The good people at Innsmouth Free Press have posted a short interview with me wittering on about Lovecraft.

It’s worth a click just to guffaw at the picture of me with one side of my face looking confused and the other looking mildly irritated. How this impromptu chimera of expressions came about, I have no idea.

Captain Haukelid (Kimber Pocket Edition, 1955)

Snagged last Sunday in Dublin. What a brilliant cover.

. . . out on my daily trudge though the town, happily passing the varied and numerous derelict buildings, when what did I spot?

Christian graffiti!

I bet if I’d written “Jesus was a slavery condoning twazzock whose father liked to dress up as a ghost and get 13-year-old girls pregnant” on that wall, it’d be frowned upon. Yet my message would be just as valid, not to mention just as historically verifiable.

Still, you’ve got to admire the stencilling. It’s a tidy job, if nothing else.

Last Friday I bought Electronic Music in the Classroom, the new album from Jon Brooks, released under the assumed identity of D.D. Denham. It’s a bloody gem of a record.

I’ve heard and liked Jon’s The Advisory Circle stuff but I must admit that the main reason I bought this album was simply down to the fact that it’s been put out under the name D.D. Denham. Even before clicking on the preview samples I knew that I was going to like this, as it was obvious that the composer has been influenced by the same films as myself.

I don’t know why but this record makes me feel like it’s 1984 and I’m six years old and off sick from school, watching British kid’s tv in the mid morning and feeling like I’m getting away with something.

Available via iTunes, Amazon and Bandcamp.

My friend and cohort Roy Huteson Stewart posted a picture of his desk on facebook yesterday.

It is magnificent.

Research on Crowley: Wandering The Waste had me scrolling through a copy of Fred Gettings’ Dictionary of Occult, Hermetic and Alchemical Sigils for interesting squiggles which Roy Huteson Stewart might be able to incorporate into the backgrounds and page layouts of the comic. And would you look at what I found on page 201, given as Jerome Cardan’s 1557 sigil for the planet Saturn.

Looks familiar.

Further net-based mooching about led me to this excellent article about the symbol, and Jimmy’s use of it.

Geezer’s curly, white lead is an especially nice touch.

from: somethinkfun

Went to the Nick Cave gig in Vicar Street last night.  Fucking superb.

Picked up a signed copy of the new book and even snagged some free sachets of Bunny Munro brand hand cream on the way out!

A brilliant, brilliant gig. So good that it couldn’t even be ruined by the caustic Australian woman who, during the extended Q&A, rather rudely asked Cave whether he thought his new book was misogynistic or not, before being forced to admit that she hadn’t in fact read the book at all, but, not to be outdone, then tried to back up her misogyny accusation by referring disparagingly to the projected backdrop of a fully clothed woman dancing.

Cave was very polite, but eventually told her that he was “fucking offended” by her accusation. She continued to caterwaul from the balcony for a few more seconds before eventually being booed into silence by the crowd.

I was a bit drunk . . . but I’m almost certain this actually happened.

Detective Comics #30 – August 1939.  Fred Guardineer cover.

MAN IN SUIT: HEY FELLA! YA WANNA BUY A KNIFE? I’M A KNIFE SALESMAN, SEE? ONLY IN TOWN FOR TODAY AND TOMORROW. THEN I FLY OUT TO THE WINDY CITY! THESE KNIVES ARE GREAT I TELL YA! I CAN DO YOU A DEAL FOR ONE DAY ONLY. TWO FOR THE PRICE OF – –

MAN IN SUIT: GAAHHHHH! MY FACE! MY PERFECT SALESMAN’S FAAAAACE!!!!!

Fantastic Four #39 – June 1965.  Jack Kirby cover.

JOHNNY: FOR FUCK’S SAKE DD, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? DOCTOR DOOM IS RIGHT BEHIND US! ARE YOU FUCKING BLI–? OOOPS!

SUE: ->TCHT TCHT<- JOHNNY!

BEN: I’VE HAD UP TA HERE WITH THAT PUNK-ASS KID. HE AIN’T GOT NO RESPECT FOR HIS ELDERS, I TELLS YA! IT’S CLOBBERIN’ TIME!

DAREDEVIL: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LOUD YOU’RE BEING???

Some kindly soul has put up several old clips of Jeff Lint’s seminal but often misunderstood cartoon Catty and the Major on youtube.

My first exposure to Lint was around fifteen years ago when a work colleague loaned me a tattered, weather beaten copy of Lint’s début novel One Less Bastard, along with a “like new” copy of 1966’s Prepare To Learn.

And learn I did.

My friend refused to take them back, and that was fine by me.

Unfortunately, both books were lost in a fire some years ago.

January, 1966.  Frank Frazetta art.

“GRRNNNT!!! FEEL MY BLADE YOU FILTHY NAZI PIG-DOG!! ”

“AAAIIIEEEEE!!!!!”

Shove over Iskanders, with your surly, disagreeable staff and your “if you’re not so pissed you haven’t already shat yourself, you can’t come in” door policy.  Last time I was in there it was about half past two in the morning and there was an English guy with his forehead split open, blood pissing down all over his face, who was insisting on having a kebab before his equally inebriated “mates” brought him to wherever it was they were going to bring him to.  Not the hospital, obviously. Probably to Tripod or some other equally disheartening back-alley whore house.  He got served, not an eyelid was batted.

I admit that I was drunk too, but in a reserved and charming kind of way.

Mezza on Parliament Street (right opposite The Turk’s Head) now officially have the best kebabs in Dublin.  Official because I say they’re the best kebabs I’ve ever had, and I’m a man who likes his kebabs.

Look at the size of this Lamb Shawarma.

The picture doesn’t do it justice.  That pile of exquisitely seasoned lamb is almost two and a half inches tall.  That works out at easily over half a pound of slaughtered and slowly-cooked infant sheep.

I had to abandon the salad a third of the way through and just concentrate on the lamb.  I still wasn’t able to finish it.  Then I got the meat sweats.

A friend of mine posits that the reason Iskanders is always crammed with belligerent drunks is due to simple muscle memory.  They’ve been there before and so they go there again.  On auto-pilot.  A bit like the zombies in Dawn Of The Dead, only not as fresh or bright-eyed or intelligent.  Or as well-dressed.  Also, zombies, as a rule, don’t tend to accuse you of skipping the queue before you’ve even had a chance to join it.

So, take my advice.  Try Mezza.  That’s Mezza, for kebabs.

I’ve been reading about WWII while I’m writing Project Luna: 1947, which is how I found this (yes, I am using the Pete Townsend “research” defence).

The Swastika Laundry, Dublin. Didn’t shut down until the late sixties.

Picture from carlbphotos.

Wikipedia.

“In Dublin, Ireland, a laundry company known as the Swastika Laundry existed for many years in Dartry and Ballsbridge (both on the river Dodder) on the south side of the city. It was founded in 1888 as the Dublin Laundry Company. Upon the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, the company’s customers were concerned about the company’s name. Accordingly, it was changed to “Swastika Laundry (1912) Ltd”.

The Laundry’s tall chimneystack was emblazoned with a large white Swastika, which was clearly visible from the surrounding streets. The name and logo eventually disappeared when the laundry was absorbed into the Spring Grove company.”