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Sunday, June 17, 2018

Guest Post: Dark Matter: Notes on the Origins of Cosmic Horror by David Peak


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Dark Matter: Notes on the Origins of Cosmic Horror
David Peak

Nothing can be larger than that which is imagined.

The largest thing that can be imagined is the universe.

The universe was created when space and time emerged together.

A concentration of energy and matter became less dense as the universe expanded.

As a result of the continued expansion of the universe, everything will eventually collapse.

The threat of total collapse is the origin of horror.

Horror is concurrently that which is and that which should not be.

In horror, that which is is the self and that which should not be is the other.

The other is an extension of the self, which does not exist.

That which does not exist cannot be known; therefore the reality of the self is impossible.

The only way to define the self is to look inward—to collapse the inside into the outside—and, once more on the outside, the other cannot be known.

Reality of the other is impossible.

Reality itself is impossible.

Only in understanding that reality is impossible can we fathom the depthlessness of nonexistence.

After the birth of existence, as the universe cooled, subatomic particles formed, then atoms.

Giant clouds then merged to form galaxies and stars.

The majority of the universe consists of dark matter and dark energy, both of which are invisible to the electromagnetic spectrum.

While dark energy affects the universe’s expansion, the nature of dark matter remains unknown, and in this sense dark matter is the origin of ruins.

All life dwells in the age of ruin—in which the nature of life is unknown.

We do not see reality for what it is—we see it for what it once was and will never be again.
Much like the schizophrenic who cannot differentiate between the voices in his head and the voices of others, we remain haunted by our memories—of the past, of unrealized futures—visited by that which is uninvited.
Our visitors—these uninvited voices—are ghosts from beyond the age of ruin.
The ghost is a representation of humankind’s one true desire: life beyond death.
The ghost can never be separate from wishful thinking of an afterlife.
Wishful thinking—or naively wanting to believe that what has happened cannot have happened, that what cannot be must be—is the origin of trauma.
Trauma tethers—or grounds—our memories to the floating ruins of the world.
We embody trauma until we give into death—and only then are we released.
We do not know where consciousness slips away to when we die.
Only material evidence limits the powers of imagination, and our own death is beyond our experience.
That which is beyond our experience is understood through speculation.
We can only speculate as to how planets are formed.
Scientific theories of how planets are formed differ from the myths that have passed down from one generation to the next.
Conditions on our planet allow for the sustainability of life as we know it.
It is statistically unlikely that life on our planet should exist, yet the human species has evolved over the course of tens of millions of years.
The living organism, exposed to the outer world, serves as an organ for receiving stimuli.
Consciousness was raised by the effects of external stimulation.
A heightened level of consciousness is the origin of language.
As evolved creatures, we have been gifted with speech.
In thought, there is only language.
Reality is consciousness—it is not what is—and language forms consciousness.
The world, in its entirety, is an expression of our language.
Out in the world, we are tasked only with survival.
Our sensory organs evolved as a means of increasing the odds of our survival.
Our ability to survive resulted in our continued evolution.
We understand the world by interpreting our senses.
Our senses are translated as language—our innermost thoughts, secrets, and fantasies—and in this way, we are deceived by our senses.
The world is not what it is—what we believe it to be—the world is a fiction—what we hope it to be.
Fiction is illusion created by language.
Fiction is a representation of the way we would like things to be, rather than the way things are.
We cannot ever understand the way things are because reality is beyond experience.
Reality is impossible; only the image is pure.
Once the image has been translated into language it ceases to exist in its pure form—and once the image has been translated it has been corrupted.
Fiction can only show us the knowable, including that which can be imagined.
Only the unknowable is what is real—that which is outside illusion, beyond corruption.
Only in moments of experiencing what is real can we transcend the utter corruption of language.
Over time we have learned to rely on a shared languagethe binding of a social contract—a means of engaging in coexistence with others.
In sharing language we constructed our own mythology.
Our mythology is an attempt to explain to ourselves how we got here and why we exist.
These things we tell ourselves—our innermost thoughts, secrets, and fantasies—are material evidence—the so-called proof of our existence—the limits of imagination.
The need to prove our existence is the origin of anxiety.
Anxiety is found hiding in the space we occupy—rather than within ourselves.
We cannot escape the space we occupy; only the collapse can set us free.
After the collapse—and here we must speculate—dark matter will emerge as what is real.
We know only what dark matter is not—rather than what it might be—and therefore the shape of dark matter is defined by its shadow.
It is the shadow of the beyond that gives shape to the world.
It is the abyss that lies in wait beneath the world that gives meaning to the fall.
As the abyss encroaches upon all life—when we are expelled into the dark—then, and only then, can we experience what must be referred to as true cosmic horror.


Further reading:
Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species
Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle
ren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety: A Simple Psychologically Oriented Deliberation in View of the Dogmatic Problem of Hereditary Sin
Lucretius, On the Nature of Things
Quentin Meillassoux, After Finitude: An Essay on the Necessity of Contingency
Thomas Metzinger, The Ego Tunnel: The Science of the Mind and the Myth of the Self
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Presentation Volume II
Dylan Trigg, Topophobia: A Phenomenology of Anxiety
Roberto Trotta, “Dark Matter: Probing the Arche-Fossil,” in Collapse Volume II




Interview: J.R. Moore / Black Mountain Transmitter

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I would like to welcome to The Plutonian, J.R. Moore! J.R. Moore is the one-man band behind the mysteriously dark and sinister Black Mountain Transmitter albums. Black Mountain Transmitter plays like a cross between the best 1970’s horror soundtracks and ambient/noise bands like Bastard Noise or The Haxan Cloak. I highly recommend Plutonian readers to check out his work.

Thanks Scott. A pleasure to be here.

I know as a lifelong industrial/noise/dark ambient fan, it’s difficult talking to random people about what kind of music I like and listen to since they literally don’t have any kind of way to relate to pop music, or why anyone would want to listen to something that sounds like a jackhammer going through metal. When you have people over, usually they don’t want to listen to the new Merzbow or Lustmord album. You end up kind of being a secret obsessive, listening to albums by yourself and ordering all kinds of obscure albums through the mail. Can you talk about what first got you interested in this kind of music and your experiences being a fan of non-mainstream music?

When I was around 12 years old a music teacher at school put on a record and introduced us to  Penderecki's Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima. That was a serious mind-blowing experience hearing that piece at that age, to say the least. I'm certain it warped my young brain and started my interest in those kinds of sounds.  I was already a horror addict by then so that was the only frame of reference I had for something that sounded like that; "Scary Music".

Growing up in Northern Ireland through the 1980's and early '90's it was very difficult to find music outside the mainstream. Information was scarce, occasionally a review or name drop in a music magazine article, but albums were almost impossible to track down. Thankfully the central library had a decent sized section of modern classical LPs which I loaned and copied to cassette, obsessively writing down their liner notes. When I moved to London to study for a few years it became much easier to buy a lot of music I'd only ever read about. The record shops there were a hell of a lot better than the ones at home! Now everything is online, YouTube is stuffed with rips of even the most obscure experimental music. I often wonder what it would have been like if I'd had access to something like that all those years ago.

I'm lucky in that most of my friends have quite similar tastes, so it's not usually a problem to play a lot of weird stuff when we get together.  I do listen to a very wide range of music though, some of which is even mainstream. My tastes can often surprise people.

I remember the first time I listened to bands like Einsturzende Neubauten, Dissecting Table, Skinny Puppy, etc and how mind-blowing they were. What are some of the most influential bands/albums on you?

In my early teens, I stumbled across a copy of Tangerine Dream's "Ricochet" LP at a local library and immediately became obsessed with them. That was a big entryway into atmospheric electronic music for me and I still cite their albums from the 1970's as a major influence.  A few years later discovering the music of early Industrial acts like Throbbing Gristle, SPK, Cabaret Voltaire and Neubauten was another milestone. The early encounter with Penderecki had also led me to further explore the work of modern composers like Cage, Stockhausen, Ligeti, and Xenakis. A lot of what they were doing in the 1950s and 60s was even further out than the Industrial stuff. Of course the film soundtracks of John Carpenter & Alan Howarth, Fabio Frizzi and Goblin were also of great importance. Special mention has to go to Carl Zittrer's wacked out, ghoulish electronic score to "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things". Absolute perfection!

I don't make any distinctions between genres. I can rate a nasty piece of electronic sound from a horror film alongside anything by a 'highbrow' composer. If it sounds good, it sounds good.

I know you are also a big fan of horror in fiction. Some of your albums titles like Black Goat of the Woods, or The Unsettled Dust, pay homage to classic horror short stories. What are some of your favorite stories in the horror genre?

I like to drop those little references into my work, it's kind of like paying my dues to the things that have influenced me. If it leads anyone who might not already be aware to track down a particular book, story or film then all the better.

Like so many others I discovered Stephen King ('Salem's Lot, The Stand and It are all favourites), and through him, Lovecraft in my early teens. "The Colour Out of Space" is still probably my favourite of HPL's for its descriptions of that terribly blighted backwoods landscape and the horrors inside the farmhouse. A masterful work. I originally heard of Thomas Ligotti in the early 2000's through his connection with Current 93 and bought the huge The Nightmare Factory collection. It's hard to describe the impact of reading that had on me. It's almost impossible to pick a favourite Ligotti piece, but "The Shadow At the Bottom Of the World is one I often return to and read every year on the first day of Autumn. The Bungalow House is another  I've re-read countless times. Perfection. Over the past few years, I've been discovering many contemporary writers and it's hard to keep up with the recommendations that regularly appear on facebook posts. Matthew M. Bartlett's Gateways To Abomination was the big discovery of the past few years for me with his totally original and absolutely demented style. That he was also writing about goats, woods and transmitters seemed like some weird synchronicity. Christopher Slatsky's Alectroymancer collection and Jon Padgett's Secret Of Ventriloquism (The Infusorium was a highlight for me) were other stand-out reads from the past few years. I recently finished Brian Evenson's "A Collapse Of Horses", the subtly disintegrating and warping realities of his pieces are hard to shake off. I'm currently finishing up Jonathan Raab's The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre and loving its crazy gonzo spirit. Then I have a copy of Livia Llewellyn's "Furnace" waiting to get started on, the title story was a favourite in another collection.

My main problem is I'm a slow reader and don't get as much time as I'd like to read beyond an hour or so in the evening. There are probably more books at home than I'll ever get through, yet every week they keep piling up!

I think what was the gateway drug for me getting into industrial/noise etc was at first loving horror film soundtracks. Alien, Eraserhead, Tetsuo: The Iron Man, Messiah of Evil, Halloween, etc all have such evocative soundtracks. I think you can make a straight line from the abrasive The Texas Chainsaw Massacre soundtrack to industrial bands like Throbbing Gristle and SPK. Do you think the horror soundtrack was influential on industrial/noise/ambient music?

There is certainly an amount of horror film soundtrack DNA in noise and dark ambient music, especially my own. But I'm certain that both worlds draw on the sounds that were pioneered by the great experimental modern composers with their discordant strings, heavy percussion and Musique Concrète electronic tape noise, a lot of which was made decades before. As I noted earlier, I was watching horror films (and reading horror fiction) from a young age and their soundtracks certainly soaked into my bones. Seeing Chain Saw Massacre and hearing Wayne Bell and Tobe Hooper's ominous, clanking and droning score was an epiphany on a level with hearing the Penderecki at school. Eraserhead was another one that presented a completely original sound world of hissing radiators, air vents, and factory noise. Low budget trashy horror films with primitive electronic/synthesizer scores were another love. When I started buying records I was looking for something that captured the same sort of horrifying sonic thrill so I naturally gravitated towards noise, industrial and experimental.

Do you prefer creating music or playing it live? How has the audience reception of your live performances been?

Live performance is something I only do very occasionally, once or twice a year at most. I avoided it for a long time mainly due to technical reasons. I'm a one-man band and it's not easy to replicate my messy recording processes or bring all my gear and do something live on stage. So my live sets are more like a real-time mixing of recorded material and it takes a lot of work to prepare for a forty minute performance. I do enjoy the aspect of getting out and meeting people at shows and the reaction has always been very positive, even from those who wouldn't normally listen to the sort of thing I do. That aspect does encourage me to do it more often, along with the thrill of hearing what I'm doing through a good loud PA system.  But I'm a studio musician at heart and it's sitting working alone at home that makes me happiest.

How does your recording process work? Are your tracks recorded live and improvised? Or do you work to a pre-arranged structure?

I generally start working from a definite concept and often ideas are sparked by a phrase from something I've been reading, which leads to a feeling for a certain atmosphere I want to create. Recording begins as a haphazard process, usually starting with a single sound around which I'll improvise and build up textures using various synthesizers, bass and guitar,  junk percussion and FX pedals. Over weeks or months these sessions build up on the hard drive and when I feel I have enough sounds to draw from I start to shape a final composition, giving structure to all the previously recorded material. There is a lot of further processing, mangling, decomposing and mixing at this stage. Eventually, I have something polished and ready for release. I'm not constantly working on music, it's something I have to be very much in the mood for and I can go for months at a time without doing anything. Just one of the reasons there have only been a small handful of BMT releases over the past 10 years.

Your Black Mountain Transmitter albums I find to be very evocative and darkly entrancing. They play like soundtracks to horror films not yet created. What is your goal in creating a Black Mountain Transmitter album, what kind of effect would you like to have on your listener?

I have to say if I ever get the chance to soundtrack a horror film I could die happy...
When I started recording I thought of the work as 'imaginary soundtracks'. Now I'm more inclined to see them as having a stand-alone narrative in their own right, something like a Weird Tale in sonic form. Atmosphere is very important to me, as is creating a piece of music which takes the listener on a journey through some haunted landscape. I would hope a BMT recording can have the same effect as watching a good horror film or reading an unsettling piece of fiction. On a side note, I've been particularly awed with the response I've had to my work from various writers in the Horror/Weird field who have told me they enjoy working whilst listening to BMT. Very gratifying to say the least!

How did you come to choose Black Mountain Transmitter as the name of your musical identity?

The Black Mountain Transmitter is a well known local feature which sits amidst the hills around Belfast where I live. It's an old radio and television transmitter, still in use actually. There was always something very evocative about the name when I first heard it as a child. Back then I enjoyed playing with the radio, tuning between stations and hearing static, strange tones and garbled voices; in my mind, those eerie receptions were coming from a rusted and hulking structure sending out mysterious signals from a lonely hillside. When I started recording and was looking for a name for the project it immediately came to mind.

So what does the future hold for Black Mountain Transmitter? Any new projects or news you would like to talk about?

At the moment I'm working on a very special project, soundtracking readings by Matthew M. Bartlett from his "Of Doomful Portent" collection. This will be released on Cadabra Records who are doing stunning work with horror spoken word LPs. Aaron Alfrey is doing the artwork. So, it's a great pleasure and honor to be involved with that. On the 14th July, I'll be performing a live set at the "Witch Cults" one-day event in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, England. It's organized by the people behind the Folk Horror Revival Facebook community and features film screenings, talks, and live music. I'm currently waiting on delivery of a repress of the "Black Goat of The Woods" CD. It's been out of print for a few years now but still very much in demand, so I decided to reissue it via my own Lysergic Earwax label and I'm hoping to have it back on sale early July. Lastly, there is a new album in the works. It will be the final part of a trilogy with  "Black Goat" and "Playing With Dead Things". The aim is to have it ready for Autumn or Winter this year but I've been hoping to get it finished and out over the past few years and it still hasn't happened yet.  Life often gets in the way of these plans! I have a few vague ideas for projects after that, time will tell...

Thanks again for inviting me on to The Plutonian.

Find more info and music from Black Mountain Transmitter at https://lysergicearwax.bandcamp.com/


Sunday, May 13, 2018

HV Hyche's Film Review: Dont Deliver Us From Evil and Poison For The Fairies.






 Since my inaugural essay for The Plutonian was about a non-stop gore-fest, I decided to go in a different direction this time.  Instead of covering one film, I will be covering two: Joel Séria’s 1971 French film, DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL and Carlos Enrique Taboada’s 1984 Mexican film, POISON FOR THE FAIRIES. I selected these films because they would make a superb double feature. I also chose these because I have an intense love of genre films with female protagonists, and these films are certainly no exception.


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 DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL follows two teenage heathens, Anne de Boissy (played by the director’s wife at the time, Jeanne Goupil) and Lore Fournier (actress Catherine Wagner) as they intentionally commit sins in order to please their Master: Satan himself.  Both girls attend an extremely conservative Catholic boarding school, where they get their kicks by making up outrageous stories to tell the priest during confession. When Summer break begins, the girls return to their respective homes. When Anne’s mother and father leave for a vacation without her, she invites Lore to stay with her.  It is at this point that the somewhat harmless pranks and games the girls had been playing begin to turn far more sinister. They often use their sexuality to taunt and frustrate men; however, the girls become closer each day, and eventually, it is implied that they have become lovers. After Lore began hitting on a local man as a joke, he attempted to rape her.  Luckily, she got away, but the girls still decided to get revenge by setting the man’s house on fire. Soon after that incident, Anne and Lore made a plan to poison the many beloved birds that belonged to the groundskeeper, Léon. They were going to poison one at a time, but one day, Anne killed one of the small birds in her bare hands. That was the only time Anne showed any remorse for her wrongdoings.  She is the alpha of the two girls, so seeing her upset was quite a shock.

 To show how committed they are to Satan, the girls held a secret ceremony in an abandoned chapel they found, so they could fully dedicate themselves and their actions to Satan.  Soon after the ceremony, the girls commit their worst crime yet: they commit a murder. I don’t want to spoil the ending for those of you have yet to see it. However, it does have one hell (pun not intended) of an ending which involves extreme chaos and flames.



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 POISON FOR THE FAIRIES  is a story about two young girls named Flavia (Elsa María Gutiérrez) and Verónica (Ana Patricia Rojo).  Flavia is a new student at the Catholic school Verónica attends. When it becomes clear to Verónica that Flavia comes from a wealthy family - unlike Verónica herself - she becomes extremely jealous.  In order to get closer to Flavia, Verónica tries to impress her by explaining that she is a witch - a subject Verónica is very familiar with because her nanny exclusively reads books about witches to her as bedtime stories.  Flavia doesn’t believe Verónica at all, but she grows less skeptical and a bit frightened when Verónica predicts certain things that will occur - things that happened to be mere coincidences. With Flavia now being quite scared, Verónica uses her fear against her and begins to push Flavia around.  She even threatens Flavia with black magic in order to make poor Flavia’s life a living hell if she doesn’t obey Verónica or give her whatever she wants - including Flavia’s own puppy.

Verónica’s aunt informs her that fairies are enemies of witches.  Because of this, Verónica then forces Flavia to invite her along on a family trip to Flavia’s parents’ vacation house in the country.  Verónica uses the trip as an opportunity to collect a long list of gross items to create a poison that will kill fairies. When Flavia finds out what Verónica is doing, she becomes so terrified and angry that she snaps.  Once again, I don’t want to ruin the endings of these films. However, much like DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL, POISON FOR THE FAIRIES also ends in flames!


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I believe both films compliment each other in many ways.  Their similarities along with their differences are what make watching them back-to-back so enjoyable!  It is very easy for me to imagine the very young girls from POISON FOR THE FAIRIES growing up to be the teenagers in DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL.  One of the most obvious similarities is how both films end in flames, which I pointed out in the synopses of the films. I believe in both films, the girls set the fires as a big “fuck you!” to the people who crossed them.  For example, in DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL, the act is meant to shock, terrify, and outrage as many people as possible.
As for the differences between the films, DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL was very loosely based on the true crime story known as the Parker-Hume murder case that took place in New Zealand in 1954.  In 1994, Peter Jackson directed HEAVENLY CREATURES, which is a much more accurate portrayal of the case. I definitely prefer DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL because of how outrageous it can be! Even though the Parker- Hume case has not officially been attributed to influencing POISON FOR THE FAIRIES, it seems entirely plausible that some elements of the film could have been influenced by it.

Another major difference between the films is probably the most important: the relationships between Anne and Lore in DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL and Flavia and Verónica in POISON FOR THE FAIRIES. Throughout their film, Anne and Lore grow closer and closer each day.  Anne even becomes protective of Lore and even saves her at one point. During a summer vacation Lore’s parents make her attend, she writes Anne the following letter:

 “My darling, it’s been ten days since we’ve parted, and I’m as unhappy as I can possibly be.”

Unfortunately, Flavia and Verónica have a “friendship” that is far more complicated.  To me, it seemed as if Flavia was initially very happy to make a new friend on her first day of school, but the jealous and power-hungry Verónica had an entirely different motive: intimidate and scare Flavia until she was completely submissive when around Verónica.  Unfortunately for the once skeptical Flavia, the plan eventually worked. In short, Anne and Lore were extremely close, and it was them vs. the world. As for Verónica and Flavia, they constantly battled each other.

Personally, I love both of these films.  As I stated in the first paragraph, some of my all-time favorite genre films revolve around women - especially young women.  In fact, in POISON FOR THE FAIRIES, Anne and Verónica are the only characters that show their entire faces (with the exception of a brief shot of Verónica’s grandmother).  You only hear adults - you never see them. I really like that because it definitely keeps you focused on the two main characters. If you are in the mood for dark, yet morbidly fun films, you should definitely give these a chance.  If you can, I highly recommend screening them back-to-back. If you don’t, you’ll be missing out on witchcraft, secret ceremonies, murder, and Satan worship… and no one wants to miss out on all of that!


Jon Padgett Interview: Vastarien



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I am super excited today to have Jon Padgett stop by to talk about some of his projects that are dropping in 2018. He has a spoken word adaptation of Thomas Ligotti’s seminal short story The Bungalow House coming out from Cadabra Records in May. The Bungalow House will be released in a vinyl edition and is available for preorder at the Cadabra Records website. And he also has, what I think may be the most exciting book being released this year, Vastarien: A Literary Journal, coming out with his co-editor Matt Cardin. In 2016 Jon released his modern classic of weird horror, The Secret of Ventriloquism. And you can also find his short story, The Great, Gray Bulk, in my anthology from 2017, Phantasm/Chimera. Welcome back to The Plutonian Jon!

Thanks, Scott!  Such a pleasure to speak with you again.

First off, I would like to say congratulations on all the exciting projects you have coming out this year! From first creating Thomas Ligotti Online, to now having books and records coming out, I would say you are becoming a real force in the horror scene. What drew you into living a life involved with the horror genre?

Anyone who has read my pseudo-fictional, childhood retrospective, “Murmurs of a Voice Foreknown,” knows one of the primary elements that directed me towards horror: an older brother who delighted in scaring his much more sensitive sibling via nightly, creepy “true stories.”  He especially exploited my fear of dolls and dummies, which was forever exacerbated by an early viewing of The Night Gallery’s production of “The Doll.”  From the ages of four to nine, I had recurring doll-related nightmares almost every night.  Any sensitive, young mind would be warped by these experiences, and mine was no exception. My childhood, both in the waking world and the world of dreams, was too often filled to the brim with fear, rage, and loneliness.  This instability and imbalance eventually coalesced into an adult imagination that I think I can justly describe as dark and twisted.

For my money, I would say you are my favorite spoken word artist. The way you deliver words and the sort of melancholy and strange way you make the word come alive to the listener is just amazing. It would seem you just have a natural gift for verbally transmitting the nightmarish.

Wow. Thank you, Scott.  I was trained as an actor from an early age and always had the knack.  I wonder if I need to again credit my older brother for my initial storytelling efforts, at least in part.  The nighttime, improvised stories he told me about the living Hand and Doll and the ghost of our fictional brother fed my bloated imagination to its breaking point and ultimately gave me a taste for verbally creeping out and infecting other minds with horror.

And now you have turned your attention to creating a vinyl spoken word edition of Ligotti’s The Bungalow House, which is one of my all-time favorite stories. What is it about The Bungalow House that speaks to you? Why is this work important to you? And in adapting this story, what were the challenges and what did you hope to bring to the work with your reading?

I think I understand your love of this remarkable story, Scott.  It is my favorite, and when I say favorite I mean period, end of discussion.  I will always feel great gratitude to Jonathan Dennison, the editor, and owner of Cadabra Records, for the opportunity to give “The Bungalow House” a beautifully produced, scored, studio-quality narrative take.  

As for how “The Bungalow House” speaks to me:  I feel a unique sense of being inside the story whenever I've read it.  As you know, the librarian-narrator becomes obsessed with an unknown artist's work, in which a "...feeling of being in a trance in the most vile and pathetic surroundings was communicated to [the librarian] in the most powerful way, by the voice on the tape, which described a silent and secluded world where one existed in a state of abject hypnosis." This communication between librarian and artist is uncanny; he is taken with awe that "...another person shared [his] love for the icy bleakness of things." For me, Ligotti’s story is specifically and explicitly invoking the artistic relationship/connection between an author and a reader. Here is a cautionary tale regarding the limits of artistic kinship and shared obsessions, explicitly pointing out that any such connection between two separate beings must be an illusory one. Ironically, the “real world” reality of this shared kinship and obsession between author and reader is uniquely evoked by the story itself.

"The Bungalow House" simply gave me the biggest meta-fictional jolt of my life and could have—imaginatively speaking—been written about my own obsession with Ligotti's work. Coincidentally, the first time I read "The Bungalow House" I actually was working as a reference librarian—specializing in language and arts no less. To make things even weirder, I would often read and reread Ligotti’s work (and other abnormal literature) on my sometimes overlong lunch breaks. It was, in fact, an incredibly lonesome and alienating and unstable period in my life. I was single, depressed, given to periods of panic, and obsessed with the terrible, wonderful world that this mysterious author had presented to me in stories like “The Bungalow House.” Ligotti, it seemed, could have been writing from inside my own head. “The Bungalow House" is a brilliant, melancholy, psychological narrative that explores the depths of an internal, dramatic monologue while simultaneously telling an engaging story of existential yearning and despair that I—and many Ligotti readers like me—understand all too well.

As a reader, “The Bungalow House,” both in my initial 2005 effort but especially in the recent Cadabra Records recording, was by far the most demanding, difficult narration I've ever tackled. The first draft of the story that I sent off to Dennison was a complete bust, and I had to convince him that I could do better—adapting my own interpretation into his.  Reading this singular tale aloud is tricky business. It’s a balancing act between where the librarian-narrator is mentally and emotionally in the opening section of the story and where he is by the end. My impulse initially was to play the character (and Dahla as well) with very little affect, which made sense to me since by the time he tells the tale, the librarian-narrator has already been through it all and has had some hard truths revealed to him.  But the initial draft came across too flat and uninvolved, which is a problem if you want to keep the listener’s interest.  Ultimately, I remembered Thomas Ligotti himself once describing the librarian-narrator’s voice as nervous, which put me in mind of the narrator of Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.”  After that, it all came together, though six or seven full drafts had to be recorded before things were right.

I think the final result represents, by far, my best audio performance to date and the one of which I’m most proud.  And I can credit Jonathan Dennison’s incredible artistic vision and professionalism for this.


Now let’s talk about Vastarien: A Literary Journal. Vastarien is a collection of both fiction and nonfiction that it would seem looks at the horror genre through a post-Ligottian lens. A mix of both fiction and nonfiction, there are works from such authors as Christopher Slatsky, Kurt Fawver, and Jordan Krall. Topics covered in the essays include the film Eraserhead, Ligotti’s The Last Feast of Harlequin, and the films of Val Lewton. This book just seems like something I dreamed up in some fever dream. I mean, just putting the words Eraserhead and Ligotti in the table of contents together is enough to make me buy a copy! This is a book that was seemingly created for The Plutonian readers. And to top it off, there is also a rare foreword to the polish edition of Teatro Grottesco by Ligotti in there.  Can you talk a little about how Vastarien: A Literary Journal came about? What were your inspirations or influences in creating this?

In August 2015, a small group of readers and writers and I came together with a common goal: to create a publication that would feature new, Ligottian/weird nonfiction, fiction, visual art, poetry, and ideas – Vastarien: A Literary Journal. Our process, from the beginning, was slow, deliberate and painstaking. Months of planning, by-law creation, and budgeting followed, leading up to the implementation of our website in May of 2016. We opened the publication for submissions for issue 1 shortly thereafter.

As time passed and final acceptances were made throughout 2016 and into 2017, the inaugural issue of Vastarien was taking shape before our eyes. The name of our journal is drawn from Thomas Ligotti’s classic story of the same title. Vastarien is a source of critical study and creative response to the corpus of Thomas Ligotti as well as associated authors and ideas. The inaugural issue is something unusually special, filled with in-depth essays, interviews, original visual art pieces, weird fiction, terrific poetry, and fascinating hybrid pieces. An interview with Thomas Ligotti and an introduction by him, neither of which have ever been presented in English, are included.

The first issue has been received well, in spite of controversy during its development (we lost multiple editors over philosophical and sometimes religious differences) and an appearance of an all-male TOC, which was not at all the case.

What are your plans for the future of Vastarien: A Literary Journal?

After a phenomenal fundraising campaign, we are set for the rest of the year and have been able to pay all our contributors pro-rates.  The TOC for issue 2 has been released recently, and it should be released this June. Issue 3 should drop in September or October. We’ll see how it goes from there.  A lot depends on funding and subscriptions. We want to continue paying pro-rates, but we certainly don’t want to spend months fundraising again. One way or another, Vastarien will continue, but we might move to an annual publication in 2019 and beyond rather than a quarterly release.  We’ll see.

And lastly, what is in the future for Jon Padgett? Any plans or new works that we can look forward to?

Yes!  Of course, you already know about “The Bungalow House (probably dropping early June at this point), but next week my own story, “20 Simple Steps to Ventriloquism,” is being released by Cadabra Records, and I’m extremely pleased and honored by the end product.  I narrated it myself and am thrilled by the “sound patterns” created by Pseudopod Co-Editor, Shawn Garrett, as well as the brilliant art by Dave Felton and Yves Tourigny (front and back cover respectively).  Finally, I’m awed and humbled by the included Foreword by none other than Thomas Ligotti.

As for other upcoming publications, my novelette, The Broker of Nightmares, will be released in limited edition chapbook form by Nightscape Press later this year, and a new tale, “Yellow House,” will be published in a new anthology, Ashes & Entropy.  Pseudopod is also producing an audio production of my story, “A Little Delta of Filth.”  Speaking of which, my recording of “Mysterium Tremendum,” the incredible novella by Laird Barron, is set to air on Pseudopod in three parts, episodes 594-596, May 11th, 18th & 25th.

Thanks so much for taking time out of your schedule to talk with me, Scott!  See you anon!

Sunday, April 29, 2018

The Author As Plague Vector.



The end of World War Two seems to have helped affect a fundamental shift in horror fiction. Whereas pre-WW2, writers like H.P. Lovecraft, Arthur Machen, and M.R. James were attempting to find the perfect form for their horrors, the most effective way to send shivers down the spine of their readers or to showcase otherworldly horrors in their fiction. It was a period of experimentation, with a focus on craft and form. After the war, horror fiction turned inward. Less concerned with matters of form and more concerned with the why we choose to read horror fiction. It turned more existential, it looked inward and thought about why it exists and what purpose it serves. Why are we attracted to horror fiction? Why do we write horror fiction? Authors like Richard Matheson, Rod Serling, and Shirley Jackson brought horror from desolate gothic landscapes and alien spheres and brought it to our own backyards. The subject matter was no longer what lurks out there in the dark, but what lurks in our own minds. In the postwar years, a vast gaping black hole was revealed to be laying in the heart of modern society, and notions of the basic goodness of humanity were brought into question. The horror genre was the best suited to explore the depth and width of that black hole.


In all of the metafictions and social commentaries to come out of this new wave of horror fiction, one of the most interesting and illuminating forms is the one that shows the horror writer as a spreader of contagion, a corrupting influence. Maybe the writing of horror is an evil act? And what compels readers to want to consume fiction that is actually harmful to them? In exploring this topic we will look at three samples of this trope, Fritz Leiber's Diary in the Snow, Karl Edward Wagner’s Sticks, and Mark Samuels’s Vrolyck.

Image result for fritz leiber nights black agents

Fritz Leiber’s story Diary in the Snow, published in his collection Night’s Black Agents in 1947, is one of the first works to use the horror author as contagion trope. Fritz Leiber was a master at showing the haunting and haunted nature of the modern world. From ghosts made of shoot and ash to sentient and scheming fossil fuels, Fritz Leiber almost single-handedly modernized the traditional ghost story. Diary in the Snow follows Thomas Alderman, a struggling writer, as he stays with a fellow writer, John Vendle, at an isolated cabin. Both have traveled there to try to get some writing done, and Thomas feels he is on the breakthrough of a major story. A fantastic science fiction story centering around a dead world orbiting around a dying sun, it is inhabited by these strange spider like beasts who are slowly dying from cold and hunger. They are desperate to escape their doomed world. Their sun is shrinking smaller and smaller and the world is trapped in a eternal night. These beings have developed tremendous psychic powers, and are attempting to use them to find a way out of their death spiral. John wants to have these creatures invade the Earth, and has many creepy scenes planned out for their eventual invasion. But he can not figure out how to get them from their dark world to the Earth. So he sits in the cabin, writing, trying to come up with a way. John realizes far too late that maybe his visions may be real.


In Diary in the Snow, the alien creatures use the author as a means to invade Earth, the protagonist being an unwitting victim of their scheme. He merely wanted to write a great horror science fiction story, but his visions of hideous spider things came to life. In this story, while the fiction may carry corruption, the author is an unwitting agent of this corruption. The next two stories we look at do not show horror fiction to be so innocent.


Image result for karl edward wagner in a lonely place

In Karl Edward Wagner’s story Sticks, published in his collection In a Lonely Place in 1983, we have one of the finest examples of a backwoods gothic in all of horror literature, taking place in the desolate woods of Upstate New York. An artist who specializes in horrific art, Colin Leverett, is taking a walk through the forests when he stumbled across these strange wooded lattices. Made of sticks and twine, they infest the inner woods. He is struck by how macabre this all is and quickly sets pen to paper, drawing them in his notepad. He then finds a house, long abandoned, and inside he discovers hundreds of diagrams for these insane stick lattices. He is intrigued by this house and sets to exploring it. Down in the shadow covered basement, he discovers something darker still, something nightmarish beyond even his darkest dreams. Something that leaves Colin a changed man, a haunted man.


Years later Colin comes back to his home after serving in the Great War. A quiet and antisocial man, Colin returns to drawing, hoping to get some gigs drawing book covers. But his work has taken a troubling turn, his work is too disturbing for most publishers. He has trouble finding work. Luckily a small press reaches out to Colin. They are publishing a major retrospective of the great horror author H. Kenneth Allard. They like Colin’s darker take and want to find a disturbing vision for the cover art that can match the cosmic horrors of H. Kenneth Allard. Colin plunges into this work with renewed vigor and returns back to his drawings of those stick structures he found in the woods many years ago. He had hidden away those sketches, not wanting to bring back the memory of that nightmare he lived through all those years ago. With these drawings, come fresh memories of the horrors he encountered in that abandoned house. But he funnels those feelings into his work, producing gloriously dark art for the covers. But strange events start occurring, friends dying in mysterious manners, and people coming back into his life that should be dead. In one of the great shock twist endings, H. Kenneth Allard is actually in league with the dark forces Colin encountered in the woods, and it turns out the stick lattices where actually a language to summon dark beings into our reality, and Colin’s work reproducing these for the covers, has finished the incantation, the final key to allowing these dark gods into our reality.


In Sticks, again we have horror as contagion, but while Colin may not have meant to bring about the apocalyptic events of the tale, it must be noted, he does seem to keep returning again and again to the horrors. While he may protest, maybe subconsciously Colin wanted the horrors, and to finally willfully succumb to them. In Sticks, we have the artist as a secret willing victim, and carrier, of horror.


Image result for mark samuels the white hands and other

Now we turn to Mark Samuels’s story Vrolyck, published in his collection The White Hands and Other Weird Tales in 2003, which is one of the great works of the current era of horror fiction. A mysterious writer who frequents an all-night cafe to find solitude and sit in his corner and write. One evening a young woman named Emily Curtis notices him and becomes intrigued by this solitary figure. She walks up to him and introduces herself. Seeing as how she is willful and not going to go away, he reluctantly allows her to sit with him. She is fascinated by his status as a writer of obscure horror fiction. She is also a lifelong fan of dark and pessimistic fiction. He offers to let her read a rough manuscript of a piece he is working on. She gladly accepts and he excuses himself to leave. They meet again, this time Emily is visibly disturbed from reading his work. She has been having strange visions and thoughts after reading his manuscript. She is both frightened and obsessed by what is happening to her. She wants more from Vrolyck, but he bars her from seeing him, making it clear that he is going to permanently separate himself from her. After a couple weeks he goes back to check on her, the corrupting text has done its work. Her mind and body are broken and ready for the next stage in his plan. It is revealed that Vrolyk is actually not human, the vanguard of an alien race drifting the cold abyss of space seeking to enter new bodies to continue their existence. Vrolyck’s writings are used to break down the reader's sanity, thereby allowing an alien force to enter and take over the minds and bodies of those who read his work. But the last horror is this story is saved for the writer, Vrolyk is trapped in this stinking, fluid-filled, ape-like body. Vrolyk is horrified at the human form it is forced to live in.

In Vrolyck, we have the full revelation that the other stories were only hinting at. Horror as a corrupting dark force, and the reader as willing victim. Maybe horror fiction is founded on masochistic drives. To show us the alien and bizarre, and for us to realize there is nothing more alien and bizarre than our own existences. The desire to corrupt, and be corrupted with this knowledge. To look at yourself in horror, and to make a poetry from this abjection.