The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, Poetry

Walpurgis Night Special:

A story unique and masterfully weird… and our world’s introduction to the King in Yellow.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“The Repairer of Reputations”

from The King in Yellow

Robert W. Chambers

part 1

Along the shore the cloud waves break,

The twin suns sink beneath the lake,

The shadows lengthen

In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,

And strange moons circle through the skies

But stranger still is

Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

Where flap the tatters of the King,

Must die unheard in

Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead;

Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

Shall dry and die in

Lost Carcosa.

Cassilda’s Song in “The King in Yellow,” Act i, Scene 2.

The Repairer of Reputations

I

“Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la nôtre…. Voila toute la différence.”

Toward the end of the year 1920 the Government of the United States had practically completed the programme, adopted during the last months of President Winthrop’s administration. The country was apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff and Labour questions were settled. The war with Germany, incident on that country’s seizure of the Samoan Islands, had left no visible scars upon the republic, and the temporary occupation of Norfolk by the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over repeated naval victories, and the subsequent ridiculous plight of General Von Gartenlaube’s forces in the State of New Jersey. The Cuban and Hawaiian investments had paid one hundred per cent and the territory of Samoa was well worth its cost as a coaling station. The country was in a superb state of defence. Every coast city had been well supplied with land fortifications; the army under the parental eye of the General Staff, organized according to the Prussian system, had been increased to 300,000 men, with a territorial reserve of a million; and six magnificent squadrons of cruisers and battle-ships patrolled the six stations of the navigable seas, leaving a steam reserve amply fitted to control home waters. The gentlemen from the West had at last been constrained to acknowledge that a college for the training of diplomats was as necessary as law schools are for the training of barristers; consequently we were no longer represented abroad by incompetent patriots. The nation was prosperous; Chicago, for a moment paralyzed after a second great fire, had risen from its ruins, white and imperial, and more beautiful than the white city which had been built for its plaything in 1893. Everywhere good architecture was replacing bad, and even in New York, a sudden craving for decency had swept away a great portion of the existing horrors. Streets had been widened, properly paved and lighted, trees had been planted, squares laid out, elevated structures demolished and underground roads built to replace them. The new government buildings and barracks were fine bits of architecture, and the long system of stone quays which completely surrounded the island had been turned into parks which proved a god-send to the population. The subsidizing of the state theatre and state opera brought its own reward. The United States National Academy of Design was much like European institutions of the same kind. Nobody envied the Secretary of Fine Arts, either his cabinet position or his portfolio. The Secretary of Forestry and Game Preservation had a much easier time, thanks to the new system of National Mounted Police. We had profited well by the latest treaties with France and England; the exclusion of foreign-born Jews as a measure of self-preservation, the settlement of the new independent negro state of Suanee, the checking of immigration, the new laws concerning naturalization,

Walpurgis Night Special:

…out there in the dark.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Legend tripping”

Wikipedia

Legend tripping is a name recently bestowed by folklorists and anthropologists on an adolescent practice (containing elements of a rite of passage) in which a usually furtive, nocturnal pilgrimage is made to a site that is alleged to have been the scene of some tragic, horrific, and possibly supernatural event or haunting. To date, the practice has been documented most thoroughly in the United States.

Sites for legend trips

While the stories that attach to the sites of legend tripping vary from place to place, and sometimes contain a kernel of historical truth, there are a number of motifs and recurring themes in the legends and the sites. Abandoned buildings, remote bridges, tunnels, caves, rural roads, specific woods or other uninhabited areas, and especially cemeteries are frequent sites of legend-tripping pilgrimages.

Some places associated with legend tripping in the United States include the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Louisville, Kentucky; the New Jersey Pine Barrens, said to be home to the Jersey Devil; Mudhouse Mansion in Fairfield County, Ohio; the Hornet Spook Light twelve miles southwest of Joplin, Missouri; Stull Cemetery in Stull, Kansas, claimed to be a “gateway to Hell”; Bunny Man Bridge in Clifton, Virginia; and the Devil’s Tramping Ground south of Siler City, North Carolina, near Harper’s Crossroads.

Reactions and controversies

Legend-tripping is a mostly harmless, perhaps even beneficial, youth recreation. It allows young people to demonstrate their courage in a place where the actual physical risk is likely slight. However, in what Bill Ellis calls “ostensive abuse,” the rituals enacted at the legend-tripping sites sometimes involve trespassing, vandalism, and other misdemeanors, and sometimes acts of animal sacrifice or other blood ritual. These transgressions then sometimes lead to local moral panics that involve adults in the community, and sometimes even the mass media. These panics often further embellish the prestige of the legend trip to the adolescent mind. The panic over youth Satanism in the 1980s was fueled in part by graffiti and other ritual activities engaged in by legend-tripping youths. In at least one notorious case, years of destructive legend-tripping, amounting to an “ostensive frenzy,” led to the fatal shooting of a legend-tripper near Lincoln, Nebraska followed by the wounding of the woman whose house had become the focus of the ostension.

Walpurgis Night Special:

From autumn into spring, perfect weirdness from the regent of reality-challenging stories, Philip K. Dick.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Of Withered Apples”

Philip K. Dick

Something was tapping on the window. Blowing up against the pane, again and again. Carried by the wind. Tapping faintly, insistently.

Lori, sitting on the couch, pretended not to hear. She gripped her book tightly and turned a page. The tapping came again, louder and more imperative. It could not be ignored.

“Darn!” Lori said, throwing her book down on the coffee table and hurrying to the window. She grasped the heavy brass handles and lifted.

For a moment the window resisted. Then, with a protesting groan, it reluctantly rose. Cold autumn air, rushed into the room. The bit of leaf ceased tapping and swirled against the woman’s throat, dancing to the floor.

Lori picked the leaf up. It was old and brown. Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped the leaf into the pocket of her jeans. Against her loins the leaf cut and tingled, a little hard point piercing her smooth skin and sending exciting shudders up and down her spine. She stood at the open window a moment, sniffing the air. The air was full of the presence of trees and rocks, of great boulders and remote places. It was time—time to go again. She touched the leaf. She was wanted.

Quickly Lori left the big living-room, hurrying through the hall into the dining-room. The dining-room was empty. A few chords of laughter drifted from the kitchen. Lori pushed the kitchen door open. “Steve?”

Her husband and his father were siting around the kitchen table, smoking their cigars and drinking steaming black coffee. “What is it?” Steve demanded, frowning at his young wife. “Ed and I are in the middle of business.”

“I—I want to ask you something.”

The two men gazed at her, brown-haired Steven, his dark eyes full of the stubborn dignity of New England men, and his father, silent and withdrawn in her presence. Ed Patterson scarcely noticed her. He rustled through a sheaf of feed bills, his broad back turned toward her.

“What is it?” Steve demanded impatiently. “What do you want? Can’t it wait?”

“I have to go,” Lori blurted.

“Go where?”

“Outside.” Anxiety flooded over her. “This is the last time. I promise. I won’t go again, after this. Okay?” She tried to smile, but her heart was pounding too hard. “Please let me, Steve.”

“Where does she go?” Ed rumbled.

Steve grunted in annoyance. “Up in the hills. Some old abandoned place up there.”

Ed’s gray eyes flickered. “Abandoned farm?”

“Yes. You know it?”

“The old Rickley farm. Rickley moved away years ago. Couldn’t get anything to grow, not up there. Ground’s all rocks. Bad soil. A lot of clay and stones. The place is all overgrown, tumbled down.”

“What kind of farm was it?”

“Orchard. Fruit orchard. Never yielded a damn thing. Thin old trees. Waste of effort.”

Steve looked at his pocket watch. “You’ll be back in time to fix dinner?”

“Yes!” Lori moved toward the door. “Then I can go?”

Steve’s face twisted as he made up his mind. Lori waited impatiently, scarcely breathing. She had never got used to Vermont men and their slow, deliberate way. Boston people were quite different. And her group had been more the college youths, dances and talk, and late laughter.

“Why do you go up there?” Steve grumbled.

“Don’t ask me, Steve. Just let me go. This is the last time.” She writhed in agony. She clenched her fists. “Please!”

Columbine High School Shooting Anniversary Special:

Their children murdering themselves and being murdered by firearms in their schools is such a fixture of U.S. life that the Americans routinely consume songs about the subject on their radios.

⁓The Voice before the Void

Better Run: U.S. School Shootings, 1991-2014, and 3 Songs: “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam, “Youth of the Nation” by P.O.D., and “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People

Data from the Wikipedia incomplete “List of school shootings in the United States”:

1991

4 school shootings, with 1 person injured and 8 people killed

1992

4 school shootings, with 15 people injured and 8 people killed

The single “Jeremy” by the band Pearl Jam was released 1992 September 27. On the U.S. Billboard charts, it reached #79 on the Hot 100 chart, #5 on the Modern Rock chart, and #5 on the Mainstream Rock chart.

“Jeremy”

Eddie Vedder

At home, drawing pictures of mountain tops

With him on top

Lemon yellow sun, arms raised in a V

And the dead lay in pools of maroon below

Daddy didn’t give attention

To the fact that mommy didn’t care

King Jeremy the wicked

Ruled his world

Jeremy spoke in class today

Clearly I remember picking on the boy

Seemed a harmless little fuck

Oh, but we unleashed a lion

Gnashed his teeth and bit the recess lady’s breast

How could I forget?

And he hit me with a surprise left

My jaw left hurting, dropped wide open

Just like the day

Like the day I heard

Daddy didn’t give affection

And the boy was something that mommy wouldn’t wear

King Jeremy the wicked

Ruled his world

Jeremy spoke in class today

Try to forget this

Try to erase this from the blackboard

1993

6 school shootings, with 6 people injured and 7 people killed

1994

4 school shootings, with 4 people injured and 5 people killed

1995

4 school shootings, with 4 people injured and 5 people killed

1996

6 school shootings, with 5 people injured and 11 people killed

1997

5 school shootings, with 16 people injured and 9 people killed

1998

6 school shootings, with 38 people injured and 12 people killed

1999

5 school shootings, with 33 people injured and 16 people killed

2000

4 school shootings, with 2 people injured and 4 people killed

2001

4 school shootings, with 19 people injured and 3 people killed

The single “Youth of the Nation” by the band P.O.D. was released 2001 December 25. On the U.S. Billboard charts, it reached #28 on the Hot 100 chart, #18 on the Top 40 Mainstream chart, #6 on the Mainstream Rock chart, and #1 on the Modern Rock chart.

“Youth of the Nation”

Sonny Sandoval, Marcos Curiel, Traa Daniels, and Wuv Bernardo

Last day of the rest of my life

I wish I would have known ’cause I’d have kissed my momma goodbye

I didn’t tell her that I loved her or how much I cared

Or thank my pops for all the talks and all the wisdom he shared

Unaware, I just did what I always do

Everyday the same routine before I skate off to school

But who knew that this day wasn’t like the rest

Instead of taking the test, I took two to the chest

Call me blind, but I didn’t see it coming

And everybody was running

But I couldn’t hear nothing except

Gun blast, it happened so fast

I didn’t really know this kid though I sat by him in class

Springtime Special:

Gone and gone for evermore.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Song of a Second April”

Edna St. Vincent Millay

April this year, not otherwise

Than April of a year ago,

Is full of whispers, full of sighs,

Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;

Hepaticas that pleased you so

Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,

And shingles lie about the doors;

In orchards near and far away

The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;

The men are merry at their chores,

And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep,

Noisy and swift the small brooks run.

Among the mullein stalks the sheep

Go up the hillside in the sun,

Pensively, —only you are gone,

You that alone I cared to keep.

Springtime Special:

A poet’s everlasting lament.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Joy of the Morning”

Edwin Markham

I hear you, little bird,

Shouting a-swing above the broken wall.

Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.

Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood:

‘Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word:

I’d tell it, too, if I could.

Oft when the white, still dawn

Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,

I’ve felt it like a glory in my heart–

(The world’s mysterious stir)

But had no throat like yours, my bird,

Nor such a listener.

Springtime Special:

Ever, ever spring.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“April”

Howard Nemerov

Today was a day of cold spring showers

Between bouts of sun; the fine, literary weather

We used to have so often, some Boris

or other bidding farewell

To Nastasya; Lisbeth, Priscilla,

Jane hastening back to the vicarage

Lest their taffeta crumple; a young man and a bicycle

Posed on the puddled lane. These days are rare lately,

And I remember college girls who declared

They loved to walk bare-headed in the rain.

Springtime Special:

The arrival of spring is ever of note.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Biking in the Spring”

Steve Kosbab

Rolling out the wheels after a winter’s rest,

Inspecting all to make sure it is right.

Jumping on the seat,

Gripping the handlebars, testing the brakes.

Then, wow!

I’m off, like a dragracer or derby horse just

Out of the gate.

The wind in my face, the fresh spring air

Through my lungs.

The sun on my back.

Speeding, swaying, swerving

Right into a puddle, and down.

Back on my bike,

Riding on into summer

Where there are no puddles.

Easter Special:

Christian eschatological imagery is insane, and awesome.

(Easter is for zombies.)

⁓The Voice before the Void

“The Judgment Day”

James Weldon Johnson

In that great day,

People, in that great day,

God’s a-going to rain down fire.

God’s a-going to sit in the middle of the air

To judge the quick and the dead.

Early one of these mornings,

God’s a-going to call for Gabriel,

That tall, bright angel, Gabriel;

And God’s a-going to say to him: Gabriel,

Blow your silver trumpet,

And wake the living nations.

And Gabriel’s going to ask him: Lord,

How loud must I blow it?

And God’s a-going to tell him: Gabriel,

Blow it calm and easy.

Then putting one foot on the mountain top,

And the other in the middle of the sea,

Gabriel’s going to stand and blow his horn,

To wake the living nations.

Then God’s a-going to say to him: Gabriel,

Once more blow your silver trumpet,

And wake the nations underground.

And Gabriel’s going to ask him: Lord

How loud must I blow it?

And God’s a-going to tell him: Gabriel,

Like seven peals of thunder.

Then the tall, bright angel, Gabriel,

Will put one foot on the battlements of heaven

And the other on the steps of hell,

And blow that silver trumpet

Till he shakes old hell’s foundations.

And I feel Old Earth a-shuddering —

And I see the graves a-bursting —

And I hear a sound,

A blood-chilling sound.

What sound is that I hear?

It’s the clicking together of the dry bones,

Bone to bone — the dry bones.

And I see coming out of the bursting graves,

And marching up from the valley of death,

The army of the dead.

And the living and the dead in the twinkling of an eye

Are caught up in the middle of the air,

Before God’s judgment bar.

Oh-o-oh, sinner,

Where will you stand,

In that great day when God’s a-going to rain down fire?

Oh, you gambling man — where will you stand?

You whore-mongering man — where will you stand?

Liars and backsliders — where will you stand,

In that great day when God’s a-going to rain down fire?

And God will divide the sheep from the goats,

The one on the right, the other on the left.

And to them on the right God’s a-going to say:

Enter into my kingdom.

And those who’ve come through great tribulations,

And washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb,

They will enter in —

Clothed in spotless white,

With starry crowns upon their heads,

And silver slippers on their feet,

And harps within their hands;–

And two by two they’ll walk

Up and down the golden street,

Feasting on the milk and honey

Singing new songs of Zion,

Chattering with the angels

All around the Great White Throne.

And to them on the left God’s a-going to say:

Depart from me into everlasting darkness,

Down into the bottomless pit.

And the wicked like lumps of lead will start to fall,

Headlong for seven days and nights they’ll fall,

Plumb into the big, black, red-hot mouth of hell,

Belching out fire and brimstone.

And their cries like howling, yelping dogs,

Will go up with the fire and smoke from hell,

But God will stop his ears.

Too late, sinner! Too late!

Good-bye, sinner! Good-bye!

In hell, sinner! In hell!

Beyond the reach of the love of God.

And I hear a voice, crying, crying:

Time shall be no more!

Time shall be no more!

Time shall be no more!

And the sun will go out like a candle in the wind,

To live is to lose.

⁓The Voice before the Void

“Requiescat”

Oscar Wilde

Tread lightly, she is near

Under the snow,

Speak gently, she can hear

The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair

Tarnished with rust,

She that was young and fair

Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,

She hardly knew

She was a woman, so

Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,

Lie on her breast,

I vex my heart alone

She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear

Lyre or sonnet,

All my life’s buried here,

Heap earth upon it.