Memory Corner

2. On the Porch One Hot Night

I had a friend who live in a duplex in City Terrace. Ted and his brother Tommy lived in one unit with their mom. His dad was in jail. Again. In the unit next door, his aunt, Connie, lived with her two daughters. His mom and her sister always lived next door to each other, always in Boyle Heights, to be close to the General Hospital Mental Hospital, which they admitted themselves at least twice a year. Usually not at the same time, because one sister always took care of all the kids, who were all pre-teen. 

I enjoyed going to the duplex to play with the brothers. We played on the porch on Fridays, the end of the school week. Sometimes my folks would let me spend the night with my friends. Sometimes the whole weekend. My parents were under the impression that one of the moms were always there to babysit us. They were wrong. Ted's mom and Connie, his aunt, went clubbing Friday nights, leaving us kids all alone. That was half the fun of spending the night at their house. 

To get ready to go out, the two moms caked on the make up and soaked themselves in perfume. We could smell the perfume from the porch where the three of us were playing Crazy Eights. The sun was just starting to set, and the shadows of the trees and bushes around the second story duplex fell across our game. Just as the shade arrived, so did Dr. D, as  we called him, to pick up Ted's mom, his date. "Is your mom ready, Teddy?" he joked, forcing the rhyme. "Not yet. Almost. I can smell her perfume." He leaned down with a bow and said, "Might if I watch the game?" "No," Ted said. 

I was glad he didn't ask him to join in the game because he was the sort of person who would sit down and deal himself a hand. Old time gang banger. Two tattooed tear drops under his left eye, an armful of gang signs on left forearm. He grunted a lot whenever Ted won a hand. He favored Ted over Tommy. I used to think Dr. D might be his dad, but his wasn't. He often waited for his date on the porch with us kids. He'd tell us old gang stories or just try his best to entertain us with bad jokes. He once told us that a prison doctor was named Dr. Killemall, ("kill them all"), and that's when we started calling him Dr. D. 

I lost the last game of Crazy Eights, and as Tommy shuffled the cards, I heard the footsteps of someone coming up the stairs. As odd as it may sound, the man arrived with the night. The shadows were gone. Ted turned on the porch light so we could see who the visitor was. It was Connie's date. He looked angry, and smelled drunk. He eyed us suspiciously, but when he saw Dr. D, he spoke with menace, "What are you doing here?"

Dr. D tried to laugh it off. "Waiting for a street-car." 

This only made the stranger madder. "Waiting for who? For Connie? Puto." He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a folding knife. Before Dr. D could react, the jealous man swiped the blade across the surprised Dr. D's face. Ted and Tommy tackled the man while I stepped on his hand holding the knife. The moms came out, and Dr. D turned to face them. They screamed. Connie ran back inside and called the police. Ted's mom backed away from Dr. D. That's when I saw his face. His eyelid was gone. His naked eyeball was darting back and forth. Half his face was covered in blood. 

The police arrested the jealous date. An ambulance took Dr. D to the hospital. We had to find his eyelid so the medics could take it with them in the ambulance. When the excitement settled down, the two moms went out to the club in a cab, as if nothing had happened. Ted and Tommy went inside to watch TV. I caught the bus home. 

I never went back there. Never saw Dr. D again. I often dream of that naked eyeball, darting to and fro, looking for its eyelid. 

The Seven Orbs

Chapter One

The Guardsmen Grumble

6

"War is at hand. Real war, not the mock games the so-called King has the Captain, his son, run us through with sticks and stones," Sergeant on Patrol Balesman complained to the soldiers manning the guard post above the drawbridge. "When was the last time any of us tasted real battle, sparked the swords, or splintered a shield? Most of you are too young to remember the War of the Three Kingdoms, when Governor Terria rode the dragon and conquered the governors of the forest and the river realms, when the Wizard summoned the 100 orbs and 100 archers rode them into battle. Magic they were. The arrows flew out, but the enemy arrows could not penetrate the bubbles. What chance did they have, against a fire-breathing dragon in flight and floating orbs of pure magic?"

"Were you there, Sarge?" asked the young guardsman, Elsmith.

"Damn right I was, lad," Balesman said without pride in his voice. "I was there for the massacre. Governor Bosque and Governor Aquell surrendered to Terria. He united the kingdoms and lay claim to all three kingdoms under one name, King Terria. For over a year the governors protested the union until Terria allowed Bosque and Aquell lordship to govern their territories, as long as they did so under Terria's law and rule, with the promise that after 20 years, if peace were maintained, they could rule as they pleased. Well, it was 20 years to the day last month, and King Terria has been strangely silent as his son, Theo, prepares his Guardsmen for battle and thunder and lightning are seen and heard coming from the Wizard's keep. War is afoot, I tell you."

Suddenly, Elsmith reports that Captain Theo approaches. 

Balesman swallows a laugh and hides it behind a harsh smile. "Word has it that our Theo courts Bosque's daughter, Abora, Captain of the Forest Guard. What shall we make of that, lads/"

The men snicker and nod to each other. 

In walks Captain Theo. "And what, may I ask, elicits such laughter on such a foreboding night?" The snickering stopped. 

"When do we fight?" asked the sergeant boldly.

"So, the rumors have reached your lazy ears that have nothing better to do than seek out gossip. Perhaps some duty outside the walls might sharpen your wits."

"I'm sorry, my Captain, but if we're to fight, would it best serve the King that we prepare for battle rather than be punished for seeking some truth? These are but lads, never struck flesh or drawn blood. This is your army." The Sergeant looked Theo straight in the eye. Theo flinched and looked away. "Then let it ease your worry that my father, the King, plans to awaken the dragon, and the Wizard has begun work on the magic orbs. The army will follow an army of two into battle. Who needs men when you have magic and fire?!"

The Sergeant did not seem impressed. "Nevertheless, I will begin training the men with proper swords and shields. No one can predict what 20 years and one month have done to our battle skills. Best we all three of our army be ready."

Theo bowed to the old Sergeant and said, "I trust you to be ready for war, and that you will ready your men to support the forces that go before you. The dragon and the wizard may need your help before the day is done, right, Sergeant?" 

As Theo left, Baleman muttered under his breath, "No darker words have been spoken, except at funerals." 

The King and The Prince

7

"Father," Theo complained, "the Guardsmen are apprehensive. Only old Balesman who was there at the original battle senses the truth. Twenty years have gone by. We are not the same warriors of old. He knows the difference. He saw the dragon fly, saw the orbs descend on the enemy. But his doubts are true. It's been 20 years since that day. He fills the young Guardsmen with doubt as well. Father, are we truly prepared?"

"Calm yourself, boy," the King scolded his son. "I will wake the dragon shortly. I will meet with the Wizard's apprentice thereafter. I make preparations on my part. You must make preparations on yours. They are your men to command, not Balesman. You must shake any notions from their heads that you would favor your mistress's needs over your own kingdom's needs. She will not yield to you. She is a worthy captain for her father. Can't you find it in yourself to be a worthy one for me?"

"Yesterday we talked of children, your grandchildren, father. Today we talk of ending a lineage. Promise me, father, that you and your dragon will end things quickly. Do not make me meet her on the battlefield. Make ready the orbs. If talks of peace have ended, then we must end the war quickly. I do not know if I have it in me to face her in battle." Theo stood from his seat and looked sadly on his father. 

King Terria stood and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I promise you, this war will be over before sunset." 

Captain Theo heard his father's promise and believed not one word. 

Wisdom, Winsome, and Agyle.

8

Coming soon...

 

SPACE ROCK COLLECTIVE SPIRITS BURNING,

LED BY DON FALCONE, TEAMS UP AGAIN WITH FORMER HAWKWIND VOCALIST BRIDGET WISHART.

California – “Fragments” adds a new chapter to the Spirits Burning story, the fourth full-album collaboration between Bridget Wishart and Don Falcone. They return with a unique and intriguing collection of linked songs, tales, fragments, and readings!

Having shared the stage together in England (captured on the Spirits Burning “Live at Kozfest” album) and documented their history in Don’s 2025 memoir (“One Of The Spirits Burning”), the duo embarked on a 12-song album of vocal and instrumental songs. The album includes “Fragments,” a longer unreleased treasure from 2014 featuring Jerry Jeter and Bridget accompanying Don’s piano and a suite of unfinished songs started by Bridget, Lee Potts and John Pierpoint — based on Bridget’s novel, the “Caoimhe Tales.” Don created the kernels for the opening suite, three nature-themed songs, a subject close to both of their hearts. The album concludes with a trio of “Caoimhe Tales” readings by Bridget, backed by spacey landscapes.

Bridget Wishart is a singer/songwriter/artist and former member of Hawkwind, who has been working in partnership with Spirits Burning since 2003. In her spare time, she has recorded with other bands (including Astral Magic, Astralfish, Band of Doctors, Chumley Warner Brothers and Astral Hawk Machine).

Spirits Burning is a musical collective that features musicians associated with space rock and progressive rock, including input from members of Blue Öyster Cult, Clearlight, Gong, Hawkwind, Van der Graaf Generator, and many other groups, as well as Porcupine Tree’s Steven Wilson and British science fiction and fantasy writer Michael Moorcock. Spirits Burning is overseen by American composer/producer Don Falcone. Since 1998, they have released 20 albums, featuring almost 300 musicians.

“Spirits Burning has become a respected melting pot of the space-rock fraternity.” Ian Abrahams, author of ‘Hawkwind - Sonic Assassins’ and ‘Festivalized' (co-authored by Bridget Wishart)”
“Fragments” is available worldwide on CD, or as a digital album from Deko Entertainment or from resellers that carry releases distributed by Alternative Distribution Alliance / Warner Music Group, Cargo Records, or The Target Group.

Song Titles
⁃ Natural Order
⁃ The Door
⁃ Sombre
⁃ Piper (Part 1)
⁃ Tides
⁃ Dark Eyes
⁃ Spin
⁃ Piper (Part 2)
⁃ Fragments
⁃ Death (Dust At Dawn)
⁃ Birth (Aiofe’s Get)
⁃ Transition (Caiomhe’s Lament)

Official release date: March 27, 2026
To purchase CD/digital Album or digital album: https://spiritsburning.bandcamp.com/album/fragments

For more label information:
https://www.dekoentertainment.com

For more Spirits Burning information:
http://www.spiritsburning.com
https://www.facebook.com/spiritsburning

Press inquiries:
Don Falcone, Spirits Burning
email: spiritsburning@yahoo.com

 

Memory Corner

1. The Incinerator 

I barely remember the Projects incinerators being used. By the 1960s, they were replaced by the Sanitation Department, you know, the Garbage Men. But these useless buildings had their purpose for those in need. If you pried the door open, it served as a hiding place to do your drugs or to make out with your lover on a makeshift bed. For kids, it was a castle to defend. We climbed on top and challenged the other kids to dethrone us. We usually played in the late evening, after dinner and TV. We'd watch our shows like Star Trek and Outer Limits, then our parents would take over the set to watch their shows. That's when we gathered by the castle. 

The projects were four-unit apartments that were placed around the Incinerator like four dominoes surrounding the cabin-like structure, which served as the trash disposal for the 16 families in the apartments. When the garbage Men started collecting the trash from the dumpsters that were placed next to each project, serving four units, four families. The incinerators were abandoned, ignored. Burning trash was no longer safe, the project managers said. Thus the concrete structures became our playground. 

Many parents scolded their kids for playing on the "unsafe" incinerators. We told them, They're unsafe only when the maintenance men lit them up. They don't do that anymore. They're old, cold chimney stacks. If the managers don't tear them down, then it's okay to play on them. If they weren't safe, they'd tear them down. This logic worked on our folks. They bought it, and we played castle in peace. 

One day, Reys, the high school football captain sat on the porch by the unit where he lived and watched us play. When we saw him, we all ran over to the football hero and asked what University he was going to. He said he had a few choices, and a few years to decide. One of the older boys, the Middle School kid, asked Reys to join us. He could be King of the Castle, and we'd try to dethrone him. He knew how the game was played, so he accepted. He leaped and grabbed the ledge of the incinerator roof. He pulled himself up in one try. It usually took us kids, even the older ones, at least three tries to climb on the roof. 

And the game began. Reys stood atop the roof, while several of us kids tried to climb the walls to reach up to pull the football star off the roof. It was his job to keep us from getting on the roof. He simply had to pry our fingers off the ledge of the roof or push the older boys off before they could hoist themselves up. Reys was winning quite easily for several minutes. We were dropping off the incinerators, landing on the grass, leaping back to our feet to try again. There was laughter and moans, until there was silence.

No one could remember what happened. The game just stopped. The police came. An ambulance. No one asked us kids any questions. Reys' mom told the police he fell off the incinerator. The medic told his mom that her son had injured his neck. The ambulance carried the football hero off. The police put their notepads away and drove off. Reys' mom was crying when she went back inside her unit. We didn't talk about it. We just went home. 

About three weeks later, his mom brought Reys home. He stayed inside for about a week. When he finally emerged from the unit, none of the kids wanted to engage with him. After some hemming and hawing, he approached me. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't remember anything about that night. But he didn't ask anything. He smiled and sat next to me. "The sky is blue today," he said. "I like the sky when it's blue." 

It took me a second to realize that his voice sounded more like a first grader's than a high schooler's. "How's the football team doing?" I asked. "I dunno," he tried to explain. "It's too far away now. I might get lost." We sat and talked about nothing really for over an hour. It wasn't until his mom called him in for supper that he got up to leave. "Thank you for talking to me. You're the first."

That summer, I liked to help Reys with his homework from his new school. His mom often invited me in to lunch with him and watch cartoons. And the sad thing was, No one ever talked about any of it. And as if to erase the memory of the tragedy, the Projects Manager in charge had the incinerator torn down. No flowers were planted there. No plaque was placed there. The concrete base remained, and no kids ever played there again.  

 

Gary Numan at the Santa Ana Observatory

April 10, 2026

What you can expect from the Gary Numan concert is not nostagia, but good music, an inventive light show, and an adoring crowd. Rather than lean of an oldies setlist of hits, the band brought a cabaret of decadence and industrial decay. What? Hear me out. Most casual listeners who hear the name Gary Numan think "Cars", that international hit from the late '70s. They usually add, Whatever happened to him? Well, he experimented with with Synth Rock, Industrial Metal, collaborated with artists from Siouxsie Sioux (Siouxsie and the Banshees) to Robert Fripp (King Crimson), and eventually incorporated all those sounds into one big sound, sort of an Industrial Synch, to play all his setlist songs with. Whether it's Cars from 1979's The Pleasure Principle, or Love Hurt Bleed from 2013's Splinter, it was set to Industrial Synch, and it was a perfect fit, as it it were written to be played that way.

Add to that the brilliant light show, with each song getting its own version of light, shadow, and darkness. From strobes to color saturation, no song had the same lighting. Which brings us to the "caberet" setting. Those lyrics, the poses against the strobe lights, the sensual interplay between the bassist and the guitarist. It was confusing enough that they both were the same shape and height, wore the same black outfits, and had shaved heads, but when they squirmed together like a caduceus, it was had to tell who was who. And Gary Numan played the perfect host, letting his songs do the talking. 

I saw this line-up earlier this year open for Robby Krieger and loved the show so much, I wanted to see them play the headliner role. But this time out, the crowd was there for Gary Numan. They knew about his evolution from Synch Rock to Industrial Synch and showed up to enjoy it. Every time Gary Numan paused to take a swig of water, the crowd roared his name over and over. It was that kind of show. Modern. No one came for the nostalgia. It was about the evolution of that artist named Gary Numan, and we just wanted to be there to be a part of it.  

1. Halo Jagged 2006
2. Metal The Pleasure Principle 1979
3. Haunted Jagged 2006
4. Everything Comes Down to This Splinter 2013
5. Films The Pleasure Principle 1979
6. Is This World Not Enough Intruder 2021
7, M.E. The Pleasure Principle 1979
8. Here in the Black Splinter 2013
9. Ghost Nation Savage 2017
10. Love Hurt Bleed Splinter 2013
11. Cars The Pleasure Principle 1979
12. The Fall Dead Son Rising 2011
13. The Chosen Intruder 2021
14. A Prayer for the Unborn Pure 2000
15. Are 'Friends' Electric? Tubeway Army 1979
Encore:
16. The Gift Intruder 2021
17. My Name Is Ruin Savage 2021

 

Signalz: Canon or Subatomic Fanfiction? 

Not a Review by Anthony Servante

Signalz: An Adversary Cycle Novel by F. Paul Wilson

Twilight has come. Night will follow.

It will begin in the heavens and end in the Earth.

But before that…the rules will be broken.

The Change is coming, and the world as we know it is ending. Sixteen-year-old Ellie has changed. She looks the same, but her mother detects someone else looking out through her blue eyes. Ellie builds a "shelter" in her room with an entrance that leads...elsewhere.

And what of the convoy of tractor trailers Hari Tate watches drive up a mountain road and return without the trailers...leaving nothing on the mountain. What are they shipping?

And the writer who finds a hole in the floor of his NYC apartment and tumbles through into...elsewhere.

They will all find each other and find their answers in the electromagnetic pulses piercing the Earth from Out There, pulses that no one should hear, but some do. But they are not simply pulses. They are Signalz.

Nightworld by F. Paul Wilson

The end of the world begins at dawn, when the sun rises later than it should. Then the holes appear. The first forms in Central Park, within sight of an apartment where Repairman Jack and a man as old as time watch with growing dread. Gaping holes, bottomless and empty…until sundown, when the first unearthly, hungry creatures appear.

Nightworld brings F. Paul Wilson’s Adversary Cycle and Repairman Jack saga to an apocalyptic finale as Jack and Glaeken search the Secret History to gather a ragtag army for a last stand against the Otherness and a hideously transformed Rasalom.

*****

The Non-Review

F. Paul Wilson crafted five stories that coalesced to create a single story, which we've come to know as the Adversary Cycle. However, even after the cycle completed, Paul found spaces between the stories where he could fit more stories. Nightworld initially  concluded the cycle with an end of the world scenario: Monsters crawl from a giant hole in the Earth to wreak havoc on the population. As a fan of the AC, I often wondered about the possible stories that never reached the pages of the AC, the stories of the secondary characters whose timeline was never resolved or mentioned again. I even considered writing a fan fiction about a certain bartender who along with his patrons defend the bar against an onslaught of creature, big and small. Well, instead of wrapping up loose ends on the AC, Paul has created new characters to fill a space right before Nightworld. So, is this canon or fan-fiction? 

Let's talk about this.

In the subatomic world of particles, quantum physics is always finding new quanta, combinations of particles that intertwine to a point where something new is created, being neither one nor the other, but both at once where one can't determine which was which before they combined. In other words, the five ,books by F. Paul Wilson, The Keep, The Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, and Nightworld, (referred to as the Adversary Cycle) may have been a done deal at the start, but these stories have combined to create "quanta", new stories that occupy the spaces between books, but are not either book; they are something new. But where does it stop? Because within the new are ever-emerging quanta, ad infinitum. 

Between this book and that book, we got a new book that sort of combines those books into a whole new story, while continuing the old book and foreshadowing the following book. Not that the stories are bad. Actually, they're good. F. Paul Wilson is a master at spinning several plates in the air with one hand while typing a new quanta on his laptop. Forgive the mixed metaphors. 

Let's continue.

The minutia of plots within plots is never-ending. As long as stories can fit between the spaces of other stories, the original story cannot end. Such then do we find ourselves with Signalz. There is still quantum space enough between Signalz and Nightworld for several more books. If there were enough time and inspiration. Ah, if only Paul were as immortal as his muse. 

 

Sky Tongues (2011) by Gina Ranalli
Reviewed by Anthony Servante

Welcome once again to the darkness with your host, Anthony Servante. In this, our sixth venture into horror, the grotesque, and their various branches of literary genres, we explore the ‘absurd’ and “Bizarro Literature” today. We will analyze “Sky Tongues” by Gina Ranalli and deconstruct its elements of absurdism and try to define the term ‘bizarro’ as it applies to literature. Right off, let me say that today’s use of the word, ‘absurd’, as ridiculous or exaggerated, is not the philosophical definition I am discussing here, where it is closer to ‘meaninglessness’ or nihilism, but when combined with the comically ironic that relies on a suspension of disbelief, it becomes bizarre. Quite simply, Sky Tongues, the character, is real in a bizarre universe that we can enter and share when we don’t accept it as real or validate its existence. But we can visit anytime just by opening the pages of Ranalli’s book again and again.

Let’s begin with Albert Camus, who helped define absurdism in his existentialist writings. He stresses that the absurd is the realization that the universe is without order, that man’s quest for meaning is endless and futile. He says, “The Absurd arises out of the fundamental disharmony between the individual's search for meaning and the apparent meaninglessness of the universe” (Wikipedia). But Philip Thompson in The Critical Idiom series, The Grotesque (1972), clarifies that Camus believes that in the ‘search’ for meaning, there is meaning; the journey, not the destination, is real, and the opposite of real is absurdity, such as one finding meaning in religion, love or in just being alive (suicide for Camus is not a solution for meaninglessness as suicide itself is an absurdity). So, let’s clarify. Absurdity is that which does not make sense, but the quest for truth in absurdity is valid, as long as answers are not reached. Thus, the question: Does life have meaning? is not limited to answering yes or no. We can simply recognize the question itself as absurd and consider other answers in addition to the negative or positive, including the grotesque possibilities, such as life is but a dream or nightmare.

The ‘bizarre’, Thompson notes, is the disharmonic elements clashing, similar to his definition of ‘the grotesque’ but with an absurd apportionment; the grotesque is revolting and frightening, but the bizarre is “eerie and comical”. Camus sums up the balance in this disharmony as freedom from a need for harmony: “By accepting the Absurd, one can achieve absolute freedom, and that by recognizing no religious or other moral constraints and by revolting against the Absurd while simultaneously accepting it as unstoppable, one could possibly be content from the personal meaning constructed in the process.” To embrace the bizarre liberates the subjective need for order. It becomes an ongoing process, a journey, a progression.

Thus Bizarro Literature must include elements in conflict but in subjective harmony and acceptance. Consider the world of animation. In the movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988), Eddie Valiant’s brother is killed by a piano being dropped on him in Toontown, but when Eddie visits the animated town, and rides the lightning quick elevator operated by Droopy, he is flattened like a pancake at the bottom of the elevator floor, like a cartoon. Why isn’t he killed by the flattening? His brother was killed by a cartoon piano. Are the physical rules of Toontown variant? Do they apply differently to different people or are they constant? One could argue that in a cartoon world, there are no rules, and therein lies the crux of the matter. To find order in a cartoon is to give absurdity validity. To argue that toons can or cannot kill is a fallacy begging a conclusion. We are talking Roger Rabbit, folks. There is no answer, but seeking one gives one a greater enjoyment of the movie, itself a disharmony with its animated characters and the real actors blended into the same story. When we suspend our disbelief, the disharmony becomes harmonic and subjectively entertaining, but objectively, it is bizarre—just as bizarre as if Roger Rabbit, or better yet, Jessica Rabbit, walked right into the room like any flesh and blood creature or person and interacted with you. Some may be amazed, others horrified.

Which brings us to Sky Tongues by Gina Ranalli. The novel is a series of disharmonious elements coalescing into a bizarre world where we find ourselves accepting the absurdities as subjectively valid as we would a novel with harmonious elements. For instance, in Peyton Place (1956), “the main plot follows the lives of three women—lonely and repressed Constance MacKenzie; her illegitimate daughter Allison; and her employee Selena Cross, a girl from across the tracks, or "from the shacks." The novel describes how they come to terms with their identity as women and sexual beings in a small New England town. Hypocrisy, social inequities and class privilege are recurring themes in a tale that includes incest, abortion, adultery, lust and murder” (Wiki). We do not question such goings on in the “soap opera” town; we accept it without question, but when we approach the same themes in a world where disharmony reigns, the absurd is the standard, and to question it itself becomes absurd. To accept it is to accept the bizarre and its rules of chaos, an oxymoron in essence.

Gina Ranalli offers her own brand of the bizarre in Sky Tongues (ST). The story of a Mue (mutant) in a world of norms, mues and countless other humanoid and nonhumanoid characters, ST is the real world presented in absurdist fashion. Sky is an Outie, born inside out, with Tongues for fingers and toes. On the meaningful side, ST is the Horatio Alger-ish autobiography of a person’s rise from poverty, abuse and alienation to fame, wealth and power. On the other side, it is a fantastical world of environmental corruption and its pervasion of the human DNA pool—in other words, a world of mutations: people who are born inside-out, transparent, multi and single limbed, coated by shark skin, and many other variations of mutated humans. But this is not a story of fantasy, of science fiction, where the focus of the story is on the reasons and results of the polluted world, and in the solution to this “problem” comes a return of the DNA to ‘normal’ expectations for a happy ending to the human race. Instead, the focus of ST is on the ‘soap opera’ reality of a young girl tossed into a world she wasn’t ready for and her trials and tribulations in conquering this world. The bizarre DNA background is there like clothing on a character, but the story is character driven, not based on the bizarre circumstances or in what she’s wearing.

To tell Sky’s tale is to speak of human problems. Her father resents her for being an Outie, born inside out, yet he loves his son who was born with a glossy shark skin sleeker than his dad’s. We can parallel the description of skins throughout the book as metaphors for Blacks, Latinos, Anglos, Asians, etc, but that shifts the counterbalance of comical and eerie to “real” again and the flavor of the bizarre is lost. We are talking about Sky Tongues, a hermaphrodite who traverses two worlds, a famous Mue who exists between the world of accepted mutants and rejected ones. It would be too easy to simply say that Sky represents the story of a girl who goes to Hollywood seeking fame and encounters trouble and redemption. It reduces the bizarre effect. It is the story of a Mue who goes to Hollywood; it is the story of many Mues and non-mues living their lives in their world. Theirs is the Peyton Place of mutants, not the metaphor for humans in a soap opera.

So, Bizarro Literature utilizes disharmonic elements that create a world that can only be entered by a suspension of disbelief because the absurd structure (another oxymoron) requires a unquestioning journey into “real” lands in unreal places, for it is not “getting it” or making sense of it that makes Sky Tongues a unique and valuable read for fans of horror and beauty but the journey one takes in reading it without question or assigning it a value that makes Sky Tongues a remarkable accomplishment by Gina Ranalli in both Bizarro and literary fiction. I look forward to reading the rest of her books, many of which I’ve already placed in my library.

If you have found today’s Servante of Darkness a bit bizarre, then good—you understand. Thank you for coming today, dear readers. Sky Tongues can be purchased in paper or ebook at Amazon.com here

One last footnote about Bizarro Literature as I believe Camus may have considered it:
“For Camus, it is the beauty which people encounter in life that makes it worth living. People may create meaning in their own lives, which may not be the objective meaning of life (if there is one), but can still provide something for which to strive. However, he insisted that one must always maintain an ironic distance between this invented meaning and the knowledge of the absurd, lest the fictitious meaning take the place of the absurd”
(source: Wikipedia).

Sky Tongues creates its world and maintains its irony for the reader to enjoy as he would a bizarre journey.

Until next month, stay cool in the darkness.

--Anthony Servante