Of all the precursors to Twin Peaks this is probably my favourite.
Much of the bi-associative strangeness of the book’s descriptions of Area X is preserved: blossoming branches act as antlers on deer, human limbs are melded into the root systems of trees, concentric rows of teeth occur inside the crocodile-like Monster that attacks the women as they explore an orchard of humanoid bushes. “A religious event? An extra-terrestrial event? A higher Dimension? We have many theories and few facts,” admits Ventress. “When you see beauty in desolation it changes something inside you,” says VanderMeer’s protagonist in the novel. “Desolation tries to colonize you.” This is, perhaps, the most important attribute of the New Weird – that it replaces human delusions of self-importance with deeper and more mysterious truths. From the Space Opera scope of M John Harrison‘s Kefahuchi Tract trilogy with its pointless repetitions of people and the monstrous haunting of humanity from the Time Abyss to the Drugs and crime (see Crime and Punishment) and photography sequence of the Cass Neary novels by Elizabeth Hand – both series of novels display their authors’ facility at counterbalancing Postmodernism with a deep comprehension of genre – the form must go beyond its delivery mechanisms to achieve its emotional payload. More often than not the weird does this by combining the real and the uncanny and making the uncanny seem more real than the everyday delusions of human assumption. Symbolism and surrealism is very often important to this process, as is a central scientific metaphor. In the case of Annihilation, this is cellular activity and its connotative capacity for communicating the implications of Evolution, Climate Change and Medicine:-
There’s a lovely, gentle atmosphere at Concrete Cow.
My Bookhounds of London game turned out schlonky and overstuffed with clues, despite fun and enterprising players. I’d hone it and reorder the narrative were I ever to run it again.
I played Ralph Lovegrove’s Cthulhu Dark: Annihilation game in the afternoon session, which was excellent.
“Your parents threw you away like garbage and you can’t stop needing them,” Kylo Ren tells Rey, a prodigal son resenting his own oedipal impulses and able, as such, to perceive a similar Psychology at work in his counterpart. “I thought I’d find answers here,” Rey says of the cave she has entered on the remote island of Ahch-To, recalling the shamanic journey of her teacher Luke Skywalker on the swamp planet of Dagobah in The Empire Strikes Back. She has activated her most heartfelt desire to ask the smoking mirror therein for a vision of her parents – as, indeed, did Harry Potter of the Mirror of Erised in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (2001) – but instead of a buried family Memory or message of loving reassurance Rey receives a vision of herself, recurring without end in the darkness. “I was wrong,” she tells Ren: “I’ve never felt so alone.” “You’re not alone,” he replies. “Neither are you,” she says:-
When I’m too tired or crazy to meditate, I sometimes go to the Tate: it tends to have a calming effect.
bogeyman / best / category / glandular / beefcake / esoteric
Being this close to the thing that killed H… well, I don’t know what it makes me feel, really. They mistook it for the Epstein-Barr virus to begin with. He’d just lie there in his hospital bed reading Tom of Finland and cracking jokes.
The dust doesn’t fit any of the known taxonomies. We knew that, of course, but now that I’m closer I’m none the wiser and nor are any of the instruments. It’s some kind of interstellar gas that contains unusual data-sets.
It’s silly to think I have a sore throat in an environment this closely-controlled.
ox / boarder / shine / desolate / impure / attic
Here is my major reason for deviating from the programme: Soma-6a, a planet we barely believed when first we saw it via the Cosmic Origins Spectrograph. That something so coal-black and desolate could exist in such proximity to its star: I can see it absorbing light with my own eyes!
H always preferred the mythologically-inspired names for planets and constellations: he’d tease me about the “scientific imagination” and I’d always take the bait, insisting that science was about everything that was possible.
It’s like some deity is descending their chariot in the heavens, burned irrevocably by the light they bring… that’s the sort of thing he might have said. I’ve stopped wondering what the engineers back home think of me. H and I said we’d make the trip to the ruins at Hari-yúpíyá but we never did.
I’ve turned everything off and I’m just gonna drift awhile: existence without light and death and impurity is lonely.
(Hymn of non-Eternity, origin of universe):
There was neither non-existence nor existence then;
Neither the realm of space, nor the sky which is beyond;
What stirred? Where? In whose protection?
There was neither death nor immortality then;
No distinguishing sign of night nor of day;
That One breathed, windless, by its own impulse;
Other than that there was nothing beyond.
Darkness there was at first, by darkness hidden;
Without distinctive marks, this all was water;
That which, becoming, by the void was covered;
That One by force of heat came into being;
Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation?
Gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?
Whether God’s will created it, or whether He was mute;
Perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not;
Only He who is its overseer in highest heaven knows,
Only He knows, or perhaps He does not know.
|Right ascension||(α)||06h 30m 33s|
|Declination||(δ)||+29° 40′ 20″|
|Mass||(m)||1.35 ± 0.14 M☉|
|Radius||(r)||1.57 ± 0.07 R☉|
|Semi-major axis||(a)||0.0229 ± 0.0008 AU
|Eccentricity||(e)||0.049 ± 0.015|
|Orbital period||(P)||1.091423 ± 3e-6 d|
|Time of transit||(Tt)||2454508.9761 ± 0.0002 JD|
|Mass||(m)||1.39 ± 0.04 MJ|
|Density||(ρ)||326 kg m−3|
|Surface gravity||(g)||1.16 g
helpless / large / paralysed / clubfoot / ambiguous / discussion
One up, two down. It doesn’t make any sense. The down particles keep getting heavier, according to my readings. I probably shouldn’t get any closer than I am. I wouldn’t be the only thing destroyed by a gamma-ray burst on that scale.
There’s this whole discussion in the datalogs about quark stars and its basically two astrophysicists going at it over whether or not they should have their own category – the stars, I mean. Neither can bear the ambiguity created by the other and there’s this whole field of research paralysed by the unconscious symmetries between these scientists; Pessoa is the senior researcher, no doubt – we all know she disproved the preon hypothesis and what a great help that was – but since she went to Hawaii, well, I’m just gonna come right out and say it, she’s been a little cranky. And this other guy, he’s got a point to prove: it’s like he’s forgotten the uncertainty at the heart of scientific inquiry.
If you turn the settings right up on the spectral analysis machine you get to watch this wonderfully misshapen ebb and flow of particles – kind of like Italy turned upside-down and wrapped in the glowing wax from a lava lamp. I’ve been watching it a while. I need a rest. I need a rest from taking a rest. I’m shooting some footage of this thing because I can.
Join in if you like: you can play under your own steam.
discovery / swarm / calendar / officer / condition / houseguest
The data arrived as formaldehyde and methanol from the Local Interstellar Cloud – or, at least, that was the way it seemed at the time. Pretty soon, anyone on or near the equator had the condition and it spread like some lurid inkblot across the surface of the earth: everyone remembers those infographics on the news. Aunt Dolly on Orkney took us in but H didn’t make it: “You can’t keep running,” he said to me. “I know you flunked the training but you’re resistant, which means you’re one of the few people who can do this now.”
They made me an officer. Bastards. This meant they told me a lot of the truth from the beginning, about how the cloud was something huge, something terrible, something beautiful. The launch seemed difficult, as did the time spent in orbit – none of the pilots really got to talk to one another – but an awful calm has descended now that I’m finally out here on my own on the trajectory of Orion: a painted dot upon a painted backdrop. It barely seems real now that I’m actually seeing it. I can’t seem to stop rehearsing what I should have said to H.
Join in if you like: you can play under your own steam.
I’d hoped to be able to offer a Trail of Cthulhu game at Concrete Cow on September 16 but I’m not sure my health is going to allow it.
Concrete Cow is a games convention held in Milton Keynes every six months and you should go if you’re at all interested in roleplaying games. The organisers take care to be kindly and courteous to all that attend.
I’ll probably keep up with the fanzine but I’ve shifted the focus of the next issue from Lamentations of the Flame Princess (never fear, the game is ably served by its own dedicated fanzine called The Undercroft, and you should buy it because it’s great) to… well, I’m not quite sure yet. Next issue may be The Metazine, a pretentious title for a zine about all the other zines out there, or be dedicated to a particular game like Trail of Cthulhu, or to a particular game attached to a particular theme, such as Archipelago, or address a more general theme, such as Live Action Role-Play or the outsider-edge of the Old School Renaissance.
I’d intended to offer an online game of Itra-Troll before the launch of Itras By: The Menagerie but that also looks tricky, in part due to technological issues. Sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches.
Hang in there, people: it’s another tough year.