The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, Poetry

Kurt Cobain finds horror in Waxahachie, Texas. Explicit. Read more by Steve and Zack at: TheBadGuysWin.com Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon. “WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 2)” Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons thebadguyswin.com/2016/01/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants-part-2/ Text © copyright 2016 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons. Phonorecord ℗ copyright 2018 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons and The Voice before the Void. All rights reserved.

Kurt Cobain goes on a vision quest in southern California. Explicit. Read more by Steve and Zack at: TheBadGuysWin.com Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon. “WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 1)” Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons thebadguyswin.com/2016/01/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants/ Text © copyright 2016 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons. Phonorecord ℗ copyright 2018 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons and The Voice before the Void. All rights reserved.

March 15 is World Contact Day. “World Contact Day” Wikipedia World Contact Day was first declared in March 1953 by an organization called the International Flying Saucer Bureau (IFSB), as a day on which all IFSB members would attempt to send a telepathic message into space. The IFSB voted to hold such a day in 1953, theorising that if both telepathy and alien life were real, a large number of people focussing on an identical piece of text may be able to transmit the message through space. IFSB members focused on the following message during 1953: “Calling occupants of interplanetary craft! Calling occupants of interplanetary craft that have been observing our planet EARTH. We of IFSB wish to make contact with you. We are your friends, and would like you to make an appearance here on EARTH. Your presence before us will be welcomed with the utmost friendship. We will do all in our power to promote mutual understanding between your people and the people of EARTH. Please come in peace and help us in our EARTHLY problems. Give us some sign that you have received our message. Be responsible for creating a miracle here on our planet to wake up the ignorant ones to reality. Let us hear from you. We are your friends.” The message is referenced in the song “Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft,” recorded in 1976 by Klaatu and later covered by The Carpenters. On the event’s 60th anniversary, World Contact Day was extended to a whole week.

Steve and Zack play Call of Cthulhu as Kurt Cobain, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, and Eazy-E versus Saddam Hussein in the early ’90s. Explicit. Read more by Steve and Zack at: TheBadGuysWin.com Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon. “WTF, D&D: Hard Ticket to Baghdad 4: Real Muthafuckin’ G’s” Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons thebadguyswin.com/2017/01/wtf-dd-hard-ticket-to-baghdad-4-real-muthafuckin-gs/ Text © copyright 2017 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons. Phonorecord ℗ copyright 2018 by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons and The Voice before the Void. All rights reserved.

Talking about a game that I’ve never played. Explicit. -The Voice before the Void H.P. Lovecraft and the Call of Cthulhu RPG (Role-Playing Game) The Voice before the Void

A popular poem. “Vagabond House” Don Blanding edited by The Voice before the Void When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . . I’ll suit my fancy in every way. I’ll fill it with things that have caught my eye In drifting from Iceland to Molokai. It won’t be correct or in period style, But . . . oh, I’ve thought for a long, long while Of all the corners and all the nooks, Of all the bookshelves and all the books, The great big table, the deep, soft chairs, And the Chinese rug at the foot of the stairs; It’s an old, old rug from far Chow Wan That a Chinese princess once walked on. My house will stand on the side of a hill By a slow, broad river, deep and still, With a tall lone pine on guard near by Where the birds can sing and the stormwinds cry. A flagstone walk, with lazy curves, Will lead to the door where a Pan’s head serves As a knocker there, like a vibrant drum, To let me know that a friend has come; And the door will squeak as I swing it wide To welcome you to the cheer inside. For I’ll have good friends who can sit and chat Or simply sit, when it comes to that, By the fireplace where the fir logs blaze And the smoke rolls up in a weaving haze. I’ll want a woodbox, scarred and rough, For leaves and bark and odorous stuff Like resinous knots and cones and gums, To chuck on the flames when winter comes; And I hope a cricket will stay around, For I love its creaky, lonesome sound. A long low shelf of teak will hold My best-loved books in leather and gold, While magazines lie on a bowlegged stand In a polyglot mixture close at hand. I’ll have on a table a rich brocade That I think the pixies must have made, For the dull gold thread on blues and grays Weaves a pattern of Puck–the Magic Maze. On the mantlepiece I’ll have a place For a little mud god with a painted face That was given to me . . . oh, long ago, By a Philippine maid in Olongapo. Then–just in range of a lazy reach– A bulging bowl of Indian beech Will brim with things that are good to munch– Hickory nuts to crack and crunch, Big fat raisins and sun-dried dates And curious fruits from the Malay Straits, Maple sugar and cookies brown, With good hard cider to wash them down, Wine-sap apples, pick of the crop, And ears of corn to shell and pop With plenty of butter and lots of salt– If you don’t get filled it’s not my fault. Pictures . . . I think I’ll have but three: One, in oil, of a wind-swept sea With the flying scud and the waves whipped white– (I know the chap who can paint it right) In lapis blue and deep jade green– A great big smashing fine marine That’ll make you feel the spray in your face– I’ll hang it over my fireplace. The second picture–a freakish thing– Is gaudy and bright as a macaw’s wing– An impressionist smear called “Sin,” A nude on a striped zebra skin By a Danish girl I knew in France. My respectable friends will look askance At the purple eyes and the scarlet hair, At the pallid face and the evil stare Of the sinister, beautiful vampire face. I shouldn’t have it about the place, But I like–while I loathe–the beastly thing, And that’s the way that one feels about sin. The picture I love the best of all Will hang alone on my study wall Where the sunset’s glow and the moon’s cold gleam Will fall on the face, and make it seem

St. Valentine’s Day: A gut-punch of a story of class and sex and privilege and college days. -The Voice before the Void “Houseparty” Walter Bernstein Fair use of copyrighted material is claimed under United States copyright law for not-for-profit purposes of commentary and education.

Groundhog Day: Enthusing over this film. Spoilers. -The Voice before the Void “Have to see it again.” The Most Spiritual Hollywood Movie: Groundhog Day, 1993, starring Bill Murray Fair use of copyrighted material is claimed under United States copyright law for not-for-profit purposes of commentary and education.   “Groundhog Day (film)” Wikipedia Interpretations and analysis The film is often considered an allegory of self-improvement, emphasizing that happiness comes from placing the needs of others above one’s own selfish desires. As the released film offers no explanation why the time loop occurs—or why it ends—the viewer is left to draw his or her own conclusions. Rubin has said that while he and Ramis discussed several of the philosophical and spiritual aspects of the film, they “never intended [it] to be anything more than a good, heartfelt, entertaining story”. “Groundhog Day”, as an expression, has become shorthand for the concept of spiritual transcendence. As such, the film has become a favorite of some Buddhists who see its themes of selflessness and rebirth as reflections of their own spiritual messages. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, it has been seen as a representation of purgatory. “Connors goes to his own version of hell, but since he’s not evil it turns out to be purgatory, from which he is released by shedding his selfishness and committing to acts of love,” wrote Jonah Goldberg. “Meanwhile, Hindus and Buddhists see versions of reincarnation here, and Jews find great significance in the fact that Connors is saved only after he performs mitzvahs (good deeds) and is returned to earth, not heaven, to perform more.” It has even been described by some religious leaders as the “most spiritual film of our time”. “The curse is lifted when Bill Murray blesses the day he has just lived,” wrote the critic Rick Brookhiser. “And his reward is that the day is taken from him. Loving life includes loving the fact that it goes.” Theologian Michael P. Pholey, writing for Touchstone Magazine, commented on the difficulty of determining a single religious or philosophical interpretation of the film, given Ramis’s “ambiguous religious beliefs” as “an agnostic raised Jewish and married to a Buddhist”, and suggested that when not viewed through a “single hermeneutical lens”, the film could be seen as “a stunning allegory of moral, intellectual, and even religious excellence in the face of postmodern decay, a sort of Christian-Aristotelian Pilgrim’s Progress for those lost in the contemporary cosmos.” Others see an interpretation of Nietzsche’s directive to imagine life—metaphorically or literally—as an endless repetition of events. “How would this shape your actions?” asks Goldberg. “What would you choose to live out for all eternity?”   “Groundhog Almighty” Alex Kuczynski The New York Times 2003 December 7 Since its debut a decade ago, the film has become a curious favorite of religious leaders of many faiths, who all see in “Groundhog Day” a reflection of their own spiritual messages. Curators of the series, polling some 35 critics in the literary, religious and film worlds to suggest films with religious interpretations, found that “Groundhog Day” came up so many times that there was actually a squabble over who would write about it in the retrospective’s catalog. Harold Ramis, the director of the film and one of its writers, said last week that since it came out he has heard from Jesuit priests, rabbis and Buddhists, and that the letters keep coming. “At first I would get mail saying, ‘Oh, you must be a Christian, because the movie so beautifully expresses Christian beli...

Winter: A revery of a night wintry. -The Voice before the Void “Frost at Midnight” Samuel Taylor Coleridge The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. ‘Tis calm indeed! so calm that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought. But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man’s only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor’s face, mine eye Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: Save if the door half opened, and I snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, For still I hoped to see the stranger’s face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike! Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the intersperséd vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, And in far other scenes! For I was reared In the great city, pent ‘mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

World War I: The Great War inspired a lot of poetry. -The Voice before the Void “Winter Stars” Sara Teasdale I went out at night alone; The young blood flowing beyond the sea Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings— I bore my sorrow heavily. But when I lifted up my head From shadows shaken on the snow, I saw Orion in the east Burn steadily as long ago. From windows in my father’s house, Dreaming my dreams on winter nights, I watched Orion as a girl Above another city’s lights. Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars, All things are changed, save in the east The faithful beauty of the stars.

What darker? -The Voice before the Void “The Snow-Shower” William Cullen Bryant Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below, thy gentle eyes; The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies; And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow; Flake after flake They sink in the dark and silent lake. See how in a living swarm they come From the chambers beyond that misty veil; Some hover awhile in air, and some Rush prone from the sky like summer hail. All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, Meet, and are still in the depths below; Flake after flake Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud, Come floating downward in airy play, Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd That whiten by night the milky way; There broader and burlier masses fall; The sullen water buries them all– Flake after flake– All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side, Come clinging along their unsteady way; As friend with friend, or husband with wife, Makes hand in hand the passage of life; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake! I see in thy gentle eyes a tear; They turn to me in sorrowful thought; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time, and now are not; Like these fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake– All lost in the dark and silent lake. Yet look again, for the clouds divide; A gleam of blue on the water lies; And far away, on the mountain-side, A sunbeam falls from the opening skies, But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen; Flake after flake, At rest in the dark and silent lake.

EXPLICIT CONTENT Sara Young is a body-positive artist and writer. Find more of her work at: EloquentAsFuck.com “Brian, Lola and The Texas Swingers Club” from Eloquent as Fuck Sara Young eloquentasfuck.com/blog/brian-lola-and-the-texas-swingers-club Text © copyright 2015 by Sara Young. Phonorecord ℗ copyright 2017 by Sara Young and The Voice before the Void. All rights reserved.

Winter: All downhill. -The Voice before the Void “Tobogganing” Hattie Howard Oh, the rare exhilaration, Oh, the novel delectation Of a ride down the slide! Packed like ice in zero weather, Pleasure-seekers close together, On a board as thin as wafer, Barely wider, scarcely safer, At the height of recreation Find a glorious inspiration, Ere the speedy termination In the snowy meadow wide, Sloping to the river’s side. Oh, such quakers we begin it, Timorous of the icy route! But to learn in half a minute What felicity is in it, As we shoot down the chute, Smothered in toboggan suit, Redingote or roquelaure, Buttoned up (and down) before, Mittens, cap, and moccasin, Just the garb to revel in; So, the signal given, lo! Over solid ice and snow, Down the narrow gauge we go Swifter than a bird o’erhead, Swifter than an arrow sped From the staunchest, strongest bow. Oh, it beats all “Copenhagen,” Silly lovers’ paradise! Like the frozen Androscoggin, Slippery, and smooth, and nice, Is the track of the toboggan; And there’s nothing cheap about it, Everything is steep about it, The insolvent weep about it, For the biggest thing on ice Is its tip-top price; But were this three times the money, Then the game were thrice as funny. Ye who dwell in latitudes Where “the blizzard” ne’er intrudes, And the water seldom freezes; Ye of balmy Southern regions, Alabama’s languid legions, From the “hot blast” of your breezes, Where the verdure of the trees is Limp, and loose, and pitiful, Come up here where branches bare Stand like spikes in frosty air; Come up here where arctic rigor Shall restore your bloom and vigor, Making life enjoyable; Come and take a jog on The unparalleled toboggan! Such the zest that he who misses Never knows what perfect bliss is. So the sport, the day’s sensation, Thrills and recreates creation.

A Frenchman telling a tale of Moors and Spaniards. -The Voice before the Void “The Pearl of Toledo” Prosper Mérimée translated from the French

An early poem. “Oklahoma” Ernest Hemingway All of the Indians are dead (A good Indian is a dead Indian) Or riding in motor cars— (the oil lands, you know, they’re all rich) Smoke smarts my eyes, Cottonwood twigs and buffalo dung Smoke grey in the teepee— (Or is it myopic trachoma) The prairies are long, The moon rises, Ponies Drag at their pickets. The grass has gone brown in the summer— (or is the hay crop failing) Pull an arrow out: If you break it The wound closes. Salt is good too And wood ashes. Pounding it throbs in the night— (or is it the gonorrhea)