SCRATCHING THE SURFACE by Michael Kelly is a literary paradigm of disturbing tales – many of which are ghost stories – that explore the darker aspects of human nature, and the myriad devices we humans employ to survive in a cursed world of our own making.  The writing here is eloquent and rich with pathos, reflecting compassion for the disenfranchised and absolution for the sinner, with each tale emerging discretely as either a tribute to persistence in the face of extreme adversity or an analogy of self condemnation in the wake of undoing – evoking with sheer artistry of words the monsters that can dwell inside a tortured human psyche.

     In the titular “Scratching the Surface”, an odd boarder bequeaths a peculiar gift to his landlord’s young son (creepy, good reading here, one of my favorite stories in the collection).  The rest of the tales in SCRATCHING THE SURFACE fall in line with equal strangeness:  “Thin Red Wire” – in which lovers discover the tie that binds in a world where hope has died; “Comes a Cool Rain” – a touching story in which a child’s mercy falls short of love; “Like a Stone in the River Bed” – a lonely woman gambles with her body and discovers mystery revealed; “Radiant Boxer” – wherein a man finds redemption in a world where even angels can’t save everyone; “The Simple Sound of Dead Trees Singing” (with C. S. Fuqua) – a grieving man encounters the ghost of denial; “A Place of Thorns and Stones” – brings us post apocalyptic deconstruction and restoration through human sacrifice; “Warm Wet Circles” – in which a schizoid makes an alarming discovery on the pavement; “The Music of Broken Things” – a tale of death, remorse, and undoing; “Heart of the Wolf” – a poignant native tale about the interdependence of all living things; “Paper Thin” – a nightmarish tale of ennui; “Metastasis” – wherein a man running from his past takes a wrong turn down memory lane; “The Melancholy Taste of Metal” – an unsettling piece about multi-generational transference of dysfunctional dynamics (another of this reader’s favorites); “Flight of the Crystal Bird” – star crossed lovers try to escape futuristic assembly-line procreation; “Summer Ghosts” – a young boy must cope with his little brother’s death; “Sea of Ash and Sorrow” – wherein a man discovers that the sea can offer up atonement for the price of grief; “The Man Who Ate Moths” – a curious tale about suicide and resurrection; “Twilight in the Field of Forever” (with Carol Weekes) – an eerie ghost story about a disfigured girl and her relationship with cicadas; “Last Train Home” – a story with Lovecraftian underpinnings about an office worker and his dissatisfied wife; “Ghost Boy on the Back Porch” – a story about a man failing to come to grips with the death of his wife and son; “When Children Weep” – the ocean offers renewal to a widower and his son; “The Smell of Chaos is Written in its Hues” – in which an angst ridden artist finds freedom in his final canvas (another favorite); “Wolves and Angels” – an eerie tale about death and closure; “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” (with Scott Thomas) – a man searching for his sister’s killer encounters the unexpected; “Fly to the Rainbow” – a bitter-sweet love story with a message; and lastly, “Worse Things” – a darkly intertwining tale in which a boy performs the unthinkable to survive.

     Highly recommended reading.


JLR

 http://shirleyjacksonawards.blogspot.com/

 Buddy and I took Zilla (a.k.a. "Beer Barrel," so nicknamed by realthog-- many thanks, the moniker stuck!) to the vet today for her vaccinations and a check up. She has been flatulent beyond my wildest nightmares, and has had a problem with intermittent diarrhea for weeks now (most likely caused by her penchant for eating everything, everywhere) -- and if this hasn't been bad enough, she also has an ear infection that has made her very grouchy.

Zilla's regular vet was unavailable, and so the Cat-Lady vet had to fill in for him. This, Zilla did not care for, and neither did Cat-Lady, who prefers cats and little dogs to monsters named Dogzilla. At any rate, when Cat-Lady entered the examination room she immediately froze and said, "Oh my."

My first thought was, "Oh no."

Zilla does not care for people who get nervous around her, and if she senses fear from them she tends to want to eat them. So, as Cat-Lady approached Zilla to examine her ears, Zilla lunged at her, growling, mouth wide open like a Great White shark's. I grabbed Zilla's pinch collar and held her back, scolding her for being aggressive, while poor Cat-Lady sprang backward, clearing five feet in mere nano-seconds. I think she broke some kind of record in backward sprinting.

I felt terrible for her, apologized emphatically, and asked for a muzzle -- for Zilla.

Evidently, I will need to muzzle Zilla from now on whenever she visits the vet. She just turned eleven months last Friday, and is starting to do protection work, and can be aggressive if she feels the situation warrants it. But she was in a pissy mood today because she doesn't feel well, and decided she did not want Cat-Lady near her, even though Cat-Lady is a very sweet and gentle soul. I'm so relieved Zilla didn't bite her. Zilla's mouth is HUGE when she opens it all the way, capable of swallowing up a person's entire head -- not to mention her teeth are as sharp as Ginsu knives.

From now on she will need to wear her muzzle when she is around people she doesn't know.

Boerboels are not for everyone. They are much more formidable than Rottweilers, English Mastiffs, and Bull Mastiffs, and a big responsibility to own.  But if you have crime in your neighborhood they are the answer, indeed. Heaven help the stupid slob who decides to break into my house!

Oh, and the vet bill for today was $309.46. Four de-worming tablets alone cost $106.00. Four stupid pills. I think Cat-Lady was sticking it to us, out of revenge.

 For those of you who seek adventure vicariously, here's a news story you might enjoy reading:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24244282?GT1=43001

I must abstain from commenting . . .

 

City Slab magazine Issue #10 features a heart wrenching short story titled “Winter Birds” by speculative fiction writer Michael Kelly, author of the poignant short story collection, Scratching the Surface, published in 2007 by Crowswing Books.  As with most of Kelly’s fiction in Scratching the Surface -- wherein he explores the myriad manifestations of our human condition -- “Winter Birds” focuses on loss and recovery, failure and redemption.  Without giving away “Winter Birds” let me just say that Kelly’s central character, Sheldon, is a man doomed to perpetual ennui, which he carries around with him in a tattered old suitcase.

Highly recommended reading.

lonesome_crow

Thanks to mssrcrankypants and his penchant for memes ---

Here are the results of my most recent personality test:


My Personality

 Because I have had it up to here with political bs I am starting my own political party: The Common Sense Party.

I am looking for candidates to run on the presidential ticket for 2008: anyone care to volunteer?

 I stumbled onto an interesting article today, and just had to share it (granted, the article dates back to October of 2007, but I'm always a day late and a dollar short anyway...and I'm blond, too):

http://www.sciencenews.org/articles/20071006/mathtrek.asp

 My order of Dead Reckonings 1 & 2 from Hippocampus arrived at my doorstep today, yay! Now I get to immerse myself in mssrcrankypants's opinions.

 Workers dug furiously to prevent a Red Sox jersey from 'cursing' the new Yankee Stadium...

...is the headline sports story at Yahoo this morning.

Some things are just plain funny!

 "We are aware that this group is capable of sexually abusing girls," Sheriff David Doran said. "But there again, this is the United States. We are going to respect them. We're not going to violate their civil rights until we get an outcry." 

Schleicher County Sheriff David Doran made the aforementioned statement in reference to the Texas FLDS polygamist compound, after it was raided and women and children rescued.

Since when is child sexual abuse an American civil right?

You can read more at the following link:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24014376/



 

 http://www.sfcrowsnest.com/news/arc/2008/nz12465.php

Is this true? I thought Del Toro was manning The Hobbit.  And now it's to be a musical? This must be an April Fool's joke -- it has to be! 

Please tell me it ain't so!

I support the protest against China's incursion of Tibet, and I support the national and international protest against China hosting the International Olympics.

A giant greenie to everyone:


                             

                               Happy St. Patrick's Day!  

 
Zilla at nine months: she will be ten months on March 19, 2008.






Boerboel beauty.  Zilla now weighs 110 lbs.


Minute our calico looking at Maggie and thinking: You're such a dweeb.

Weirdly accurate!

livia_llewellyn

My Dream home:

Your home is a Futuristic Athlete's Hideout Your kitchen is actually a GNC franchise, though all you really need are your Power Bars and Red Bulls. Your master bedroom has an on-call masseuse and sports therapist. Your study has current issues of Sports News & Sports Illustrated, marked with a highlighter for better preparing your fantasy sports league. One of your garages houses your Hummer, and others contain your H2, and H3... with room for an H4, if they ever invent one. Your home also includes a robot repair bay, where your mechanized servants are routinely fitted with new restraining bolts. (It's just a precaution.) Your guests enjoy your home theater with 37 different sports channels. Outside is your radio telescope, listening constantly for alien transmissions. Especially invaders. They'll come eventually, even if nobody believes you. (Nobody does.) And, you have a pet -- a taun-taun named "Padme". Below is a snippet of the blueprints:

Find YOUR Dream Home!

 Under your Milky Way
And slow-revolving bear,
Frogs from the alder-thicket pray
In terror of the judgement day,
Loud with repentance there.

The log they crowned as king
Grew sodden, lurched and sank.
Dark waters bubble from the spring,
An owl floats by on silent wing,
They invoke you from each bank.

At dawn you shall appear,
A gaunt, red-wattled crane,
She whom they know too well for fear,
Lunging your beak down like a spear
To fetch them home again.

                Robert Graves,  The White Goddess