Your favourite authors, and why?

[promethean75]

We're talking about as far as serial killers go, mate, not in general.

Brad Pitt's a hottie, but he's blonde, and that's a pitty. So, he'd not be as hot as a brunette hottie of similar ranking. Christian Bale, the guy who played Superman, forgot his name, and Wolverine are all hotter than Pitt.

[promethean75]

Of the following pitts which would you most like to examine with your hands, Maia?

1. Apricot
2. Plum
3. Brad
4. Cherry
5. Pear

[Maia]

Oh wait, an important post-script. I'm not the sexually-aroused-by-serial-killers hybristophile type, nor am i gay or bi-sexual even though i know, as we all do and must, that sexy Ted is sexy.

But I just like the subject because it's one of the best studies of one of the darkest features of mankind.

And I've also always thought, as a sport paranormalist and metaphysician, that if there were such things as evil spirits, demons and the sort described in the religions, they would be found here most easily. That, and these guys are just fascinating anyway... not in the sense of some morbid admiration but in a psychological and scientific sense and relevancy.

Yes, I gathered that, about the hybristophile thing.

I haven't read any Dean Koontz, and this sort of novel is very much outside of my usual reading habits, or comfort zone. So far, Aftermath is proving to be pretty much how I would have expected a standard police procedural to play out, though it's still early days, and there's nothing, as yet, to link it with the earlier story. It's also increasingly clear, from the differences in style, that Caedmon's Song was something of an experimental work, full of passages describing, for example, the natural landscape and wildlife of the Yorkshire coast, and the seasonal changes that accompany Kirsten's own emotional journey over the course of about a year, or just over. It also has lengthy passages describing Kirsten's own thoughts and feelings, coming to terms, or in fact, never really coming to terms, with her new self, following the attack, some of which are truly heart rending, and by the end of it, I was crying. So yes, she's very much the antihero type, I suppose, and we root for her, even when she makes some major and tragic mistakes, resulting in innocent people dying. The best stories, I think, are the ones that move you on an emotional level, and these are the ones that always stick in your mind. If I ever get round to writing anything substantial myself, that's what I want it to be like.

[Maia]

Of the following pitts which would you most like to examine with your hands, Maia?

1. Apricot
2. Plum
3. Brad
4. Cherry
5. Pear

Can I have all of them?

[promethean75]

How hot would it be if Brad and Maia shot an erotic scene where she's inspecting his body and one thing leads to another?

If you ever get the opportunity to do it, they may not expect you to shoot the scene in the full nude, but they will very likely want some boobs, Maia.

[Maia]

How hot would it be if Brad and Maia shot an erotic scene where she's inspecting his body and one thing leads to another?

If you ever get the opportunity to do it, they may not expect you to shoot the scene in the full nude, but they will very likely want some boobs, Maia.

That's not going to happen, I'm afraid.

[promethean75]

You're probably right. I can't get Brad on the phone, anyway.

....

Some fool deleted both free Dorsey audiobooks i was trying to finish. I had made it three quarters through both and then came back to find them missing. So I'm skipping around now through favorite parts in the samples.

Here's are the bios of Johnny (the guy who can't get laid) and Boris The Hateful Piece Of Shit (a radio famous disk jockey)

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxtYyfdjDjeM ... rEQZJUZ-h-

[Maia]

You're probably right. I can't get Brad on the phone, anyway.

....

Some fool deleted both free Dorsey audiobooks i was trying to finish. I had made it three quarters through both and then came back to find them missing. So I'm skipping around now through favorite parts in the samples.

Here's are the bios of Johnny (the guy who can't get laid) and Boris The Hateful Piece Of Shit (a radio famous disk jockey)

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxtYyfdjDjeM ... rEQZJUZ-h-

Try Kindle. That book is really cheap.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hammerhead-Ran ... B077B9ZBPS

[promethean75]

Will George Wilson be narrating the Kindle one? I must have George Wilson. Originally, I didn't care for his narrating because I didn't like some of his character voicings. Now, however, after hours and hours of hearing him, he's grown on me. His tonation and flow are good. He's got that documentary voice, one which contradicts nicely the comic style of Dorsey's stories. You'd not expect him to be narrating that kind of content, so when he does, it has a certain formal and measured sobriety about it that makes it funnier.

[Maia]

Will George Wilson be narrating the Kindle one? I must have George Wilson. Originally, I didn't care for his narrating because I didn't like some of his character voicings. Now, however, after hours and hours of hearing him, he's grown on me. His tonation and flow are good. He's got that documentary voice, one which contradicts nicely the comic style of Dorsey's stories. You'd not expect him to be narrating that kind of content, so when he does, it has a certain formal and measured sobriety about it that makes it funnier.

Sadly no. The one you're looking for is this one, on Audible. There's also a CD edition, but that's not cheap.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hammerhead-Ran ... B005D7IMMI

[Maia]

I've now read both Aftermath, and Friend of the Devil, the two books by Peter Robinson that are connected to his earlier novel, Caedmon's Song. The first of these, Aftermath, turned out not to be connected, but the second, Friend of the Devil, certainly is, and is a sequel to both Caedmon's Song and Aftermath, thereby connecting them all together.

Both Aftermath and Friend of the Devil are part of the Inspector Banks series of crime novels, and in the latter, the events of Caedmon's Song, from 18 years earlier, are treated as a sort of cold case, told, this time, from the point of view of the police, rather than Kirsten's, and linking them to a new series of murders. Various loose ends from Caedmon's Song are tied up, and we get to find out, at least in part, what happened to Kirsten afterwards. She also appears in person, under an assumed identity. I'm usually pretty good and picking up on clues left by authors, or at least good authors, about this sort of thing, and it was fairly clear to me who she was from pretty early on, though the plot treats this as a big revelation at the end.

As police procedurals, a genre I'm not very familiar with, the two later novels, which are also much longer, have quite a different style and atmosphere to Caedmon's Song, lacking its lyrical beauty, though they're undoubtedly well written. I basically read them to find out what became of Kirsten, and sadly, I did.

[Maia]

Having slept on it, now, I have to say that I found the portrayal of Kirsten in Friend of the Devil, and her eventual fate, to be unconvincing and unsatisfying, to be honest, almost as if the author, Peter Robinson, didn't truly know, or maybe, after 18 years, and a similar number of novels under his belt, had forgotten his own original creation. Or perhaps I was reading more into her characterisation in Caedmon's Song than was actually there, or intended by the author. She was an outsider, after all, just as I've often felt myself to be, and I found myself empathising with her very easily. But I was surprised that most reviews for Caedmon's Song seem to be fairly dismissive, describing Kirsten as cold and unbelievable, but I didn't think that at all, and in fact found her to be extremely intense and relatable. This negative and shallow characterisation of her does, however, apply to her portrayal in Friend of the Devil, which makes me wonder if that's what the author, Peter Robinson, intended all along. And given that he passed away in 2022, perhaps I'll never know.

[promethean75]

Deep in the heart of Florida with Tim Dorsey

[Walker]

From: Anthem

I AM. I THINK. I WILL.

My hands . . . My spirit . . . My sky . . . My forest . . . This earth of mine. . . .

What must I say besides? These are the words. This is the answer.

I stand here on the summit of the mountain. I lift my head and I spread my arms. This, my body and spirit, this is the end of the quest. I wished to know the meaning of things. I am the meaning. I wished to find a warrant for being. I need no warrant for being, and no word of sanction upon my being. I am the warrant and the sanction.

It is my eyes which see, and the sight of my eyes grants beauty to the earth. It is my ears which hear, and the hearing of my ears gives its song to the world. It is my mind which thinks, and the judgment of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the truth. It is my will which chooses, and the choice of my will is the only edict I must respect.

Many words have been granted me, and some are wise, and some are false, but only three are holy: "I will it!"

Whatever road I take, the guiding star is within me; the guiding star and the loadstone which point the way. They point in but one direction. They point to me.

I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose.

Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish. I am not a tool for their use. I am not a servant of their needs. I am not a bandage for their wounds. I am not a sacrifice on their altars.

I am a man. This miracle of me is mine to own and keep, and mine to guard, and mine to use, and mine to kneel before!

I do not surrender my treasures, nor do I share them. The fortune of my spirit is not to be blown into coins of brass and flung to the winds as alms for the poor of the spirit. I guard my treasures: my thought, my will, my freedom. And the greatest of these is freedom.

I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. I ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others. I covet no man's soul, nor is my soul theirs to covet.

I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of them shall deserve of me. And to earn my love, my brothers must do more than to have been born. I do not grant my love without reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it. I honor men with my love. But honor is a thing to be earned.

I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. For in the temple of his spirit, each man is alone. Let each man keep his temple untouched and undefiled. Then let him join hands with others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.

For the word "We" must never be spoken, save by one's choice and as a second thought. This word must never be placed first within man's soul, else it becomes a monster, the root of all the evils on earth, the root of man's torture by men, and of an unspeakable lie.

The word "We" is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages.

What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it? What is my wisdom, if even the fools can dictate to me? What is my freedom, if all creatures, even the botched and the impotent, are my masters? What is my life, if I am but to bow, to agree and to obey?

But I am done with this creed of corruption.

I am done with the monster of "We," the word of serfdom, of plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame.

And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride.

This god, this one word:

"I."

- Ayn Rand

[Walker]

(continued)

“It is my eyes which see, and the sight of my eyes grants beauty to the earth. It is my ears which hear, and the hearing of my ears gives its song to the world. It is my mind which thinks, and the judgment of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the truth. It is my will which chooses, and the choice of my will is the only edict I must respect.”
- Ayn Rand

This insight from Ayn Rand (spoken through the voice of one of her characters) sounds familiar to Life, as do many other insights from her writings.

*

“Your body, the society, the forest, and the ways are all in you; you are not in them. You are the body also, but not this body exclusively. If you remain as your pure Self, the body and its movements need not affect you.”
- Sri Ramana Maharshi