{"id":14756,"date":"2013-10-25T11:50:47","date_gmt":"2013-10-25T15:50:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=14756"},"modified":"2013-10-25T11:50:47","modified_gmt":"2013-10-25T15:50:47","slug":"bedeviled","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2013\/10\/bedeviled\/","title":{"rendered":"Bedeviled"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/oqMH6XRukbc?rel=0\" height=\"450\" width=\"600\" allowfullscreen=\"\" frameborder=\"0\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Video: Trailer <\/em>from Demon in My View<em>, allegedly an &#8220;Edgar Allen Poe BioPic&#8221; from the apparently fictional (or at least moribund) Singularity Pictures. I could not find any reference to this film (vs. a student film by the same name) other than on YouTube &#8212; and of course, on sites (now like this one) which link to it. The title comes from Poe&#8217;s poem (not often quoted), &#8220;Alone&#8221; (q.v., <a title=\"'Alone'\" onclick=\"javascript:wopen('https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/lyrics\/alone_poe.html', 'new', 350, 450); return false;\">here<\/a>). That is &#8212; and perhaps I should add <\/em>allegedly<em>\u00a0&#8212; Vincent Price in the voiceover.]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From\u00a0<a title=\"whiskey river: Lauren Oliver, on resisting the tug of the past\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/10\/ill-tell-you-another-secret-this-one.html\" target=\"_blank\"><em>whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>I&#8217;ll tell you another secret, this one for your own good. You may think the past has something to tell you. You may think that you should listen, should strain to make out its whispers, should bend over backward, stoop down low to hear its voice breathed up from the ground, from the dead places. You may think there&#8217;s something in it for you, something to understand or make sense of.<\/p>\n<p>But I know the truth: I know from the nights of Coldness. I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It&#8217;s hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.<\/p>\n<p>Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging at your back and running its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do &#8212; the only thing &#8212; is run.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Lauren Oliver [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Delirium (Special Edition),' by Lauren Oliver\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=OoiCDWbYnPUC&amp;pg=PA176#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: 'The Exam,' by Joyce Sutphen\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/10\/the-exam-it-is-mid-october.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>The Exam<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>It is mid-October. The trees are in<br \/>\ntheir autumnal glory (red, yellow-green,<\/p>\n<p>orange) outside the classroom where students<br \/>\ntake the mid-term, sniffling softly as if<\/p>\n<p>identifying lines from Blake or Keats<br \/>\nwas such sweet sorrow, summoned up in words<\/p>\n<p>they never saw before. I am thinking<br \/>\nof my parents, of the six decades they&#8217;ve<\/p>\n<p>been together, of the thirty thousand<br \/>\nmeals they&#8217;ve eaten in the kitchen, of the<\/p>\n<p>more than twenty thousand nights they&#8217;ve slept<br \/>\nunder the same roof. I am wondering<\/p>\n<p>who could have fashioned the test that would have<br \/>\npredicted this success? Who could have known?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Joyce Sutphen [<a title=\"Poetry Foundation: 'The Exam,' by Joyce Sutphen\" href=\"http:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poem\/240578\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: Paul Carus, on the devils of Buddhism\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/10\/the-catalogue-of-musee-guimet-of-paris.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>The catalogue of the Mus\u00e9e Guimet of Paris describes a Mandara, in which the highest Buddha in the center of the group is surrounded by a number of his incarnations of various degrees and dignities. These are the Bodhisattvas, prophets and sages of the world, who have either taught mankind or set them good examples by their virtuous lives. On the right we see a group of personified abstracts, piety, charity, science, religion, the aspiration for progress. On the left is a third class, consisting of the ugly figures of demons, whose appearance is destined to frighten people away from sensuality, egotism, and evil desires.<\/p>\n<p>The devils of Buddhism, accordingly, are not the enemies of Buddha, and not even his antagonists, but his ministers and co-workers. They partake of Buddha&#8217;s nature, for they, too, are teachers. They are the rods of punishment, representing the curse of sin, and as such have also been fitly conceived as incarnations of the Bodhi. In this interpretation, the Buddhist devils cease to be torturers and become instruments of education who contribute their share to the general system of working out the final salvation of man.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Paul Carus [<a title=\"Google Books: 'The History of the Devil,' by Paul Carus\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=80Vtsy6nTMkC&amp;pg=PA135#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from\u00a0<em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Adjectives of Order<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>That summer, she had a student who was obsessed<br \/>\nwith the order of adjectives. A soldier in the South<br \/>\nVietnamese army, he had been taken prisoner when<\/p>\n<p>Saigon fell. He wanted to know why the order<br \/>\ncould not be altered. The sweltering city streets shook<br \/>\nwith rockets and helicopters. The city sweltering<\/p>\n<p>streets. On the dusty brown field of the chalkboard,<br \/>\nshe wrote: <em>The mother took warm homemade bread<\/em><br \/>\n<em> from the oven<\/em>. <em>City<\/em> is essential to <em>streets<\/em> as <em>homemade<\/em><\/p>\n<p>is essential to <em>bread<\/em> . He copied this down, but<br \/>\nhe wanted to know if his brothers were <em>lost<\/em> before<br \/>\n<em>older<\/em>, if he worked security at a twenty-story modern<\/p>\n<p>downtown bank or downtown twenty-story modern.<br \/>\nWhen he first arrived, he did not know enough English<br \/>\nto order a sandwich. He asked her to explain each part<\/p>\n<p>of <em>Lovely big rectangular old red English Catholic<\/em><br \/>\n<em> leather Bible<\/em>. Evaluation before size. Age before color.<br \/>\nNationality before religion. Time before length. Adding<\/p>\n<p><em>and<\/em>, one could determine if two adjectives were equal.<br \/>\nAfter Saigon fell, he had survived nine long years<br \/>\nof torture. Nine <em>and<\/em> long. He knew no other way to say this.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Alexandra Teague [<a title=\"Slate (Summer, 2007): 'Adjectives of Order,' by Alexandra Teague\" href=\"http:\/\/www.slate.com\/articles\/arts\/poem\/2007\/08\/adjectives_of_order.html\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>The minute you fixate on the recognition that &#8220;This is &#8216;it,'&#8221; you are immediately bound hand and foot and cannot move around anymore. So as soon as it is given this recognition, nothing is right, whatever it may be. If you don&#8217;t fixate on recognition, you can still be saved.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Fuyan Qingyuan [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Zen Essence,' by Thomas Cleary\" href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/Zen-Essence-Shambhala-Dragon-Editions\/dp\/1570625883\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Blur<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Storms of perfume lift from honeysuckle,<br \/>\nlilac, clover&#8212;and drift across the threshold,<br \/>\noutside reclaiming inside as its home.<br \/>\nWarm days whirl in a bright unnumberable blur,<br \/>\na cup&#8212;a grail brimmed with delirium<br \/>\nand humbling boredom both. I was a boy,<br \/>\nI thought I&#8217;d always be a boy, pell-mell,<br \/>\nmean, and gaily murderous one moment<br \/>\nas I decapitated daises with a stick,<br \/>\nthen overcome with summer&#8217;s opium,<br \/>\nnumb&#8212;slumberous. I thought I&#8217;d always be a boy,<br \/>\neach day its own millennium, each<br \/>\none thousand years of daylight ending in<br \/>\nthe night watch, summer&#8217;s pervigilium,<br \/>\nwhich I could never keep because by sunset<br \/>\nI was an old man. I was Methuselah,<br \/>\nthe oldest man in the holy book. I drowsed.<br \/>\nI nodded, slept&#8212;and without my watching, the world,<br \/>\nwhose permanence I doubted, returned again,<br \/>\nbluebell and blue jay, speedwell and cardinal<br \/>\nstill there when the light swept back,<br \/>\nand so was I, which I had also doubted.<br \/>\nI understood with horror then with joy,<br \/>\ndubious and luminous joy: it simply spins.<br \/>\nIt doesn&#8217;t need my feet to make it turn.<br \/>\nIt doesn&#8217;t even need my eyes to watch it,<br \/>\nand I, though a latecomer to its surface, I&#8217;d<br \/>\nbe leaving early. It was my duty to stay awake<br \/>\nand sing if I could keep my mind on singing,<br \/>\nnot extinction, as blurred green summer, lifted<br \/>\nto its apex, succumbed to gravity and fell<br \/>\nto autumn, Ilium, and ashes. In joy<br \/>\nwe are our own uncomprehending mourners,<br \/>\nand more than joy I longed for understanding<br \/>\nand more than understanding I longed for joy.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Andrew Hudgins [<a title=\"Poets.org: 'Blur,' by Andrew Hudgins\" href=\"http:\/\/www.poets.org\/viewmedia.php\/prmMID\/19696\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Video: Trailer from Demon in My View, allegedly an &#8220;Edgar Allen Poe BioPic&#8221; from the apparently fictional (or at least moribund) Singularity Pictures. I could not find any reference to this film (vs. a student film by the same name) other than on YouTube &#8212; and of course, on sites (now like this one) which [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3286,247,1393,53,5,50,251],"tags":[180,678,2631,3641,3647,3648,3649,3650],"class_list":{"0":"post-14756","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-obsessions","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-movies-media","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"tag-the-devil","14":"tag-edgar-allan-poe","15":"tag-joyce-sutphen","16":"tag-lauren-oliver","17":"tag-paul-carus","18":"tag-alexandra-teague","19":"tag-fuyan-qingyuan","20":"tag-andrew-hudgins","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-3Q0","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14756","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14756"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14756\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14765,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14756\/revisions\/14765"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14756"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14756"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14756"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}