I have found a hobby.
(Sort of.)
Tonight, after I listened to it rain, I picked up a Stephen King short storybook or collection. It was like learning to read again. Skeleton Crew, featuring I think (1) story made into a movie (Monkeyshines, née The Monkey) and one that made it to one of the Creepshow movies (The Raft). And (2) painfully blank verse poems, (1) of which is from a paranoid schizophrenic's paranoid schizospective, which makes it more tolerable, but that has (1) slant rhyme that made we waste upwards of (2) minutes looking for another; (1) formulaiac Like, Creepy Tales, Man story about a dude who got cursed by a Hindian holy man (the holy man threw a dead chicken at the dude; you know that Hindoo voodoo) and which claimed that the natives have things "undreamed of in our philosophy"; and the (1) about the shipwrecked d'ago surgeon-cum-drug smuggler who progressively snorts his blow while amputating and eating more and more of himself.
My introduction to the King of Horror was in (2)nd grade, with the illustrated "novella" Cycle of the Werewolf, which I recall as being not as laughably absurd as its Nick Nolteized cinematization Silver Bullet (recently featured on AMC). I first read the present monstrous menagerie of Spooky Shit Stories way before I read IT, which was in (4)th grade. Speaking of WHICH, I wish someone had read it in advance to forbid me from reading it, esp. with the whole (6) (10)yearold dudes banging a (10)yearold girl in the sewers. There has got to be here (1) or more lessons about Liberal Permissive Parenting.
Not that this collection is entirely unreadable. The one about the guy who went on a murderspree with his girlfriend whom he met that night who (SPOILER) didn't really exist (END SPOILER) was alright, like if Horatio Alger started writing after Freud and had less faith in the American dream and more faith in the awful incorrigibility of human (America inclusive) nature. And then there's the (1) about Gramma, which scared the fuck out of my (8)yearold ass and which I realized in highschool is full of Lovecraft references. And there are (2) that I actually like, The Jaunt, which I like to give its apter Phil Dick title 'The Trouble with the Teleporter', and Mrs. Todd's Shortcut. The latter is the author doing the only thing he can do: writing about weird shit that takes place in Maine. With dialect and stuff.
But don't take my word for it: Read the book! O, awful horror and Reading Rainbow, what hell hath you wrought.
I would like to found the notion of a disposable hobby. Something you do and then throw away. But it's likely that I'll pick up this shitty split-binding book again within the next (3) years.
My introduction to the King of Horror was in (2)nd grade, with the illustrated "novella" Cycle of the Werewolf, which I recall as being not as laughably absurd as its Nick Nolteized cinematization Silver Bullet (recently featured on AMC). I first read the present monstrous menagerie of Spooky Shit Stories way before I read IT, which was in (4)th grade. Speaking of WHICH, I wish someone had read it in advance to forbid me from reading it, esp. with the whole (6) (10)yearold dudes banging a (10)yearold girl in the sewers. There has got to be here (1) or more lessons about Liberal Permissive Parenting.
Not that this collection is entirely unreadable. The one about the guy who went on a murderspree with his girlfriend whom he met that night who (SPOILER) didn't really exist (END SPOILER) was alright, like if Horatio Alger started writing after Freud and had less faith in the American dream and more faith in the awful incorrigibility of human (America inclusive) nature. And then there's the (1) about Gramma, which scared the fuck out of my (8)yearold ass and which I realized in highschool is full of Lovecraft references. And there are (2) that I actually like, The Jaunt, which I like to give its apter Phil Dick title 'The Trouble with the Teleporter', and Mrs. Todd's Shortcut. The latter is the author doing the only thing he can do: writing about weird shit that takes place in Maine. With dialect and stuff.
But don't take my word for it: Read the book! O, awful horror and Reading Rainbow, what hell hath you wrought.
I would like to found the notion of a disposable hobby. Something you do and then throw away. But it's likely that I'll pick up this shitty split-binding book again within the next (3) years.
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