Wailing away on the wall of the strand

[sovay]

Today's sunset was a stunner. The air turned an incredible mauve and gold-hulled violet, right above the horizon: such a neon intensity, it would have lowered oppressively if it hadn't been so rich, like an entire skyful of afterimage. The clouds had that sketched-charcoal and sandbar three-dimensionality, where you seem to look out over rather than up into them, and in a few minutes the colors visible between the trees had all faded into the apple-green, backlit blue I associate most of all with winter twilight. There is an almost imperceptibly thin new moon there now, a nail-scratch of light on the sky. And this afternoon, I walked from the con hotel down Summer Street to South Station, over the water with the sun crumpled up on it and the brilliant clarity of the air and the light that requires an entire nineteenth-century school of painting to reproduce accurately, in shafts, where even the clouds are luminous; bridge-struts, pylons, cells of sky-blue mirrored over and over in skyscraper windows. I don't see enough skylines in my ordinary life. I love them. I wish I could take photographs.

We packed up the table in the dealer's room this morning, so I had a chance to attend two panels—what makes vivid writing and what defines American rather than British fantasy—and have lunch with nineweaving, converse properly with matociquala for the first time in over a year, and meet kayselkiemoon in person. (Lunch with farwing yesterday was also awesome. And a man came up to me and asked if I'd modeled for the painting on the cover of Jane Yolen's Once Upon A Time (She Said), which I had not, but I was still honored.) I read Ilario last night, and Elizabeth Hand's Saffron and Brimstone this afternoon, and both were excellently worth it. I met several people whose names I should have taken down. All the traditional hallmarks of a con in only a few hours . . .

I have three different songs stuck in my head. How does this happen?

Comments

[sovay]

What's "Chez Vous Soon"?

Sorry; a story of mine published in Not One of Us #35. It was written in November and December 2005, and halfway through I discovered Michael Penn's Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947, at which point "Walter Reed" sort of wired into the soundtrack for me. It's also partially about my friend Nora, who died while I was writing the story—past the point at which I knew what would happen to one of the characters, but there's a scene at the end that is almost taken from life. I think it's one of the better stories I've written, but I also know I might still be too close to tell, and I don't know when that will wear off.

Is that song about anal sex?

The liner notes explain, "A hog-eye was apparently a type of barge used in the canals and rivers of America from the 1850’s onward. Thus, 'hog-eye man' was used in derogation by the deep water sailors who used this chantey at the capstan. Many of the original verses to this chantey were far too obscene to have ever found their way into print," which really doesn't help with tracking down the original obscene meanings. These are the lyrics to Carthy's version as I transcribed them:

Oh, hand me down my riding cane
I'm off to meet my darling Jane

And a hog-eye
Railroad navvy with his hog-eye
Steady on the jig with a hog-eye
Oh, she wants the hog-eye man

Oh, the hog-eye man is the man for me
Sailing down from [indecipherable] sea

Oh, he come to the shack where Sally did dwell
He knocked on the door and he rung her bell

Oh, who's been here since I been gone?
Railroad navvy with his sea-boots on

If I catch him here with Sally once more
I'll sling my hook, go to sea once more

Oh, Sally's in the garden sifting sand
The hog-eye man sitting hand in hand

Oh, Sally's in the garden punching duff
Cheeks of her arse go chuff, chuff, chuff

Oh, I won't bear a hog-eye, damned if I do
Got chiggers in his feet and he can't wear shoes

Oh, the hog-eye man is the man for me
He is blind and he cannot see

Oh, a hog-eye ship and a hog-eye crew
Hog-eye mate and a skipper too

So I have no idea about the specifics, but there's definitely sex in there. Knocked on the door and rung her bell? Ahem.

I've yet to hear any Dead Can Dance.

Randomly selected from the two albums I like best:

"The Host of Seraphim," "Song of Sophia," "Ulysses," The Serpent's Egg (1988)

"The Song of the Sibyl," "Fortune Presents Gifts Not According to the Book," "Radharc," Aion (1990)

If you're interested in more, I'll gladly send it. I have also Dead Can Dance (1984), Within the Realm of a Dying Sun (1987), and Into the Labyrinth (1993).

[setsuled.livejournal.com]

I think it's one of the better stories I've written, but I also know I might still be too close to tell, and I don't know when that will wear off.

I'd like to read it some time. I just need to figure out how to order that issue . . . I think the coffee's wearing off . . .

"A hog-eye was apparently a type of barge used in the canals and rivers of America from the 1850’s onward. Thus, 'hog-eye man' was used in derogation by the deep water sailors who used this chantey at the capstan.

I initially assumed "hog-eye" meant "anus"--sort of like "brown eye", especially with the juxtaposition of the arse chuffing. Hmm. I wonder if "Arse Chuffing" could be the title of a sixteenth century porno from another dimension. Anyway, hog-eye might of course still have two meanings . . .

Knocked on the door and rung her bell? Ahem.

And a riding cane for Jane. Heh.

Randomly selected from the two albums I like best:

Thank you. I've just started listening to them, and so far so good.

[lesser-celery.livejournal.com]

I'd like to read it some time. I just need to figure out how to order that issue.

Not One of Us #35 is available at Shocklines and The Genre Mall. "Chez Vous Soon" is, for both literary and personal reasons, one of my favorites among the stories we've published at Not One of Us.

[setsuled.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the links; that was quite nice of you.

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

Yes, it's one of my favorites too. I almost can hear it, like a song that haunts.