Way Out (1961), and Lucia Pamela!

Way Out (article from FILMFAX, continued on the site...)

In 1961, this creepy television series (hosted by the great Roald Dahl [he's everywhere it seems, in similar fashion as to how Richard Matheson, credits-galore, can be found on many, many various noteworthy publications, television shows, films, &c., &c.]) followed The Twilight Zone, which to some people, is even more bizarre than Rod Sterling's once unlimited series of the excessively-weird.

However, Way Out unfortunately didn't last as long as Twilight Zone, which was limited to only 14 episodes. What is even more remarkable, to me, is that these episodes are quite obscure, and yet to exist on any DVD-format (not even VHS for that matter!) and people have been ranting and raving for this series to be released for the longest time, but nothing has come about. Thanks to the greatness of YouTube, rarities can be re-discovered (though a DVD-set would be much more fluent, of course), and luckily (or thankfully) a few of the episodes can be seen there. Start here with "The Croaker" and carry on with the others. From that particular video's "About This Video" section on the right, the following is stated: "This rare series has never aired since 1961 and never released on video. Of the 14 episodes, 5 of them (including this one) have been floating around on the net, but the only way to see the other 9 elusive episodes is to pay a visit to The Museum of Television & Radio in NY." Ah, such a shame.

Another great "artifact" about this series was the fact that Dick Smith did all of the make-up works, which is another reason to check them out (and keep all fingers crossed that this series will be rightfully-handled and properly-satiated in the future for a DVD-release!).

Read more about Way Out here and here. The second link has images that can be clicked on for the bigger version (well worth the viewing-pleasure, in my opinion!).


In other thoughts; everyone should listen to Lucia Pamela's Into Outer Space With Lucia Pamela. From Deuceofclubs.com, it says: Former Miss St. Louis Lucia Pamela was obsessed with the moon. She wrote songs about the moon. She claimed there were animals on the moon. She even claimed her album was recorded on the moon. They used to say that people obsessed with the moon weren't quite right. (Hence, the word lunatic.) But I think they weren't quite right. Lucia's pretty much out of it these days, which is a damned shame. But her grandson Kenny is carrying on the tradition with Spaceship Kenny.

In fact, she has since gone on to her reward now. She once said: You can't live life going backwards. You must go forward. She lived up to the age of 98. Apparently she thoroughly stood by her positive quote! Find out more about her here. Another interesting site about her here (which has sound, and animation!).

Lucia Pamela



Caesalpinia coriaria

The coolest tree, ever. My absolute favorite tree, ever.

Wiki says: "a leguminous tree or large shrub native to the Antilles, southern Mexico, Central
America and northern South America. It grows to 9 m tall, often much less and very contorted in exposed coastal sites. In other environments it grows into a low dome shape with a clear sub canopy space. leaves are bipinnate, with 5-10 pairs of pinnae, each pinna with 15-25 pairs of leaflets; the individual leaflets are 7 mm long and 2 mm broad. The fruit is a twisted pod 5 cm long. (2nd stanza) The Divi-divi is one of the more well known species of Caesalpinia; it is a symbol of Curaçao and is very popular in Aruba where it is called "watapana". On the islands this tree is never straight because of the wind."

As mentioned, the coolest tree, ever.


Fernando Pessoa (Poet, 1888-1935)

I wonder if I am the only person who finds Fernando Pessoa one of the most depressing poets ever? The apoplexity of some of his idealogies and thought-processes are so negative that I can't merely stand to read some of his works/letters/thoughts. Go here to get a glimpse. When he was plagued with a fever, lying in bed, he wrote:

I am nothing
I shall never be anything
I cannot wish to be anything.
Aside from that, I hold within me
all the dreams of the world.
Today, I’m defeated, as if I’d learned the truth.
Today, I am lucid, as if I were about to die.

Though the customarily attempts to say "I am nothing" or "I shall never be anything" is a sign of pessimistic-indulgence and negative-bolts of vexual-rage, there is just "that something" that he was apparently missing. ""I'm defeated, as if I'd learned the truth" indicates to me a man of consistent-longing? Or, perhaps a bold statement that protrudes out of the sockets of a man who looked for the darker corners instead of the ones with the dust-bunnies of light? "I am lucid, as if I were about to die." And, well, as the phrase "misery loves company" comes into play, I can say that it is safe to say that "death loves company" as well. If you speak of such matters, it can only be inevitable.

That said, there are a few of his poems that strike a chord with me. I especially like this quote by Mr. Pessoa: Poets are fakers. Hm, I'd love to read Ron Silliman or Charles Bernstein's commentary about such a quote. A sentence or two would do.


Not too long ago, Questions about: "Which fog is better", came to mind this morning (sweatingitoutgastoolowandoverpriced). Now, this coffee must be glazing me over, like the sky when night fades into white. Over-cast. Saw a suspicious man wearing all-black walking down the street towards my house this morning. "Maybe it's the coffee, again." No, he was really there, and walking towards my house. Closer, closer, closer. "Oh...it's just the neighbor in his work uni." Whew. Weird. That was the first time I ever saw him walking down the street like that. Well, the second time ever, actually. The first time I saw him walking throughout the maze of the neighborhood was when he had his baby with him, rolling her/him around in the stroller. But, walking around in his work-uni by himself early in the morning somewhat threw me off. It's difficult to trust people these days. Maybe I just have "flying saucer eyes." I wish it would rain. We're in a horrible drought. The lakes and rivers and streams are way below their normality, and it's a real shame.


The "corolla, intensely grape-colored" Morning glories that were growing in between the crack of my drive-way and the road have been re-planted near the mail-box. 1) This allows the chances of the beautiful morning glory plant to Live and not get smashed by uncaring tires (or uncaring people); 2) Hopefully the plant will "live" after being re-planted, not to mention the hopes of the plant to begin growing and twisting itself up the mail-box's post. And, since this particular plant is a "common morning glory" (Marubaasagao, Ipomoea purpurea (Pharbitis purpurea) Budouiro, Dark red, purple, Wine color) and a "vine", the chances are quite operative.


Rudolf Sponsel, Erlangen's (?) Frankenstein's Logic
(Looks more like a 'breed' of Dracula to me)

One of a few images of (...) "the cycle of Anti-(G.W.F) Hegel pictures..." Hm, I wonder what Mr. Sponsel had against Mr. Hegel? A matter of opinion, I suppose, like everything else. From the source, states: The text on the picture on the pillar on the head Hegel also comes from above, Section 323, Auxiliary, p. 274: The electricity is the purpose of pure form, which is exempt from it, the shape, their indifference Lift begins; Because the electricity is the immediate salience or even from the shape Coming, they still conditional existence, or not yet the dissolution of the shape itself, but the Superficial process, in which the differences the shape leave, but they have to their condition, And not to them as self-employed.

"All clear?" - Uh, not particularly. From Hegel himself ('aesthetics, Volume 1, p. 60): "Because the artwork is not a content in its generality as such, but this individualized general public, in front of the few sensual outlook. If the artwork is not from the principles, but it underlines the general public with the purpose of abstract teachings, then it Bildliche Sensual and the only one external and unnecessary jewelry and artwork in a broken himself, in what form and content of no more than to grow into one another. The sensuous individuals and the mentally General are then each other outwardly."


Bergman's "Cries and Whispers"

Heart-breaking scene from
Cries and Whispers

Do you want to know the most difficult film for me to watch? Would you like to know of a film that ruptures my tear-sacs into almost phlegmatic-weariness, yet strikes me with the accomplishment of the habitual-emotion of blatant pliancy? Would you like to be informed of a film that is painful for me to view, yet a film that has me yearning for more of the same pain? That almost peculiar feeling of "pleasure" and "pain"; the seemingly realistic frequencies of a film's believabilities, of the human behavior: the power of emotion, the melancholies of sickness and Death; the bizarre submissiveness of Life; "the world of women" that "is very open of (...) gender and sexual politics" at the turn-of-the-century (19th); one of the most moving films I have ever seen? The "erotic mystery" (the "physical decay") of four sisters ("each representing a different aspect of a woman") that embraces you immediately with their presence, traits and idealogies? Ingmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers is this film. Bergman himself explained from the initial script: What it most resembles is a dark flowing stream: faces, movements, voices, gestures, exclamations, light and shade, moods, dreams. Nothing fixed, nothing really tangible other than for the moment, and then only an illusory moment. A dream, a longing, or perhaps an expectation, a fear, in which that to be feared is never put into words. It's really all there. I find every emotion seeping out of me when I watch this film. I find that I somehow become those faces, movements, voices, gestures, exclamations, light and shades and every bit, ounce, degree and shape and folds and formations of those moods and dreams...


Filmomisialism & Lgtru.

Scene from Carnival of Souls (1962)

It's the imagination of originality that ("the day the world gets [more] round?" - God Bless George Harrison!) that gets the loudest ovation and the most hands clapping with an applause. The unaimlessly-multitudinous psyche'-befoggings that sketches the cipher, the imaginationist (God fobid being a little loopdeloopy, eh?!), but ekeh, the 60's produced some of the most critically-acclaim'd cheeseball flicks in history (the "horror genre" dancing to the tunes, shakin' and twistin' and shoutin' to this omnipresent upheavel), though "cheeseball" is slightly over-used like the "Let's get outta here!" quote in films (an ungorgeous nourishing?), yet I Remark, in this corpulence, the 60's-tenure to the bestest celluloid evah, evah, evah. One of those wonderful films from that said underrated Generation (or underrated "film"), is 1962's Carnival of Souls. I imagine the Looking-glass had an entirely regulated mockery, in that the "scare-factor" was at the highest peak during this Era. In this lucious-60's classic, there are quips of surrealistic-boombasticness, and the often over-looked starkness of black and white cinematography (which is quite exquisite, I'd say). No Sven Nykvist here, but even so, it's certainly noteworthy.

Mister Buddwing
, 1966 (Only image I could find)

1966's Mister Buddwing (how many petitions must it take to release this wonderful masterpiece of a film?! [There's not even a poster available anywhere and hardly any imagery, either!]) - The begging-audience can certainly be conquered with a happy-hand of obligement from the "Production Gods" if the manifestations erupt properly. Someone release the lightning! Be Zeus for a moment, will yeh?) is another one that comes to mind (though the 'cheese-factor' in this film doesn't exist. How about sufficient entree's of tasty-desire, perhaps?). James Garner plays "a man who finds himself on a bench in Central Park with no idea of who he is. He proceeds to wander around Manhattan meeting women as he desperately tries to figure out his own identity. Based on the 1964 novel Buddwing by Evan Hunter, the evocatively shot black-and-white drama with a lively jazz musical score was written by Hunter and Dale Wasserman, and directed by Delbert Mann." (Thanks kindly, Wiki). This film is a delightful trip. From the very opening scene, you will know that you are in for quite a peculiarly-enjoyable ride! A Must-see.

The Unforgettable Head (1968)

I watched this film years ago (in which I was intrigued by the idea of Frank Zappa being intertwined with his short-lived cameo-magic) and the super-glue of its uncontrained existence is relentless in taking a chunk of my brain with it. Overburnedstrain of excessive-transsubmergencies! The horrible films of today will never, ever, ever, ever come close to the magic of older gems of set-aside past-years. The old paralyzing, "everything's been done" statement, somehow vibrates through the quelling lands, it would seem. I cringed (and still cringe) when I see previews for films like The Heartbreak Kid that come onto my television-screen, or if a group of people are speaking of its "greatness." Please. Someone pass me a hammer and a nail. If I could echo The Silver Apples for a brief spell: "Where do we go, I don't know," about sums up such a bubbling Yucca!


Don't confuse "cloud tracks" with actual clouds. Aren't most things deceiving? Just ask Charles Thomson Rees Wilson and his Wilson Chamber about it. However, I must now go crawl upon the cloud tracks in the sky.

Lock me in and throw away the key!

More Randomania

The Gates of Paradise
(interesting site if you enjoy Visual Poems, &c.)


Wake Not The Dead
(One of the first vampire stories ever written
by Johann Ludwig Tieck)


Laynie Browne's "A Mullein Sceptre in My Hand"
(a wonderful collection of poems)

Atanta's own Laura Carter and some of her poems
from Typo #9: BRICOLÈ


Tachistoscope Blog: It's worth it to begin from the first post.
Now if only he would provide updates. It has
been almost two years.


Charles Olson's "Projective Verse 1950"


Hilarious, I think.


Robert Grenier's "10 pages from 'R H Y M M S'"



Kenji Miyazawa

Old men with hyper-thick beards always appear to me as being 'lonely' fellows. Sometimes their faces show it. Perhaps even sad fellows, too. I'm not certain the "reasoning" behind this thought, though. Often, seeing said individuals provides me with a persuasion of some ominous "category" (often unintentional), though it may very-well be that these particular individuals whom have the face of a decay'd wharf at the edge of some uncertain embankment, are essentially the Jewels of our Generation (whom grew up [some, unknowingly] with The Who's "My Generation"; ["their"], in other words: a coordinate of the esteem). Slicker than Grace Slick, even. ("Thing"). The ever-present Canvass of Counterculture.


Recently came across a highly-obscure
(and apparently rather "mysterious)
band from Japan, Les Rallizes Denudes.
Heavier Than A Death In The Family
is of notable deliberation.


Odd Nerdrum


by George Maciunas, Jan. 2, 1962.


is a delicious site for lovers of unique, odd, ethnic, experimental
and unusual instruments. I would love to own a
Kaisatsuko or a Harmonic Generator, if anything, just as art pieces.
Don't miss the Bowafridgeaphone, either (made from used
refrigerator grates, and other things!)


Incredibly Strange Albums (and covers, to boot, oot, oot)


Thobias Fäldt Photography


Have fun.


djalma primordal silence


In the meantime:

All you need is love (RrehRaRrehRrehRreh)
All you need is love (RrehRaRrehRrehRreh)