Calel

Below is my pseudo-tribute to the mythos of Superman, first published in 2009 by the late, great, weird-fiction magazine Farrago's Wainscot as part of a series of linked vignettes titled "Seven Men (in Various States of Fabrication)." No, I don't really know what I was thinking.

VI: Calel

Ice cannot harm me, nor fire. Swords and pitchforks fall blunt against my skin. My thews, taut and thick, are knotted with monstrous energies. There is a furnace in my breast, a flintlock in my spine. My name is Calel. I never wanted this.

But I cannot remove what God has seen fit to install in my body. I often feel as though I am his finger, as if there is a vast, intangible fist behind me through which courses divine love, divine will, divine might.

And then abruptly, in the midst of such rapturous delirium, I remember. I remember where I come from. I remember who I am. As base as it is to hold one's soul at arm's length from heaven and covet it so, I cradle what little is left of myself as if it were an orphaned child, wasted from thirst and hunger.

But at night, I forget. At night, I fall. At night, the cloak calls.

Holy Hugo

So... I guess I'm up for a Hugo Award (for being part of the editorial staff of Clarkesworld Magazine, nominated in the Best Semiprozine category). Holy moly. I have no idea how to begin thanking Neil Clarke and all at Clarkesworld for letting me part of the team throughout 2012. And I'm super grateful to my predecessor and successor as nonfiction editor, Cheryl Morgan and Kate Baker, both of whom rock. This is crazy. I'll try my best to sleep tonight.

Adventure Rocketship!

I'm super excited to be part of Adventure Rocketship!, a new print publication out of the UK that focuses on science fiction and geek culture. The first issue will have a big piece by me on J. G. Ballard and his relation to postpunk, plus a few other tidbits I wrote on Sun Ra, Kraftwerk, Parliament, Brian Eno, and X-Ray Spex. Also: lots more rad stuff by others, including cover art by Stanley Donwood (of Radiohead fame); interviews with Michael Moorcock, China Mieville, and Mick Farren; and new fiction by Lavie Tidhar, Liz Williams, et al. Oh, and in case you're wondering: Yes, the magazine is named after the Robyn Hitchcock song. Pre-orders are available here.

Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal

Somewhere Over the Bloodbath

The first installment if my new music column for NSFWCORP is now live. The title--"Somewhere Over the Bloodbath: Ingrid Michaelson's Grotesque Sandy Hook Singalong"--pretty much says it all. That said, I hold out hope you may read the whole thing. WARNING: not for the weak of stomach or the lover of shitty folk-pop.

A one-second dream I had last night

It's how old I feel

Here's my latest article for The A.V. Club, in which I talk about Bad Brains, Black Flag, Minor Threat, Youth of Today, and the notion of hardcore growing old. Not that, you know, I'M getting old or anything. Perish the thought.

Some thoughts on introverts

As I gear up to attend another convention -- my brain a beehive of both excitement and dread -- my heart goes out to my fellow introverts. Rarely understood, often made to feel weird, we do our best to maintain our composure in the face of ridicule, social pressure, and the aggression of well-meaning extroverts. With that in mind, here are a few stray thoughts I've had about introversion over the years. And now to get ready for a weekend of fake smiles and daydreaming through conversations...

-Someone needs to coin a word for the look of disgusted confusion that extroverts give us introverts when we tell them we'd rather stay home.

-There ought to be "introvert tents" set up at all public gatherings, although I suppose that might defeat the purpose.

-Some of my friends, current and former, will vouch for this: Never jump on an introvert's back in public. It is freaky, and you will get punched.

-Introverts aren't unfriendly. They just don't need any more conversations to remember, faces to recognize, or people to keep track of.

-If you have a child who's an introvert, here's the best thing to do: Leave her alone, and if any motherfucker calls her "shy," punch him.

-The real world doesn't frighten introverts. Okay, so it kind of does. But mostly it's just boring. Inside our heads is where the action is.

-Introverts spend their entire lives making excuses and going to elaborate lengths in order to seem otherwise. Thanks, Extrovert World Order.

-One thing that will lure this introvert out of doors: a ticket to see Alice Cooper at the Paramount Theater in Denver on 11/23. You don't need to come with... :)

This weekend's MileHiCon schedule (now with more Heavy Metal)

Okay, so: This weekend I'll be at MileHiCon, Denver's own long-running SFF convention. 'Tis a noble and worthy institution, and I'm looking forward to reading, talking, and hanging out with numerous writerly friends 'n' acquaintances, new and old. Below is my schedule; note the screening and discussion of the legendary animated film Heavy Metal! Hope to see you there. FRIDAY 10/19 9pm, Grand Mesa A: Reading (w/ Mario Acevedo, Cherie Priest, Stephen Graham Jones, Betsy Dornbusch, Julie Kazimer) SATURDAY 10/20 11am-1pm, Mesa Verde B: Speed Meet An Author w/ bunches of people 1-2:30pm, The Highlands: Heavy Metal (the movie) screening 3pm-4pm, Grand Mesa A: Heavy Metal discussion (w/ Aaron Michael Ritchie)

About a book about Bowie

My review of Peter Doggett's excellent new David Bowie book, The Man Who Sold The World, has found a home -- at my old home, Westword. Thanks, Westword.