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Things are not brilliant in the personal health regime of the Gestalt Real-Time Reviewer, so please excuse any delays in whatever I do. (from June 2021)
GESTALT REAL-TIME REVIEWING
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And Click: HERE for full Navigation, Stop Press & Backstory.
Träumerei: Co-Vivid Dreaming
DFS LEWIS: Reading Aloud
Available DFL books: HERE
The Three Ages of D.F. Lewis
0. 1948-1985 — Poems / Zeroist Group (1960s), The Visitor (Novel) 1973, Agra Aska (novella) 1983.
1. 1986-2000 – Over 1000 fiction publications in magazines and anthologies, some selected for the Prime Books D.F. Lewis collection ‘Weirdmonger’ (2003). Work once in Stand, Iron, Panurge, Orbis, London Magazine….
I was awarded the BFS Karl Edward Wagner Award.
2. 2001-2010 – Publishing multi-authored ‘Nemonymous’.
3. 2008-
GESTALT REAL-TIME REVIEWING (www.nemonymous.com),
Plus one novel NEMONYMOUS NIGHT (Chômu Press), a story collection and two novellas entitled THE LAST BALCONY (InkerMen Press), and a novella entitled Weirdtongue (InkerMen Press), and my reprint of Agra Aska that was originally published in 1998 by Scorpion Press,
Plus three originally created multi-authored anthologies that I published,
Plus two books from Mount Abraxas Press, and an Eibonvale chapbook called The Big Headed People. And a book collection from Eibonvale: DABBLING WITH DIABELLI,
Plus, in July 2020, a past story selected for THE BIG BOOK OF MODERN FANTASY edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer.
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THE LAST BALCONY: HERE
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After many satisfying years of gestalt real-time reviewing, it now feels really special to see one of my own old stories showcased here!
My detailed review of this Big Book: HERE
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The ultimate expression of Gluey Zenoism from an author who wrote The Demon Lover in one of the Aickman Fontana Ghost Books:
“‘I’ll tell you something, Clara. Have you ever SEEN a minute? Have you actually had one wriggling inside your hand? Did you know if you keep your finger inside a clock for a minute, you can pick out that very minute and take it home for your own?’ So it is Paul who stealthily lifts the dome off. It is Paul who selects the finger of Clara’s that is to be guided, shrinking, then forced wincing into the works, to be wedged in them, bruised in them, bitten into and eaten up by the cogs. ‘No you have got to keep it there, or you will lose the minute. I am doing the counting – the counting up to sixty.’ . . . But there is to be no sixty. The ticking stops.”
From ‘The Inherited Clock’ (1944) by Elizabeth Bowen
MASK
The Ha of Ha above.
Late Labelling:
“Des Lewis obviously needs no presentation to the wayward fantasts. Even if I have enjoyed reading his fine volumes for Dan Watt’s press and the one for Chomu Press two volumes I recommend I feel like there is still space and reasons to discover D.F. Lewis. It is no easy feat to break Mr. Lewis’s Code. His work is constructed like a house, almost like a living mausoleum, according to his particular way of thinking. In other words: astonishing and uncomprehending. There is no key to this house, although there are a lot of doors. Everything is available, everything is waiting to be plucked but few dare knock at the door. Caution is good. Running away is even better. You don t read Des Lewis to understand and enjoy his works. That’s not the point. You read him because you have to believe in something, after all.” (EOP)
The UK drought of 1976 is mentioned in this Insole story when the protagonist was 16, but, in that year, I was as old as I look within the above painting that I have now discovered is by John Caple.
About a foot by half a foot, this gratuitously sturdy and mind-bogglingly larger-than-life book, has about twenty pages, but I hesitate to call them pages as they are more like book covers in themselves, a handful of them completely and stiflingly and engulfingly black, between two even thicker (real) book covers, all of it textured, upholstered and built to Mount Abraxas’ steepest ever standards. The Colin Insole work itself, in large print, is ensouled within pages 5 to 16. (Click long rectangle above to see me seeing you!)
salt flowers from the years of drought
by Colin Insole
“Outlines of great palaces and temples, seemed like smashed watermarks.”
In telling contrast to this book’s overwhelming sturdiness! So, perhaps not gratuitously built, after all!
The story of George Quarrendon, a story worthy – by a million mental and spiritual resonances if not by a singular sturdy story’s plot – of the magnificent canon of Colin Insole stories. The salt marshes near where I live, well maybe, but certainly salt marshes somewhere! George in 2006 dabbles with diableries of the past, the 1976 drought, cricket on a cricket green near the churchyard, plants that grew from the rubble of the London Blitz, from the Hiroshima bomb, plus a doctor’s now prophetic and telling reference to an epidemic and a curse’s cures that might or might not work, cures that include a red flower that grows in salt and ash. A flower that haunts this story. The painting of Goliath, notwithstanding. And much more.
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