052720b

all human knowledge
on a 3-mm disk
gotta be here somewhere

111719c

The Timid Particles

Scooting back on the shelf,

The book in faded brown boards

Imagines itself a mote of dust;

Disrobed, it scurries through the stacks

Isolated pages slither into the rears

Of proper books, which jump and squeak;

Some pages folded into airplanes

Launch themselves panspermatically

Across the aisles,

Dripping punctuation.

082819c

The Literate Lunch



 
Each night the train rumbles past
Shaking letters out of the old books
A rain of consonants and vowels
On the library floor
Drifts, some mornings, like black snow
A few speckles of green or red
Where illuminated manuscripts reside
The morning sweeper cleans the floors
Takes the letters home in her lunch pail
Assembles the defnitive autobiography
Of somebody
She wonders who


From Metastable Systems, my most recent solo book.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

110818e

A tree by any other name

"Imagine that we are standing in the three-dimensional extension of a much larger library." John waved his arm at the dingy window above the study carrel. "The dogwood out there? Choose a different set of three dimensions and you might see something that doesn't photosynthesize, maybe nothing alive. These books are mostly in English."

"And French."

"Yes, but another set of dimensions contains books not made on paper, not written in earthly languages."

"In Estonian, Basque."

"Whatever. I'm just saying you need to be careful. You haven't seen the missing persons reports that this university has had to suppress. Worse than the date rapes. No one would send their children here if they knew. It's the Library. When they renamed it, Pabodie begged them not to use his name. I never go out of sight of certain milieu-specific landmarks. Like that poster from the Betty Boop retrospective."

"OK.... See you at five at Starbucks." John walked off towards the elevator and Jimmy tossed his backpack on the desk. He had a bunch of references listed on his palmtop, and most of them were housed on this floor.

Clark's "Paradimensional manifolds," yes, here it was. Too bad the photos were all reproduced in B&W. Rumor said the originals boasted several colors that the printers still couldn't reproduce. And there was de Heinel's "Theory and practice of dimensional partitioning" (no photos), and so on.

When he returned to the carrel, arms full of books, it had gotten darker. Quite a bit darker. Shit! It must be way past five. He shoved the books into his backpack and glanced out the window. Where the dogwood had been, now stood a leafless tree whose rubbery limbs writhed indigo under a crimson sky. Jimmy rubbed his face vigorously and looked again. Something like a bunch of vermilion grapes with two pairs of membranous wings circled the tree, then shied away from a striking branch. He palmed his cameraphone and ran for the elevator. This would be awesome! No one had ever brought back pictures like this.

end

From The Simian Transcript

030718

Trying to convince my local university library to take all my duplicate Star*lines & Rhyslings, on the grounds that they contain work by an Alabama author. If they say no, I happen to know that the University of West Alabama library is actively  collecting SF...without the benefit of funds.

I also discovered that the Birmingham Arts Journal has apparently published three of my poems. I don't recall sending them any, but I might have.  I will investigate further.

011918b

new floor
in the library
dog backs away




This really happened, but I think she's getting over it.

010918

Sending a complete digital set of DN to a library gratis. If you know of a library that might be interested, please let me know. I've been donating print copies to interested libraries for decades. Digital copies have only been available recently.

113017d

This Sunday afternoon from 2to 5:15 PM, the Tuscaloosa Public Library will host local authors selling their books. There will be snacks. I will be there and so will a lot of other people. It is amazing how many authors live in this area. If you know anyone who needs some science fiction for the holidays, I can help you out.

110317c

Tuscaloosa Public Library local authors readings and signings:

Sunday, December 3, 2017 from 2-5:15pm.

I will be there with my new book, Metastable Systems, as well as copies of some of my other books.

082317c

cold
air
forces
its way in
hottest day so far
outside but we must protect art
a space heater wards me from the chill— magic bubble

060817

Jabberwock

Ms. Perkins put the book on my desk, right on top of the financial report. She pointed to a paragraph on the orchids of Amazonia. I first I thought silverfish had been at the book, but there were no holes in the paper. Only the ink was gone. It looked like the letters had been chipped away, or gnawed on.

"Silverfish," I said, closing the book. "I have to finish this report before the board meeting."

"Not silverfish, there are no holes in the paper." She glared at me, then turned and strode out. I always watch her leave. She has very shapely legs. Too old for me, but nice legs. Now, where _had_ all the money been going.

*

The meeting did not go well. Money. There simply wasn't enough. If I didn't find more money in the next two weeks I would have to lay somebody off. There were only four of us on staff to begin with.

I collared Colonel Sanders (That really is his name) the next afternoon at The Club. It's just a bar, with pretensions. The Colonel had mentioned wanting to make a substantial contribution to the Foundation. I needed his money now. I asked whether he had made a decision about investing in the county's future.

"Not yet Carl. But I heard from Adrienne Perkins that you have silverfish. It's not an investment if the stock is destroyed by bugs."

"Colonel, I'm on top of that. There are a couple of books with minor damage, but I'm taking care of it." Back at the library I started looking through books. At first I didn't find anything, and almost called the exterminator back. But then I came across a bookcase that had damage in almost every book. Letters were not just obliterated. It almost looked like the books were being rewritten. Actually, the marks didn't really look like letters. I don't know what they looked like. When Harry arrived Saturday I would have him just do this area.

*

I showed Harry the bookcase. He picked up one of the books and opened it. It was blank, except for a few random specks of ink. He raised one eyebrow. I grabbed the book and shoved it back on the shelf.

"Silverfish. I don't know. Just spray. I'll be downstairs."

He rolled his eyes, but as long as he does the work, I don't care.

An hour later, Ms. Perkins stopped by.

"Director? Isn't Harry coming today?"

"He's up there now. In fact, he should be done." I held my place with a finger, but she didn't take the hint.

"He's not there. I checked. The bookcase in the middle of the reading room. That's the worst place and he's not there at all."

"Come on. That's where he started. I told him just to do that area, but he may be doing the whole floor hoping for extra pay." We searched the entire building, but we didn't find him. His truck was still out front. Where was he? I came back to the reading room. Ms. Perkins stood in front of "the bookcase." She looked pale.

"Director," she whispered. "Look at this." She handed me a history of the Civil War, but most of the pages were covered with odd geometrical shapes. Nothing about the Civil War. She had had the book open to page 56. Right in the middle of the page was an odd seven-sided figure. Inside was a cartoon drawing that looked a bit like Harry.

"They got his paunch really well," I said. "Don't you think?"

"This is not a drawing."

"Of course it is," I snapped. Then the drawing moved. It ran to the side of the figure surrounding it. It beat on the line with its fists. Then it ran to the other side, then to the top. It was trapped. "He can't leave the page." I dropped the book. "Ms. Perkins? We need to get out of here." I felt queasy all of a sudden, but grabbed her arm and ran towards the door. There was no door. Strange things surrounded us. I put Ms Perkins behind me. Then I saw the jaws. "Get ready to jump, Ms. Perkins."

"How? There is no up." I tried to look up. I could almost remember how, but I couldn't do it. We were surrounded. Something went snicker snack.

"The jaws that bite, Ms. Perkins, the claws that catch." We hugged, something we had never done in 3D. "Goodbye, Ms. Perkins."

"Goodbye Director."

Publ. The Simian Transcript, 2010

060417

Mother Would Not Have Been Pleased

Carmen glanced nervously at her reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls. She looked tired but otherwise OK. It was late, and Billy was going to “give her something” as he put it if she didn’t beat him home. She wouldn’t have risked coming tonight, having worked two shifts already, but Mother always got restless around the anniversary of her death. Mother usually appeared to be shouting, and Carmen knew her mother was trying to tell her the name of her killer.

The upper floors of the library were usually deserted at this time of night, except of course for the shades, who floated translucent and silent within the old stacks. She no longer tried to speak to them. Perhaps it was true that the shades were images of those who inhabited the library at other times, and they were not truly present. Certainly they had never responded to her overtures. The elevator doors opened and she hurried towards the back stacks. It was nearly midnight. She pulled out the book she had been reading and turned to the page she’d marked last time she was here.

The gloom pervading certain regions of the castle could neither be dispelled by incantation nor thorough cleaning, both having been essayed as recently as the lifetime of the present owner’s great-grandsire. Legend told that the spiritual miasma infecting the Great Hall, the topmost floor of the North Tower, and the Winding Stair had its origin in events dating back six centuries or more; from the time, in fact, when the castle was the political hub of the former Empire. Rumor no more than suggested that certain experiments led both to the impregnation of the castle with the distasteful ethereal residue and to the collapse of the Empire itself, through the hideous wasting of the last, and unlamented, Emperor. However, where the so-called Happy Emperor was concerned, rumor was commonly accorded a rank of veracity just slightly less than that of pronouncements in the antediluvian inscriptions copied more than five millennia before from the fabled Stone Tablets (vanished under uncanny circumstances at the height of the Mind Plague of the 13^th century, itself merely legendary). Indeed, some suggested, anonymously, that the cryptic fourth couplet reported to have been deliberately omitted from the official transcriptions of the Stone Tablets, referred obliquely to both the Happy Emperor’s nativity and the haunting itself. Accordingly, few expressed any surprise when, after word of his exploits reached the ears of the Baron, current lord of the castle, the Mage was sought in yet another attempt to rid the castle of its unwanted magical odor.

Carmen looked around. She felt like someone was watching her. Had she been followed? She saw no one. The presence she half-sensed behind her had actually passed through the hall many years before. The residue of its passage was like an ectoplasmic videotape of post-mortem somnambulism nearly obliterated by overuse, but Carmen had always been sensitive. She shivered slightly and drew her sweater tighter around her shoulders. This book had seemed to promise an avenue to the spirit world at last, but now it appeared to be simply another fanciful tale in an endless series of crumbling leather-bound volumes. Still, she had found useful clues in such places before. Billy had made fun of her when she began her search, but lately she had caught him with an expression that almost looked like fear as she told him what she had learned. She shook her head and stared at the book again. Now where was she…

When the Mage consented to make the attempt, the Baron ordered that the best guest room be prepared for his use. However, the Mage himself arrived before preparations could be completed. Indeed, his arrival followed so closely on the heels of word of his agreement to visit the castle, that many wondered by what means he had made the journey. He swirled through the front door of the castle, unaccompanied, and bearing on his azure garments no dust from the road. He surprised them again by insisting he spend the night in the Great Hall … alone. After a show of reluctance the Baron acquiesced. He asked if the Mage required any equipment, but was told that the seer already had everything he needed for the exorcism. The Mage planned to transfer the curse far from the castle, an operation considerably less risky than attempting to simply remove it.

This time Carmen smelled something -- what was it? Really there were two smells: one of something very old, like the inside of a full garbage can left out in the sun too long. The other scent reminded her of hot copper. She had smelled it the night her mother died. She looked behind her. The first thing she saw was the body, or the pieces of one. Blood was everywhere, and she wasn’t sure really how many bodies were represented. There appeared to be several. Surprisingly, there had been no sound. A few scraps of fabric, some a bright blue, surrounded the largest chunks. Were those bits of rope scattered with the fragments of the corpses? Then she saw movement in the corner. Something huge and crooked rose from a shapeless heap and stepped towards the light. It was gnawing on something, and held another piece of rope in its right hand. No, that wasn’t rope, it was slick and wet, and it dripped. The creature opened its mouth, dropped the femur it had been gnawing and reached for her. Carmen leaped out of the chair and ran for the door. She could hear the beast’s claws behind her scrabbling on the linoleum and she wet herself. Ahead of her stood a ghost; she ran right through it.

In the doorway she stumbled over the sill and hurtled face first into the hall. She felt something like a cold wind pass over her in an instant as she shut her eyes, curled in a ball, and screamed. After a time she realized that she ought to be already dead. She sat up, shaking, and looked back into the room. It was silent, empty, peaceful. She crawled to the door, pulled herself to her feet, and tottered back to the table. There was no sign of what must have been simply the latest apparition, and the horrible odor (had she imagined it?) was gone. She visited the bathroom and cleaned up as best she could, then cautiously made her way back to the reading room. She felt … peculiar, a little dizzy, and her balance was off. She sank into the chair and put her head down until she recovered her composure. She knew she shouldn’t stay much longer, but Billy probably wouldn’t be home for hours yet. The damnable thing was that she had this feeling that both she and her mother knew the killer. Sometimes it seemed that Billy knew something too, though he swore he didn’t. She opened the book impatiently and began to read. This account of haunting and exorcism didn’t really seem likely to help solve her problem, but she was caught up in the story and wanted to finish it.

The Baron never knew exactly what happened that night, but it was clear that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. The stench in the Great Hall was unfamiliar – and overpowering – and there was no sign of the Mage. The Hall itself appeared to ripple, as if seen through unquiet water. Those brave enough to enter reached a point near the center of the hall, appeared to be attacked by some large and powerful creature that was utterly invisible, and were dismembered before the horrified gaze of the Baron and a few of his knights. About midday the appearance of the Hall returned to normal, and the next morning a knight entered the room. He was not attacked, and he found no trace of those who had entered the day before. The curse appeared to have been lifted at last.

Something made Carmen uncomfortable, and she paused in her reading. At first she couldn’t place the feeling, but the unpleasant sensation quickly developed into an itch. Centered between her shoulder blades, the itch intensified until she found herself writhing on the floor, eyes streaming, tearing at her back. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the itch spread quickly to her entire body, awakening nerves she’d never suspected existed. The itching became so intense she could think of nothing else. She staggered to her feet with some vague notion of seeking help. Stumbling around she found the doorway, squeezed through it, and ran down the hall, tripping on the tatters of her clothing. She reeled into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons, hoping to find the one for the ground floor. She leaned against the wall, hunching her shoulders to avoid bumping the ceiling. The intensity of the itching diminished somewhat and her mind cleared a bit. Incongruously she began to feel very hungry. Then another thought struck her. There might be people downstairs. How did she look? She vaguely remembered tearing off some of her clothes. She peered at her reflection. The monster she’d seen upstairs was in the elevator with her! She screamed and hurled herself backwards, scrambling as far away from the horror as she could get. She covered her face, waiting for death that once again did not come. ‘It’s another ghost,’ she thought in relief, though something didn’t seem quite right about that interpretation. Just then the bell chimed.

The doors opened and she squeezed out. Hunger pangs wrenched at her belly and her stomach growled. What had come over her? She’d never felt this way before. Her stomach was telling her she had to eat NOW! She started towards the candy machines, but the lobby began to whirl around her and she felt a wrench of nausea. She clutched her belly, moaning.

When her vision cleared the library was gone. She saw a huge stone chair, tapestries, and an angry man in a blue robe. He struck her in the shoulder with a wooden staff but she barely felt it. Reflexively, she slapped him and he fell to the floor. She glanced down. His head looked odd. Then the demands of hunger drove all other thoughts out of her head. When Carmen came to her senses she was kneeling on the floor. She stared at the moist fragments lying beneath her and screamed in revulsion. She looked up to see herself reflected in a large mirror on the wall and real screaming began….

THE END
From "Drowning Atlantis", draft version

030417b

When we moved from New Orleans in 1986, I donated all my small-press pubs to a library. When we left Troy NY in 1989, I gave away some more. Then I found out I was supposed to keep any w my work in them. They fill 7 shelves in our library (incl. some that I have no work in). Of course SF bx fill 30 shelves. Maybe we can't move again.

020417

TAMU library now getting a complete run of DN. (As close as is possible, I'm missing any copies of issues 8-16. If you have any of those, please scan for me!)

DN is free to any library that wants it. If u r a librarian, or know one....

Bad Roberta Visits the Public Library

Bad Roberta Visits the Public Library

One day Bad Roberta came home from school with a homework assignment. (This was one of the brief periods during which she had started attending a new school and had not yet been expelled for bad behavior.) Bad Roberta's homework assignment required her to do some research in the public library. Now normally, Bad Roberta did not bother to do her homework, but, as she was about to make the homework assignment into a paper airplane that she was going to aim at Gerald's head, it suddenly occurred to her that she could have some FUN in the library. The more she thought about it, the more fun it seemed to be.

"Heh, heh, heh," she chuckled, and Gerald hastily crawled into another room and hid under a chair.

Bad Roberta danced down the stairs. "Going to the library!" she called to her mother, as she jumped out the door.

"Going to the LIBRARY?" her mother thought. "Going to the LIBRARY?! Oh my God...!" She ran to the door, but Bad Roberta was already out of sight. "And after all," her mother said to herself, "I deserve a break every now and then." And she went back to work.

Bad Roberta was so excited that the 8-block walk to the library seemed miles long. Finally, she saw in front of her the huge staircase, the stone lions, and the double row of columns. In she went, stifling a giggle as she strolled past the librarians at their high desk. One of them gave her a disapproving look, and Bad Roberta hurried into the next room. Bad Roberta had never been in the library before, so she took time to check out where all the exits were, and which doors were locked and which were unlocked. The library had five floors of stacks. The children's books were on the first floor, other books were on the next three floors, and the top floor contained old magazines and miscellaneous stuff that nobody ever looked at. The bottom level had a tile floor, but the other floors were made of metal grillwork, so from the top floor you could look all the way down. Bad Roberta chuckled to herself again, causing a nearby boy to hurriedly check out his books and leave.

Bad Roberta started on the second floor. She went to a part of the stacks that was empty of people, and she screamed as loudly as she could! The scream echoed through the building, and no one could tell where it came from. She picked a book off the shelf and went to a table where she sat down and pretended to read. Soon the librarians came scurrying by, looking for the source of the scream. When all had started to calm down Bad Roberta screamed again. This time, she heard angry shouts and running feet. As before, she pretended innocence, walking up to the third floor as if she was very busy with important work. She took some pebbles out of her pocket. She moved around the floor, and whenever no one was watching her, she dropped the pebbles through the holes in the floor onto the heads of the people on the floor below.

Bad Roberta saw a white-haired librarian bustling along below her, looking for the trouble-maker who was being so noisy. Bad Roberta dropped a pebble. It landed in the librarian's hair, but she didn't notice. Bad Roberta dropped another pebble. It landed right on the librarian's nose and bounced off to the floor, plock!, where it skittered under one of the huge bookcases and dropped down again to the lower level: plink! The librarian looked up just as Bad Roberta dropped a whole handful of pebbles right on her face. "Aieeee!!!" she screamed and cowered under her upraised hands. Bad Roberta hurried to the stairs and up to the fourth floor.

Soon she saw the same librarian and another, a tall man who was nearly bald, hunting around where she had been on the third floor. Bad Roberta dropped another pebble: it landed right in the middle of the tall man's bald spot.

"Ow!" he said, and looked up, rubbing his head.

Bad Roberta stuck out her tongue. The man gasped in outrage....just as Bad Roberta dropped another pebble right in his mouth!

"Ack! Gasp!" he said, and the two librarians raced for the stairs. Bad Roberta got there first, however, and tipped over a big bookcase right at the head of the stairs. Hundreds of books flew down the stairs. Bad Roberta heard screams and thumps gradually fading away below her. She climbed up to the top floor. No one was there. Bad Roberta went to the back of the building, where old magazines were stored in cardboard boxes. She picked up a box and carried it to the head of the stairs. She listened hard. Stealthy footsteps could be heard coming up from the fourth floor. Bad Roberta hurled the box of magazines down the stairs. It struck a pillar where the stairs turned, and exploded. Brittle yellow pages filled the stairwell like an indoor snowstorm. A long drawn-out scream, followed by an echoing crash, reverberated up the stairwell from the floor below.

Bad Roberta threw a few more boxes of magazines down the stairs, but she heard nobody coming and it started to get boring. Suddenly, a voice growled from behind her:

"Now I've got you!" It was the white-haired librarian. Behind her a warm breeze blew in an open window. She lunged for Bad Roberta, who dodged under her arm and pushed her into a bookcase. Dust billowed up, and rotting old catalogs cascaded down on the librarian's head. Bad Roberta ran towards the back of the building, as the librarian struggled out of the debris and charged after her.

The librarian was fast for her age, but she was no match for Bad Roberta. Bad Roberta ran ahead, and then she pushed over a book case behind her. It fell across the aisle right in front of the librarian, who disappeared in a cloud of dust. Choking and coughing could be heard as Bad Roberta pushed open the door labeled "Emergency Exit." It led to a stairwell that ran both up and down. She heard voices from down below.

"She'll never think we'll come in this way," said one.

"We'll catch her by surprise and trap her like a nut in a nutcracker," said another.

"I can't climb any more," gasped a third. "You go on without me. I'll be alright." There was a muffled thump, followed by a mutter of low voices.

Bad Roberta tiptoed up the stairs and quietly pushed open the trap door to the roof. She gently let it down behind her. From below she heard the door to the fifth floor swing open and bang against the wall. There was a muffled "Aha!" followed by "Where IS she?!"

Bad Roberta ran to the edge of the roof. There was a big magnolia tree at the corner. She could just jump out onto one of the upper branches. The foliage of magnolia trees is so thick that no one saw Bad Roberta climb down the tree. She jumped to the ground and mingled with the crowd, listening to shouts, screams, curses, and occasional crashes from inside the library. After a while she went home, well satisfied with a good day's work.

Dreams and Nightmares free to libraries

If your library wants a subscription, just ask: it's free of charge. I will include print back issues and/or PDF back issues, if you like. First published in 1986; 103 issues so far. Over the years I've published Rhysling nominees and some winners.

Rhysling award of SFPA http://sfpoetry.com/index.html

052416

The Literate Lunch


Each night the train rumbles past
Shaking letters out of the old books
A rain of consonants and vowels
On the library floor
Drifts, some mornings, like black snow
A few speckles of green or red
Where illuminated manuscripts reside
The morning sweeper cleans the floors
Takes the letters home in her lunch pail
Assembles the definitive autobiography
Of somebody
She wonders who