A few years ago, visiting the island of Martha's Vineyard off the Massachusetts coast, I learned of Nancy Luce (1814-1890). An eccentric loner artist who self-published her own poetry--mainly devoted to her beloved pet chickens--and buried the birds with fully engraved headstones, she is the subject of a biography still available on the island at various gift shops: Consider Poor I by Walter Magnes Teller. You can read what The New York Times had to say about the book here. You might even be so moved as to purchase a lovely woodcut print of Luce here.
Perhaps we should commemorate Luce with a sample of her poetry:
POOR LITTLE HEARTS
Poor little Ada Queetie has departed this life,
Never to be here no more,
No more to love, no more to speak,
No more to be my friend.
O how I long to see her with me alive and well,
Her heart and mine was united,
Love and feelings deeply rooted for each other,
She and I could never part,
I am left broken hearted....
I loved reading Harvey Comics as a kid, and into "adulthood." (They're not published anymore, alas.) Their universe was quintessentially wacked and weird. As famed comics scribe Grant Morrison has remarked in an interview, sometimes the willed naivete of Silver Age writers following the Comics Code produced much stranger stuff than any consciously avant-garde writer could.
Take the two page strip to the right for instance, from an old digest-reprint of some Casper stuff. To parse it is to risk madness.
Is Nightmare indeed a mare, ie, female? if not, and even if so, is that the gayest hairdo ever, on horse or human? Why does a forest gnome like to hang out with a ghost horse? Why is playing human cowboys popular among the gnomes? Likewise riding an airplane. And finally, how demented does a ghost horse have to be, to stick planks up its butt and into its chest, and then purr like a cat, all in an effort to emulate a mechanical device so as to placate a gnome?
How I miss Harvey Comics! Thank goodness Dark Horse is reprinting some.....
A week or so ago, Alex told us how to make our own Baconhenge. But perhaps that's not enough bacon for you. In that case, why not nosh on some Bacon Beans as a snack?
Surely nothing better evokes the confusing and guilty sensations associated with a "what's my name, and where did I leave my panties?" lost weekend better than a forgotten drink high atop a pole you shimmied up while looking for the bluebird of happiness.
I'm home now from my trip to the West Coast for only twelve hours, but I made sure that my first task was to read the last week's worth of WU posts and comments. Unfortunately I don't have a second, in the face of various deadlines, to respond to every single great comment on the assorted FOLLIES OF THE MAD MEN posts. But rest assured that I enjoyed each one, and continue to be amazed at the sagacity and enthusiasm and wit of the WU family of readers and contributors.
As for Chuck and Alex, they did tremendous work taking up my slack, with dozens of really great posts. If I can single out one, it would be Alex's talking goats video, which confirms that the earlier image I posted of goat testicles was accurate.
And that's what we're all about: accuracy in weirdness.
Please have one more FOLLIES, following this post. Then, tomorrow, even more goodies!
[From Life for September 24 1956. Two separate scans, top and bottom.]
Judging by the reaction of the people in the background, these are either a) real transgenic tiger men walking down the street; or b) very convincing masks. In either case, the viewer is forced to ask, "Are tigers particularly famous for their sartorial choices?"
BONUS: this ad may serve as Furry porn, if you're so inclined.
A 14-year-old Indian boy showed up at a hospital complaining of pain and difficulty urinating. He claimed that a fish had lodged itself in his penis. His story, according to the doctors:
While he was cleaning the fish tank in his house, he was holding a fish in his hand and went to the toilet for passing urine. While he was passing urine, the fish slipped from his hand and entered his urethra and then he developed all these symptoms.
Sure enough, he DID have a dead fish in his bladder. Initial attempts to remove it with a biopsy forceps were unsuccessful. The fish was too slippery to grasp onto. But with the help of a rigid ureteroscope they got it out.
The doctors seem a little skeptical of the boy's story. They note that, "Introduction into the bladder may be through self-insertion, iatrogenic means or migration from adjacent organs."
I'm just now recovered from my viewing of THE WILD WOMEN OF WONGO. But I still cannot say what my favorite moment is from the film. Perhaps the wild dance ordered by the High Priestess. Perhaps the endless scene where our heroine, the cute-as-a-button redhead Jean Hawkshaw, to the right here, wrestles underwater with a rubber alligator.
You'll have to decide for yourself. First, take a look at the unfortunately bleached-out trailer. Then view the whole film--in glorious "Pathecolor"--on YouTube, in several parts, with the first one featured after the trailer.
How weird is it that there are still Confederate Widows alive? Although one named Maudie Hopkins died just recently, experts claim there are still other women alive who were once married to men who fought for the Confederacy. Obviously this bestselling novel will still have relevance for some time yet.
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.