tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15310346058931649242024-03-08T08:28:41.951-06:00The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, PoetryHome of the PODCAST – Presentations of Poems, Stories, and Arcana – Poetry is the most important thing in life; weird fiction is the most fun thing in life; esoterica is the most exciting thing in life. Divine the darkness.The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-45237987050523647202021-10-31T11:59:00.056-05:002022-11-17T02:23:44.231-06:00A Halloween Trip to the Hellmouth in Tagus, North Dakota<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/a-halloween-trip-to-the-hellmouth-in-tagus-north-dakota-from-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>A 2021 October 29th Halloween expedition to the world-famous hellgate in Tagus, North Dakota. A Friday afternoon drive.</div><div>We arrive at twilight to encounter screams of the damned, a hellhound, and a ghost train.</div><div>“It looks like farming, but truly it is the harvesting of souls.”</div><div>Nothing happens.</div><div>Explicit.</div><div>Includes:</div><div>An allusion to the 1987 book “The Ultimate Evil: An Investigation into America’s Most Dangerous Satanic Cult” by Maury Terry.</div><div>A reading of the 2021 March 20 post “The Gateway to Hell in Tagus, North Dakota” by Malcolm Logan at the website My American Odyssey.</div><div>An allusion to the 1903 novel “The Call of the Wild” by Jack London.</div><div>Reading some Reddit comments.</div><div>A reading of the 2016 March 22 post “The Legends of Tagus, North Dakota” by Troy Larson at the website Ghosts of North Dakota.</div><div>A reading of the 2013 September 1 post “Tagus Triangle…The Mystery and some fiction” at the website Larsen Adventure Chronicles.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWntzBMFgP8acTNXp5eKmbaIW8t17Z2V-cfu5emy6bYs5v0OoGe40HhiTjD_I9L5loNf8Tp4T2M-8IsH7k2pWnwGuTgBU4__vPM4OZhTdODu3xZfyeEL5Z07Z1VrM2zh3yoMlHbMR4cQE38zn4tAjJdUs577Xr1duBT9V3JYo14TrdtYfUuKU2ReQbsQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1824" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWntzBMFgP8acTNXp5eKmbaIW8t17Z2V-cfu5emy6bYs5v0OoGe40HhiTjD_I9L5loNf8Tp4T2M-8IsH7k2pWnwGuTgBU4__vPM4OZhTdODu3xZfyeEL5Z07Z1VrM2zh3yoMlHbMR4cQE38zn4tAjJdUs577Xr1duBT9V3JYo14TrdtYfUuKU2ReQbsQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU8VmYjemrXlkN6HyAUkt3KxTH9ueNMPJg3iRxWRtXqRTmAjU4HKhyEU-nOQFrOQg0BCyRC9w5vQY4f_04DiSpo29ibPrvvT04udq5LxC_3iWa5pim3OwEkvvxtHMmY_Msznkand_-QhFd63ftTgeN6Q1_DXKLdFeJu6FrWZiOph8zPoOhV36NkRrthw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1824" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU8VmYjemrXlkN6HyAUkt3KxTH9ueNMPJg3iRxWRtXqRTmAjU4HKhyEU-nOQFrOQg0BCyRC9w5vQY4f_04DiSpo29ibPrvvT04udq5LxC_3iWa5pim3OwEkvvxtHMmY_Msznkand_-QhFd63ftTgeN6Q1_DXKLdFeJu6FrWZiOph8zPoOhV36NkRrthw" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br /></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-57932473410818824352020-07-27T02:36:00.003-05:002022-11-17T02:40:45.818-06:00Casting our Thoughts as Stars in this Sky<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/casting-our-thoughts-as-stars-in-this-sky-from-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Some discussion on optimization of experience into individual expression of personhood.</div><div>Explicit.</div><div>“To be a person among people.”</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-85937832995629696832020-04-30T11:59:00.004-05:002022-11-17T02:53:58.160-06:00"Dagon" by H.P. Lovecraft<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/dagon-by-hp-lovecraft-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Prepare to be scared right out of your boots. Right out of them.</div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-18309317625455351632020-04-27T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-17T02:32:52.140-06:00“The Presence of Death” from The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-presence-of-death-from-the-blind-owl-by-sadegh-hedayat-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>“Refrain from reading this book. You have been warned.”</div><div>“The Presence of Death”</div><div>from The Blind Owl</div><div>Sadegh Hedayat</div><div>translated from the Persian by D.P. Costello</div><div>“The presence of death annihilates all superstitions. We are the children of death and it is death that rescues us from the deceptions of life. In the midst of life he calls us and summons us to him.”</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-5331706433770320832019-05-14T11:59:00.006-05:002022-11-18T02:54:52.106-06:00Audible.com audio sample for The Face of Cthulhu and Other Weird Poetry and Tales<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/audible.com-audio-sample-for-the-face-of-cthulhu-and-other-weird-poetry-and-tale" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>A collection of 18 poems and 6 stories, weird as fungi. Ghosts, monsters, and aliens; empresses, adventurers, and cultists; and a lot of death.</div><div>Audible.com audio sample for The Face of Cthulhu and Other Weird Poetry and Tales</div><div>written and narrated by The Voice before the Void</div><div>Available at: Audible.com and Amazon.com</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrHVV46KtIX2URBaysaon1--qa9ss4O0b8EotKw9ehvTQhXAM2Ogq83io7XQmFBaW_Ymg4o4FdUt9n5C4CFCabgchNUz-S4Uvr1z3s_op67LVFe_oSdOOlZp-wFO86-F5efLAJbB48cLmNat2XkeSxuVsTlYc0R5PjvAuJed4xl7zZbKNFx0hoPzEaOw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrHVV46KtIX2URBaysaon1--qa9ss4O0b8EotKw9ehvTQhXAM2Ogq83io7XQmFBaW_Ymg4o4FdUt9n5C4CFCabgchNUz-S4Uvr1z3s_op67LVFe_oSdOOlZp-wFO86-F5efLAJbB48cLmNat2XkeSxuVsTlYc0R5PjvAuJed4xl7zZbKNFx0hoPzEaOw" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-65544600297334511542019-04-23T11:59:00.004-05:002022-11-18T16:55:48.076-06:00William Roe’s sighting story from Bigfoot: America’s Abominable Snowman by Elwood D. Baumann<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/william-roes-sighting-story-from-bigfoot-americas-abominable-snowman-by-elwood-d" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Walpurgisnacht:</div><div>Weirdness for the spring season of Walpurgisnacht. The possibility of a relict species of hominid ruling the wilderness of North America is pretty weird.</div><div><br /></div><div>William Roe’s sighting story</div><div>from Bigfoot: America’s Abominable Snowman</div><div>Elwood D. Baumann</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-82136002183251286242019-02-09T11:59:00.001-06:002022-11-18T02:41:02.050-06:00“At a Lunar Eclipse” by Thomas Hardy<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/at-a-lunar-eclipse-by-thomas-hardy-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>All encompassed within a shadow round.</div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-73980081307990712192018-09-14T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T04:16:17.802-06:00“A Narrow Escape” by Lord Dunsany, with Discussion<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/a-narrow-escape-by-lord-dunsany-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void-with-discussion" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Halloween:</div><div>A wizard makes a plan to destroy the city that annoys him.</div><div><br /></div><div>“A Narrow Escape”</div><div>Lord Dunsany</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-69495081795752663382018-06-01T11:59:00.003-05:002022-11-18T16:10:33.032-06:00“The Wood of the Dead” by Algernon Blackwood<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-wood-of-the-dead-by-algernon-blackwood-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Summer Vacation:</div><div>Blackwood’s power is so great that he makes even sunny summer days become abysmally creepy.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Wood of the Dead”</div><div>Algernon Blackwood</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-51946459518560825072018-04-30T11:59:00.004-05:002022-11-18T04:45:51.101-06:00“The Last Night” by Clark Ashton Smith<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-last-night-by-clark-ashton-smith-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>It is a good subject for a poem.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Last Night”</div><div>Clark Ashton Smith</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-53669768451284390182018-04-02T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T15:46:38.241-06:00“WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 2)” by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants-part-2-by-steve-sumner-and-" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Kurt Cobain finds horror in Waxahachie, Texas. Explicit.</div><div><br /></div><div>Read more by Steve and Zack at:</div><div>TheBadGuysWin.com</div><div><br /></div><div>Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon.</div><div><br /></div><div>“WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 2)”</div><div>Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons</div><div>thebadguyswin.com/2016/01/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants-part-2/</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-12376191981041076472018-03-18T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T15:39:56.784-06:00“WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 1)” by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants-part-1-by-steve-sumner-and-" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Kurt Cobain goes on a vision quest in southern California. Explicit.</div><div><br /></div><div>Read more by Steve and Zack at:</div><div>TheBadGuysWin.com</div><div><br /></div><div>Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon.</div><div><br /></div><div>“WTF, D&D: Cthulhu ’90s Solo Project – Serving the Servants (Part 1)”</div><div>Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons</div><div>thebadguyswin.com/2016/01/wtf-dd-cthulhu-90s-solo-project-serving-the-servants/</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-54749249009980740232018-03-04T11:59:00.002-06:002022-11-19T19:20:58.126-06:00The finale of “WTF, D&D: Hard Ticket to Baghdad” by Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-finale-of-wtf-dd-hard-ticket-to-baghdad-by-steve-sumner-and-zack-parsons-rea" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Steve and Zack play Call of Cthulhu as Kurt Cobain, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, and Eazy-E versus Saddam Hussein in the early ’90s. Explicit.</div><div><br /></div><div>Read more by Steve and Zack at:</div><div>TheBadGuysWin.com</div><div><br /></div><div>Support “WTF, D&D” on Patreon.</div><div><br /></div><div>“WTF, D&D: Hard Ticket to Baghdad 4: Real Muthaf***in’ G’s”</div><div>Steve Sumner and Zack Parsons</div><div>thebadguyswin.com/2017/01/wtf-dd-hard-ticket-to-baghdad-4-real-muthaf***in-gs/</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-16217377945858910352017-12-01T11:59:00.001-06:002022-11-18T04:58:15.027-06:00“Oklahoma” by Ernest Hemingway<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/oklahoma-by-ernest-hemingway-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>An early poem.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Oklahoma”</div><div>Ernest Hemingway</div><div><br /></div><div>All of the Indians are dead</div><div>(A good Indian is a dead Indian)</div><div>Or riding in motor cars—</div><div>(the oil lands, you know, they’re all rich)</div><div>Smoke smarts my eyes,</div><div>Cottonwood twigs and buffalo dung</div><div>Smoke grey in the teepee—</div><div>(Or is it myopic trachoma)</div><div><br /></div><div>The prairies are long,</div><div>The moon rises,</div><div>Ponies</div><div>Drag at their pickets.</div><div>The grass has gone brown in the summer—</div><div>(or is the hay crop failing)</div><div><br /></div><div>Pull an arrow out:</div><div>If you break it</div><div>The wound closes.</div><div>Salt is good too</div><div>And wood ashes.</div><div>Pounding it throbs in the night—</div><div>(or is it the gonorrhea)</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-10519774939955298182017-10-31T23:55:00.004-05:002022-11-17T03:12:10.969-06:00Midnight Halloween reading of “The Call of Cthulhu” by H.P. Lovecraft<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/midnight-halloween-reading-of-the-call-of-cthulhu-by-hp-lovecraft-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>“The Call of Cthulhu”</div><div>H.P. Lovecraft</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-27655179459413317592017-10-20T11:59:00.006-05:002022-11-18T04:06:53.361-06:00“Looking into the Can” by The Voice before the Void<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/looking-into-the-can-written-and-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>one of ten winning stories in the 4th Lovecraftian Micro Fiction Contest at the 2017 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon in Portland, Oregon</div><div><br /></div><div>“Looking into the Can”</div><div>The Voice before the Void</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9i-iDCQQLD5INHB7j0Q-7CneHUyU2JZyjkQUBnkhD_O7syNkTv7iM5TEAL83APvEwbrgRLqDX__M__cKH5cpV73Xn5yOBhWJk326vDxcfJXy2ATbrMtAr33NcFhwiHy2Sbz2Vb1yEiG4Vutvl83m22wRU0O6uLduFuTGWOqkkFM5wLPIr_S__i6Wvag" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9i-iDCQQLD5INHB7j0Q-7CneHUyU2JZyjkQUBnkhD_O7syNkTv7iM5TEAL83APvEwbrgRLqDX__M__cKH5cpV73Xn5yOBhWJk326vDxcfJXy2ATbrMtAr33NcFhwiHy2Sbz2Vb1yEiG4Vutvl83m22wRU0O6uLduFuTGWOqkkFM5wLPIr_S__i6Wvag" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-89591987648505201602017-07-15T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T03:07:11.161-06:00There is Life Before Reading Moby-Dick, and There is Life After Reading Moby-Dick<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/there-is-life-before-reading-moby-dick-and-there-is-life-after-reading-moby-dick" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Life is paradox.</div><div><br /></div><div>Works mentioned:</div><div>Report to Greco by Nikos Kazantzakis</div><div>Moby-Dick; or, The Whale by Herman Melville</div><div>Education of a Wandering Man by Louis L’Amour</div><div>“The Fiddler” by Herman Melville</div><div>50 Great American Short Stories edited by Milton Crane</div><div>“I and My Chimney” by Herman Melville</div><div>Great Short Works of Herman Melville edited by Warner Berthoff</div><div>The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger</div><div>Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes</div><div>War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy</div><div>“Arma Virumque” by Ambrose Bierce</div><div>The Sermon on the Mount by Jesus</div><div>The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare</div><div>The Tragedy of Macbeth by William Shakespeare</div><div>In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex by Nathaniel Philbrick</div><div>The Sea-Wolf by Jack London</div><div>The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot</div><div><br /></div><div>Other authors mentioned:</div><div>Homer</div><div>Mark Twain</div><div>Robert Benchley</div><div>Patrick F. McManus</div><div>Nathaniel Hawthorne</div><div>Edgar Allan Poe</div><div>H.P. Lovecraft</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-76138438852963890742017-04-04T11:59:00.003-05:002022-11-18T15:30:13.386-06:00“The Moon-Slave” by Barry Pain<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-moon-slave-by-barry-pain-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Walpurgisnacht. Springtime Halloween.</div><div><br /></div><div>A famous tale... of the danger of dance.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Moon-Slave”</div><div>Barry Pain</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-75315680346373335122017-03-13T11:59:00.008-05:002022-11-19T19:21:51.209-06:00Todd in Baghdad with the North Dakota National Guard during the Iraq War<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/todd-in-baghdad-with-the-north-dakota-national-guard-during-the-iraq-war" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Explicit.</div><div>Todd served at Camp Slayer in Baghdad with the 164th Engineer Battalion, Headquarters Company, of the North Dakota Army National Guard in 2007 and 2008.</div><div>Recorded in 2011 in Todd’s home in North Dakota while looking at Baghdad on Google Maps and at his photos, with the television in the background.</div><div>Todd’s recollections are filled with charm and dark humor, wonder and sudden horror.</div><div><br /></div><div>Todd in Baghdad with the North Dakota National Guard during the Iraq War</div><div><br /></div><div>Sections:</div><div>1. Stray Bullet</div><div>2. We Didn’t Have a Bunker, We Didn’t Have S***</div><div>3. Victory Over America Palace</div><div>4. One Night with the Wrecker</div><div>5. Work Area</div><div>6. All Demolished</div><div>7. Patriot Missile Launcher</div><div>8. They Were Trying to Hit That but They Could Never Hit It</div><div>9. What Kind of a D*** Tree Is This?</div><div>10. Quick Response Force</div><div>11. Weird Bunch of Boys</div><div>12. Our Flags</div><div>13. Blimp</div><div>14. Orange Sandstorms</div><div>15. Crammed in There</div><div>16. Little Fox</div><div>17. Towers and a Firefight</div><div>18. Destroyed Vehicles</div><div>19. Up-armored Humvees</div><div>20. Totally Destroyed the S*** but What Are You Going to Do?</div><div>21. Civilian Peterbilt</div><div>22. Convoys</div><div>23. Trouble</div><div>24. They’d Get Nailed</div><div>25. They Had It Rough but They Had It Made</div><div>26. Firing Range in Kuwait</div><div>27. Camels</div><div>28. Flying in a Tanker</div><div>29. Loaded to the Max</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQOYKOrwMxhZSmhzIfF2XaTUsUtX71_utlOYtg_hJf2BDPFUtoFG0Wfp0R-wrH-GqNmm-n0Xgo-7Pe0MJwTlpP1xsXa00SoJz1hRc2zO9BkzsN5P-fsFyXdC27sSspLa6I1oavhQF6gk9UiMuTVznhXKG_kYumDWpFumLQ0wPJfhBdmGwUmVzS8r1CAg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQOYKOrwMxhZSmhzIfF2XaTUsUtX71_utlOYtg_hJf2BDPFUtoFG0Wfp0R-wrH-GqNmm-n0Xgo-7Pe0MJwTlpP1xsXa00SoJz1hRc2zO9BkzsN5P-fsFyXdC27sSspLa6I1oavhQF6gk9UiMuTVznhXKG_kYumDWpFumLQ0wPJfhBdmGwUmVzS8r1CAg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-59265156026828734662016-11-11T11:59:00.000-06:002022-11-18T16:46:20.014-06:00“I Have a Rendezvous with Death” by Alan Seeger<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="140" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/i-have-a-rendezvous-with-death-by-alan-seeger-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>World War I:</div><div>Soldier’s war poetry.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I Have a Rendezvous with Death”</div><div>Alan Seeger</div><div><br /></div><div>I have a rendezvous with Death</div><div>At some disputed barricade,</div><div>When Spring comes back with rustling shade</div><div>And apple-blossoms fill the air–</div><div>I have a rendezvous with Death</div><div>When Spring brings back blue days and fair.</div><div><br /></div><div>It may be he shall take my hand</div><div>And lead me into his dark land</div><div>And close my eyes and quench my breath–</div><div>It may be I shall pass him still.</div><div>I have a rendezvous with Death</div><div>On some scarred slope of battered hill,</div><div>When Spring comes round again this year</div><div>And the first meadow-flowers appear.</div><div><br /></div><div>God knows ’twere better to be deep</div><div>Pillowed in silk and scented down,</div><div>Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,</div><div>Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,</div><div>Where hushed awakenings are dear…</div><div>But I’ve a rendezvous with Death</div><div>At midnight in some flaming town,</div><div>When Spring trips north again this year,</div><div>And I to my pledged word am true,</div><div>I shall not fail that rendezvous.</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-60871537707032838452016-10-22T11:59:00.004-05:002022-11-18T04:24:39.373-06:00“The Night Ocean” by R.H. Barlow and H.P. Lovecraft<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-night-ocean-by-r.-h.-barlow-and-h.-p.-lovecraft-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Halloween:</div><div>Amidst brooding philosophy, the pieces of the horror lie unobtrusively throughout the story for us to fit together. A superb story.</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-61912319804638102092016-09-27T11:59:00.015-05:002022-11-18T03:50:56.964-06:00“Darkness” by Lord Byron<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/darkness-by-lord-byron-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Ineluctably, the world shall end.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Darkness”</div><div>Lord Byron</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a dream, which was not all a dream.</div><div>The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars</div><div>Did wander darkling in the eternal space,</div><div>Rayless, and pathless, and the icy Earth</div><div>Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;</div><div>Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,</div><div>And men forgot their passions in the dread</div><div>Of this their desolation; and all hearts</div><div>Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light:</div><div>And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,</div><div>The palaces of crownéd kings—the huts,</div><div>The habitations of all things which dwell,</div><div>Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,</div><div>And men were gathered round their blazing homes</div><div>To look once more into each other’s face;</div><div>Happy were those who dwelt within the eye</div><div>Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:</div><div>A fearful hope was all the World contained;</div><div>Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour</div><div>They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks</div><div>Extinguished with a crash—and all was black.</div><div>The brows of men by the despairing light</div><div>Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits</div><div>The flashes fell upon them; some lay down</div><div>And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest</div><div>Their chins upon their clenchéd hands, and smiled;</div><div>And others hurried to and fro, and fed</div><div>Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up</div><div>With mad disquietude on the dull sky,</div><div>The pall of a past World; and then again</div><div>With curses cast them down upon the dust,</div><div>And gnashed their teeth and howled: the wild birds shrieked,</div><div>And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,</div><div>And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes</div><div>Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled</div><div>And twined themselves among the multitude,</div><div>Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food:</div><div>And War, which for a moment was no more,</div><div>Did glut himself again:—a meal was bought</div><div>With blood, and each sate sullenly apart</div><div>Gorging himself in gloom: no Love was left;</div><div>All earth was but one thought—and that was Death,</div><div>Immediate and inglorious; and the pang</div><div>Of famine fed upon all entrails—men</div><div>Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;</div><div>The meagre by the meagre were devoured,</div><div>Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one,</div><div>And he was faithful to a corse, and kept</div><div>The birds and beasts and famished men at bay,</div><div>Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead</div><div>Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,</div><div>But with a piteous and perpetual moan,</div><div>And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand</div><div>Which answered not with a caress—he died.</div><div>The crowd was famished by degrees; but two</div><div>Of an enormous city did survive,</div><div>And they were enemies: they met beside</div><div>The dying embers of an altar-place</div><div>Where had been heaped a mass of holy things</div><div>For an unholy usage; they raked up,</div><div>And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands</div><div>The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath</div><div>Blew for a little life, and made a flame</div><div>Which was a mockery; then they lifted up</div><div>Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld</div><div>Each other’s aspects—saw, and shrieked, and died—</div><div>Even of their mutual hideousness they died,</div><div>Unknowing who he was upon whose brow</div><div>Famine had written Fiend. The World was void,</div><div>The populous and the powerful was a lump,</div><div>Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—</div><div>A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.</div><div>The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,</div><div>And nothing stirred within their silent depths;</div><div>Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,</div><div>And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropped</div><div>They slept on the abyss without a surge—</div><div>The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,</div><div>The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;</div><div>The winds were withered in the stagnant air,</div><div>And the clouds perished; Darkness had no need</div><div>Of aid from them—She was the Universe.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The year that the poem was written was known as the Year Without a Summer – this is because Mount Tambora had erupted in the Dutch East Indies the previous year, casting enough ash in to the atmosphere to block out the sun and cause abnormal weather across much of northeast America and northern Europe. This pall of darkness inspired Byron to write his poem.”</div><div>-Wikisource</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZnJBx2DKcVCJMtbsa3R3j54zeml9-wZ95ZAJkQ5C9jq4omgUw7YWf_z7LsNmK0WitxS6B6Z8bFYZww323qJfEyqgjbT3O23WDnj_2uia08i4nzDvIjtGyi1vIZJFgG0ZOLGTo3JA9DnoDNzh7T2aYUVBfAS3bAD0iEvHJXYgiiMFtxBFO8TydvwjgdA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZnJBx2DKcVCJMtbsa3R3j54zeml9-wZ95ZAJkQ5C9jq4omgUw7YWf_z7LsNmK0WitxS6B6Z8bFYZww323qJfEyqgjbT3O23WDnj_2uia08i4nzDvIjtGyi1vIZJFgG0ZOLGTo3JA9DnoDNzh7T2aYUVBfAS3bAD0iEvHJXYgiiMFtxBFO8TydvwjgdA" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-85800110335291546742016-09-21T11:59:00.003-05:002022-11-18T04:36:13.183-06:00“The Room in the Tower” by E.F. Benson<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-room-in-the-tower-by-e.-f.-benson-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Halloween:</div><div>A cold reading of what has instantly become a new favorite Halloween story.</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-76625954141280197182016-04-24T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T04:00:53.496-06:00“The Gun” by Philip K. Dick<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/the-gun-by-philip-k-dick-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Some pointed pulp science fiction from Master Dick.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Gun”</div><div>Philip K. Dick</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1531034605893164924.post-71456489784280836042015-05-23T11:59:00.001-05:002022-11-18T03:16:54.785-06:00Plastic Bottles at Midnight in Mongolia by Meredith Potts<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/plastic-bottles-at-midnight-in-mongolia-by-meredith-potts-read-by-the-voice-before-the-void" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="500"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div>Meredith Potts is the executive director of the non-profit NGO FIRE, the Flagstaff International Relief Effort, based in Flagstaff, Arizona and Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Since 1997, FIRE has been administering aid programs in Mongolia, with a current focus on viral hepatitis and liver cancer, which are epidemic in Mongolia. As of May of 2015, FIRE has also begun a relief project for the survivors of the village of Langtang in Nepal; the village was almost completely destroyed by a landslide triggered by the earthquake of April 25.</div><div><br /></div><div>Learn more and help support FIRE at: fireprojects.org. FIRE is a non-profit organization; all contributions are tax-deductible.</div><div><br /></div><div>Plastic Bottles at Midnight in Mongolia</div><div><br /></div><div>Meredith Potts</div><div><br /></div><div>Dusk did not even begin until 9:45 PM on this May night in Mongolia’s capital city. Still feeling energized, I took the long way home from a friend’s house at 12 midnight through Chinggis Square. It has been more than four years since I was last in Mongolia. As I casually strolled, absorbing the dramatic changes in Ulaanbaatar, from the skyline to the abundant and overly friendly taxi drivers concerned for my safety at that late hour in new cars (not 20-year-old junk-heaps) to the new planters and upgraded sidewalks and well-lit streets, I became a bit annoyed with the plastic bottles everywhere. My first inclination was to pick them up and put them in the recycle bin. Then I remembered that I was not in the United States and there are no recycle bins in Mongolia. As an avid recycler, the thought of putting a plastic bottle in a trash can made me feel a bit awkward. So I tried to ignore the bottles.</div><div><br /></div><div>Across the square, I saw a husband and wife picking through the trash cans in search of bottles. Wearing everything they owned, including a winter coat in 60-degree weather, their stained skin and soiled clothes were the familiar dark-brown color created from years of layered dirt, telling a long, arduous, and painful tale. The rice bag he dragged behind him was almost full. I walked around the square collecting bottles until my arms were overflowing – something we volunteer to do at home. I walked over to the husband and unloaded my arms into the rice bag. One of the bottles still had some grape-flavored soda in it. I handed the bottle to him asking, “Is it okay?” (Zugeer uu?) to drink or “No?” (Ugui?) in my one-word, kindergarten Mongolian. I could see a tiny glint in his eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. He gulped it down. We both thanked each other a few times over, as I was happy to know the bottles would be recycled. Though it is an activity of desperation for them, not choice, I was very glad someone was doing it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I started to walk out of the square. Again, the bottles were everywhere. With another armload, I walked back to the man with the bag. This time he was with his wife. I had found a bottle with some water in it; I handed the bottle to her. Sometimes the trash pickers are aggressive. Often, they are drunk. Almost always, they are adults. In 2004, during my very first week in Mongolia, a man was found dead in the stairwell of my apartment building. He had been beaten to death in a drunken fight over the rights to dig through the building’s dumpster. This couple was not aggressive. They were not drunk. His face was deformed from what looked to be a terrible burn. He was humbled and appreciative – me, the foreigner helping them pick up trash in the middle of the night. She was grateful and ashamed. Both were bewildered, with the same look on their faces I saw so often during my years of delivering clothes ger-to-ger, hand-to-hand. “What? Why? You have come from where? To do this, for me?” I gave them 5,000 togrog. My heart strained as I looked into their eyes for the few seconds they let me hold contact. For her, it was barely a split second. 5,000 Mongolian togrog (about US$2.50) is more than twice what they will be paid for their night’s worth of scouring trash cans across the city filling a rice bag with 200+ bottles. 5,000 togrog will barely buy a 500-ml bottle of water in the Western restaurant a few hundred yards away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though a lifelong photographer with a camera in my pocket, I refrained from taking a photograph. I felt her shame so strongly that I did not want to add to it by making her feel like a show. Nor did I want any confusion about my motives. I just wanted to help fellow humans who were suffering and show them respect that I am sure they rarely, if ever, receive.</div></div>The Voice before the Voidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13616873585218184481noreply@blogger.com0