or of my discarded memoir?  The memoir was discarded as I realized it would destroy so many sandcastles out there, and I am trying not to reveal myself at the expense of others, especially those who may be criticized or attacked merely for human failings.
You know, of all the people who have wounded me in this life, Aubergine was the only one who apologized in or after the act of my evisceration.  Perhaps that is part of her special place in my memory and tapestry.  She demonstrated that she has a soul.
But to the question:  Truth is never complete, where humans are concerned.

B:   If you died today, what happens to the hundreds, even thousands, of works you claim to have never released previously?

W:  My children gain control of them.  My brother has the master password to unlock the virtual vault I keep them in.  What happens to them after that is of no concern to me.

B:  What would you like your legacy to be?

W:  He wrote well and championed the couer rage to love.

B:  On your headstone, help me etch the testament: "William F. DeVault ….

W:  "We don’t know where his body lies, but let this be where those who would curse or praise his memory come to express what they perceive as true.  May love free us all from madness."
 

My thanks to Barbara Holmes for this interview.

A whirlwind week, full of magic and muses and musings. Came to some conclusions, was blown by some winds, considered new options.

My friend, the Roman, has approached me with a deal to completely redesign my blog and the new site. It’s attractive, the deal, and his design ideas are excellent. I enjoyed the brief time of excessive darkness, but that time has passed, and int he absence of the webmaster who created it maintaining it, it seems common sense to change.

The reaction I am getting to the lovely artwork by my friends is terrific, and I thank you all who have been visiting here and at williamfdevault.com for your interest and comments. I have become very good friends with several of the artists (and will say no more on that topic).

There has been a time of discussion regarding my next CD and book projects. Debate has been furious and infuriating, as I am not of a mind to anchor myself to a concept when things can change so radically in a few weeks’ or months’ time. For now my goal is to name the next CD Amomancer VI and the next book The Ronin Returns. Titles subject to change.

Yes, Barbara, yes Jazz, yes, everyone…I am not planning to spend the rest of my life as a monk, but as a man. I am in love, but let me qualify that. I have never fallen out of love in my life. Is there someone new in my life? Perhaps. But having been lead to an exhibitionistic display of affection in recent months, only to find myself in quicksand (which is neither malicious or evil, merely a natural hazard to be avoided) I am not of a whim or will to start screaming my heart to the universe. For those of you who have been followers of mine from the start, consider this Venice II. You will understand if you were aware.

There is a great ennui at my door, and I battle it every day. Lacking an open champion status, I find myself drained and pained. I am fighting through, without pharmaceuticals, without drinking, without recreational sex. This does not make me better that anyone else, it merely means I am staying true to myself.

This week began with the birthday for my grandmother, who is now 97 (and feisty). Wednesday was the 35th birthday of my second wife, Ann. Thursday was 9/11. Tomorrow is the 50th birthday of my first wife, and mother of my three reasons for still hanging around for Act III, Jan. It has been an auspicious week.