What does apply is a fine paste of literature adhering your eyeballs to the premier issue of Red Sky, a web- and print-based literary journal that describes itself rather succinctly as “A Literary Journal.” The debut issue features a short story of mine, “The Incredible All-Speaking Gash”–about the suspiciously talented neck injury that won’t stop giving–as well as tasty selections from other “up and coming creative minds.”

You can check out the content of the web issue here. Or, if you’d prefer a print copy (which I hear is a “beautifully designed book-package”), you’ll find instructions for obtaining one here. Red Sky is also accepting submissions for its second issue, so if you think you could harmonize with this “new generation of voices,” why not give them a shout? Just be sure to check the weather reports before doing any sailing, or mailing (or mooning or crooning). I saw a teal hurricane the other day, which can only mean one thing…

…or was it two things…?

Traci O’Connor does not write about pretty things, but she does write them prettily. Or are the things themselves pretty in a way that takes the writing of them to reveal? Are mangled dogs pretty? Are pink prosthetic hands? Are beautiful monsters—to whom Recipes for Endangered Species, her first collection of short fiction, is dedicated—beautiful? Despite their monstrousness, or because of it?

You can find the full review here. And while you’re there, why not take a look at all of Issue 5.4?

So, what does this all mean? Well, my multilinguistically challenged friends, it means that issue 4 of Señor Walkway, the online literary magazine presided over by Sierra Simmons and Seth Blake (one of whom is a fellow CalArtian), as well as the unflappable Seigneur Pedestrian Passage himself, is officially in existence. But who or what is Señor Walkway?

As it turns out, it has more to do with Robot Monsters than sharply dressed men with hats and fancy moustaches (and all the other accoutrements of your modern footbridge, stile, or promenade).

On the subject of translation, there’s a story of mine in the new issue, “Concerning the Unmapped Territories of the Utrecht Region,” my faltering translation of the previously unpublished journals of Dutch naturalist Jacobus ten Broeck, erstwhile naturalist, cartographer, and entrepreneur, once considered permanently lost following ten Broeck’s doomed expedition up one of the tributaries feeding the river Amstel.

A direct link to the story is here.

Once you’re finished with the story, don’t forget to read the rest of the issue. There’s work in there from Adria Bregani, Peter Nichols, and Mike Molitch-Hou, who are all people who I know. Oh yeah, and Het Begroet Aantal Manier van M. Vier.

Baconology: Sizzling Strips of Horror, the new (circa July) anthology from the Library of Horror Press, lists even more novel uses for the miracle meat. Tame an attacking velociraptor. Become a bad-ass commander of ninjas (yes, that’s the title of one of the stories). It includes my short story, “Home Cured,” which is essentially a bacon-infused ghost story-cum-slasher-cum-psychological thriller. And it is available now from Amazon.com, for the low price of $10.04. That’s less than the price of 6 12-oz cans of Bacon Spam. And unlike Bacon Spam, you can enjoy it again and again and again…until you die.

Of cardiac arrest.

Order it here. Immediately. Bacon.

Good night.

In the meantime, I’ve updated the “About” and “Readme” pages to reflect recent publications. I’ve also posted a comprehensive report on the entity known as Slender Man over at TerrorFlicks.com. Don’t mistake this for a review. It’s not a game. I’ve seen it.

I’ve also written up a review of From Software’s new soul-trap Dark Souls for same. This is a game. But it is also, until I have broken free of its clutches, the walking husk that my life has become. As the trailer says, “Prepare to die/fight/struggle/endure/suffer/live.” What they leave out is that, no matter what you think you know, you will always be unprepared.

From the review:

It speaks to how meticulously and relentlessly Dark Souls shatters your spirits that when a message promised me treasure ahead, or things became quiet and peaceful, it only resulted in me clinging more tightly to my shield and praying for a break in the tension. It isn’t as though Dark Souls hadn’t betrayed my trust before. There was that time I came upon an interesting-looking outcrop on the hillside, and as I got closer I realized it was the petrified remains of a giant dragon. I was just remarking how cool it was when the thing came to life and killed me in a single swipe. Or when I was standing on a balcony fiddling with my options (Dark Souls never pauses) when a fat-assed demon jumped up from below and pounded me into a bloody smear. But those moments when you expect something to happen, and nothing happens, are the most excruciating of all.

Read the full Dark Souls review here.

From the Slender Man report:

1.) Advice

Do you make a habit of checking your doors and windows at night? Good.

Now tell me: have you ever noticed anybody looking in? A tall, skinny fellow, perhaps? Well-dressed, no face?

Good.

Others have seen Him too. Others have not survived…but you might get lucky. There are still a few who are fighting Him, fighting to survive or fighting for answers, no matter how painful the search. Can you help me/yourself/them/us?

Read the full report here.

In the meantime, my coverage of the 2011 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival in San Pedro has been published at Innsmouth Free Press. If you’re thinking they just showed Re-Animator twelve times, you might be in for a surprise. Some of the most fascinating films were also the most unexpected, so it might be worth your while to give it a look even if you’re not a Lovecraft ghoul. You can find my review of night one here, night two here.

The package contained one (1) contributor’s copy of Polluto issue 8 (“In Space, No-One Can Hear You Dream”). No explanation. A serendipitous accident, I thought at first, until, flipping through the book, I came upon a name that made me feel temporarily as though my spirit had migrated through the pores of my skin and was wheeling in invisible tempests around my vacant but still-animated body.

The name was my own.

The title of the story is “Outer Space! ~A Memoir~”. I can assure you, it is no memoir. It appears to be a work of pulp science fiction, but for three exceptional details:
1) It is clearly unfinished, yet has been published without any note or explanation from the publisher.
2) It describes, in familiar detail, a time and place with which I am absolutely unacquainted.
3) Most strange of all, I cannot recall ever having written it.

I cannot imagine what a development such as this might signify. I don’t think I can afford to imagine it. Is it possible I wrote it, and subsequently lost all knowledge of having done so? Did somebody else write it in imitation of me? To what purpose?

I’ve attached a few photographs of the mysterious book. You may find them of interest.

I will peruse the text for further evidence. Perhaps an investigation into the less immediately perplexing content might elucidate this mystery. If not, it will likely make for some entertaining reading, and a fine book review. In the meantime, you can check it out for yourself. You may find something amiss, something I miss. Something vital to the future of the cosmos, perhaps. Something

Either way, you ought to have heard of them. For a website fixated on zombies, demons, and enough blood to paint twelve hell-portals, they’re shockingly friendly and fun. They recently published an article highlighting re-imagined, minimalist horror movie posters, which gives you an idea of how diverse their content is. It’s not just reviews. They’ve got a series called “Stayin’ Alive” which provides tips on surviving genre-standard predicaments. They have quizzes. They review games, music, trailers, books, and shorts in addition to feature-length movies.

Oh, and they recently published a review of mine, a grudge match pitting the Spanish handheld-camera demonic-zombie fun-ride REC 2 against the sequel to the Hollywood remake of the first film, Contagion 2: Terminal. Don’t be fooled by their common origins: these are totally different films. And even the worst of the two is frightfully decent.

The two flicks face each other through several rounds in which they prove to be eerily evenly matched. Whenever the match seemed decided, the underdog came delivered an out-of-nowhere left hook that left the prevailing champ blinded. Take, for example,

Location: Terminal vs. Tenement

As its subtitle suggests, “Quarantine 2” moves the series away from its cramped, dingy apartment building and takes to the sky, courtesy of Trans Sky airlines. As anybody who’s spent any serious time in the air knows, however, airplanes can be just as dingy and cramped as the seediest tenement block. From insufficient overhead lights and ink-black windows to lots of close-quarters sniffling, “Quarantine 2’s” first act admirably captures the malaise of air travel. When a crazed passenger attacks one of the flight attendants, resulting in a turbulent emergency landing, the change of scenery doesn’t necessarily make anything nicer. If anything, the scuffed walls and labyrinthine clutter of Las Vegas Airport’s “ramp-up staging area” is darker and seedier than most other real-world locales I could name. Don’t mistake its comparably wide-open spaces for a lack of zombie hiding spot — “Quarantine 2” milks those stray forklifts and sinuous conveyer belts for all they’re worth.

 

In contrast, “REC 2” stays close to home. It’s a nostalgic return trip to the site of the original outbreak, mysteriously silent upon the arrival of the Special Forces team called in to clean up the mess. The apartment building still has a few secret passages to disclose — a few of which stretch the imagination when you consider the scale involved — but the majority of the journey is through all-too-familiar territory. Balagueró and Plaza made terrifying use of every toilet, closet, and stairwell in the original film, as the pools of blood coating nearly every surface attest. There are still some scares to be pulled out of crawlspaces and hidden chambers, but there’s no denying that its American cousin wins for originality. Plus, the use of an already blood-soaked area means “REC 2” has to hit the slippery ground running, resulting in a few tumbles in the first act when not enough tension has built to justify high-stakes scenes.

Advantage: “Quarantine”

Read the full review, and discover the winner, here.

What are some examples of a PSA in action? Well, for example, one could say, “Black Clock #14 is a sleek magnum of literary content. I worked on both the print and epub versions, and both are available to order now. It will expand your mind and your chest and might even save you from a bullet one day if you can find a chest pocket big enough to hold it.”

That would be a pretty good PSA, and sound advice, no less. Another classic example is “The British are coming, the British are coming!” As you can see, the PSA is something of a historical tradition. “Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die” may well be the first PSA in recorded history, the first of many related to the recall of dangerous or contaminated produce. For more historical and contemporary examples of the PSA, see here. For more on Black Clock, go here. And, once more, sleep safely.

Here’s another one: that one has been reached with this, my final column for Innsmouth Free Press. And it’s a doozy. A few centuries shy of 3000 words, it tackles not one but four browser-based games from ludic experimentalist Gregory Weir. There’s also mention of china dolls, mold fairies, and antiquated handbills. It contains worlds, in plural. I won’t lie: this review is no fractal form. No snippety-snap can accurately portray its whole, just as endings may hint at, but never fully encapsulate, their beginnings (the reverse may not necessarily be true). However, in the interest of concluding on the same path we set out on, I’ve included a tidbit here, as is my tradition.

Organising the half-shattered china dolls in the attic of my ancestral home, I came upon yet another antiquated handbill, identical in nearly all particulars to the first. It read:

Greetings (or should it be Farewell?) Innsmouthians,

Leave-takings are such trouble. While we were not able, in the end, to provide quite the breadth of experiences I intended, I believe it has been a good season. We have shown you historic Silent Hill, as well as its renovated town centre. We have been to the rural Northwest; the campus of the G.U.E. Technical Institute; and we have ventured as far abroad as Norway and the Orient. We offered an extensive tour of New York City’s Central Park, and we have given you the thrill of a zombie infestation in addition to more prurient titillations.

Now, at the close of the season, A Pistol and a Flashlight would like to offer you something unheard of: For the price of a single ticket, you may embark on a fantastic, four-part adventure. The point of departure will be the depths of the ocean; we will stop in the Nameless City beneath the sands before journeying, via a special procedure, to dreamed-of reaches of space. Our final stop – the final stop for me – will be that archaeological wonder of ruins and shadow known only as ‘Looming’.

Following this “blow-out” tour, the doors of this establishment will be closed for the season – perhaps for good. I thank you, sweet Innsmouthians, for your valued patronage and remain, as always,

Yrs,

[the signature is as illegible as the first]

Read the full review here. And sleep safely.

~the end~