The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

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The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

Post by Cenacle » January 22nd, 2019, 5:51 pm

The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018
Reading link: http://www.scriptorpress.com/cenacle/106.html
Download link: http://www.scriptorpress.com/cenacle/10 ... r_2018.pdf
[Size = 7.1 MB]

Hello everyone,

Here comes the just-released Cenacle  | 106 | December 2018. The wintry cover offers a friendly welcome to an issue filled with good writings & graphics. Contents include:

From Soulard’s Notebooks:
[Excerpt] Crossing Longfellow Bridge in late December & the Charles River not close to frozen. To be sure: it’s cold, low 30s° F. But not that cold. Some Boston winters are like this. Maybe feet of snow will come in January or later; it’s a long winter.

Feedback on Cenacle 105:
[Excerpt] Response to Jimmy Heffernan’s “Notes on Science’s Progresses & Regresses”: What would happen in a true socialist state where we all got a chunk of the wealth out there? Innovation would flourish. Humans just have to step up to the future, a future where life is free to flourish, like before the monkeys grew a frontal lobe. [Charlie Beyer]

From the ElectroLounge Forums:
[Excerpt] 
We can achieve something greater in loving if we can evolve so the other person’s desire becomes more rewarding than our own, and more desirable. On the other hand, I’m not into denial of personal longings. When we love, we can (ideally) acknowledge our own needs and desires, and allow those needs to be met. We can be generous and gentle with ourselves in balance with our generosity and gentleness with the other. [Tamara Miles]

Poetry by Diana Rosen:
[Excerpt] 
As we roll the man onto his side, his hand drops heavily from mine,
his huge shaking body becomes quiet. I’ve called the paramedics,
someone else says, they’ll be here soon, and with that,
the chartreuse-yellow truck rolls up and medics step out
and into their official roles.

The House of Unfulfilled Desires [Fiction] by Abdon Ubidia:
[Excerpt] 
His name was Verlag. He was the kind who didn’t think he had rights. Who think they’re in the world simply to undertake the task of living as if following a difficult and incontrovertible command. One of those people who avoid conflict and take sleeping pills. They’ve never sued anybody and nobody’s ever sued them. They pay their taxes on time. They’re not cowards, but they’re not brave either because they don’t understand the difference between the one and the other. They let themselves be. They slide like shadows through the world with neither great euphoria nor great depressions. They have a certain dryness about them. Mr. Verlag lived like a cactus in a desert. Or you could call him empty. Though, in the human world, no one is truly empty. Because everyone is filled with something, even if it’s only air. Verlag’s emptiness was filled with the cold, heavy air of melancholy. He was a sad man who waited for a golden sunset or a summer breeze to feel something like happiness.

Poetry by Martina Newberry:
[Excerpt] 
The flat of my hand massages my head
to make certain it’s still there.
It is, somewhat mummified from
heavy pill-founded sleep, but still
attached to my neck.

Poetry by Gregory Kelly:
[Excerpt] 
some revolutions in life are worth yer heightened heartbeats
outofbreath patters and calloused toes from the rocky shores

Same Moon Shining (Memoir Excerpts) by Tamara Miles:
[Excerpt] My inheritance from Papa and Granny did not involve money; there was none to give. Instead, I was left the legacy of stubborn survival and faith in a spiritual power beyond myself, and available to all who seek it. It comes by grace; we cannot earn it. Papa planted a bamboo forest in his back yard in New Market. I used to stand in awe at its beauty and be grateful for it. I don’t know if it is still there, but remembering Papa and Granny helps me to clear the spiritual forest, and provides healing for me where there has been an epidemic of estrangement.

Poetry by Tamara Miles:
[Excerpt] 
This love green as summer oak,
as maple, magnolia,
long-leaf pine, rising all to sun,
and I on my bench eager to play

Notes from New England: 36 Love Epistles to What Happy Remains
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.:
[Excerpt] Psychedelics, known since 1997—These saved my life & continue to do so. Not only saved: helped me to become a better person; to write better & deeper; to love KD & my other loved ones more; to advocate with others for a healthier, greener, kinder, smarter world. They can be toys as well as tools, & a danger always to fools. Because of them, I found Phish & Burning Man. With their aid, I am at my best a person worth his patch of this moving world. At my worst, I know the path back up. Just as marijuana is getting again the respect it deserves, & its sanctioned place in the world, so too I hope the rest will follow soon. It is a better world for them.

Poetry by Judih Haggai:
[Excerpt] 
our foreign voices
join in tibetan chants
resonance lingers

The Eyes of Glass Dogs (Travel Journal) by Nathan D. Horowitz:
[Excerpt] Wearing his pink tunic, sitting on the boards of the sleeping area, leaning against a house post, his bead necklaces and his broad face glossy in the kerosene lamp’s glow, Ha’kë told a story. “Going downriver from Chiritza, a colonist in my canoe. He wanting what I having, coming up behind me with a knife, wanting to kill! I turning around, paddle, PEEN! Head. Colonist falling, canoe. I paddling to shore, putting stones in his pockets, water putting. That’s all, finishing.” He made a gesture of brushing off his hands. “People like that worthless.”

Dream Particles (Prose) by Nathan D. Horowitz:
[Excerpt] On a huge fishing boat, someone has a line overboard, and hooks and lands a forty-five-foot sperm whale which, once over the edge of the boat, immediately becomes quiescent and gelatinous. The hold of the boat is rectangular and filled with quiescent, gelatinous, semi-transparent sperm whales, painlessly dying. One has transformed into a gelatinous school bus. A gelatinous, quiescent child gets off. A sailor puts his hand on the child’s head and guides him away for dispatch. I know this is normal but it still disturbs me.

Poetry by Colin James:
[Excerpt] 
If asked to pontificate,
my three favorite movies are,
not in any particular order,
The Third Man,
Sunset Boulevard,
and Debby Does Dallas.

The Country Singer Wants to Die, and That’s What I Like About Him (Fiction) by Ace Boggess:
[Excerpt] In two years after my first local-band feature for the Domestic-Chronicle, I wrote a hundred stories for the Life page on rockers, rappers, punks, alternakids, jazz acts, orchestras, gospel groups, and even a barbershop quartet. National acts stopped by to chat or their managers called me up with quotes, but mostly I shined a spotlight on the wannabes, up-and-comers, small bands reaching for success. I wrote about the destined, and often the destined to disappear. In Pittsburgh, it didn’t take long before I was better known around town than many of the bands I covered.

Poetry by Tom Sheehan:
[Excerpt] 
Are you there, Thomas,
hearing the maple burst pods,
sunflower creak and groan up,
down-loam leap of crocus strings
silent as webbing in the corner
of the barn, tulip death
at wayward Chlorodaine
you spilled?

The Crocodile King of Belize (Prose) by Charlie Beyer:
[Excerpt] The grey Norwegian rat tears at the back seat upholstery of the scuttled ’65 Chevy Comet. The rat is matted over and scabbed, weighing about five pounds, and about the size of a small lap dog. Thomas awakens from his late morning nap in the front seat with a “Gahhhh,” which shoos the hideous creature out the door. There is no back door, so the rat’s escape is easy. There are no doors, engine, or wheels, as this car is in the back of a junkyard festooned with other gutted heaps and mechanical garbage.


Many Musics (Poetry) by Raymond Soulard, Jr.:
[Excerpt] 
Soap bubbles. I remember now.
I woke that night in my bedchamber
to soap bubbles floating around
me in the window’s moonlight.
Raised my finger to pop one & heard
a moment of music. Popped more &
each time a pretty ting! Like music
released, & then gone.

Notes on the Arts & Culture by Jimmy Heffernan: 
[Excerpt] My #1 favorite book is The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce because from about the age of 18 to about the age of 25, no book shaped my thoughts and views, and taught me about the world, more than it did. I also think it contains the finest American writing I’ve ever seen. I still have the original Dover Thrift edition my parents got me for Christmas in 1999, though it is rather in tatters.

Poetry by Joe Ciccone:
[Excerpt] 
Although high and dry
through asphalt decades,

I was really living
on one peculiar island.

Bags End Book #11: Algernon Beagle Wakes Up (Part 2):
[Excerpt] O Dear Readers & here is your old pal Algernon writing from deep inside Dreamland which I now know is deep inside the heart of one & all who hear or listen to this story & if my words seem a little tall 4or such a humble fellow it’s cuz I haven’t the hang of Dreamland English too good yet.

Classic Poetry by T.S. Eliot:
[Excerpt] 
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

I Took Psychedelic Drugs on a Self-Help Retreat, and This is What I Learned (Essay) by Rebecca Coxon:
After sipping a sour-smelling tea, we lie down on mattresses, wrap ourselves in blankets and don eye masks. It’s like some kind of bizarre adult sleepover—except it’s midday on a Friday afternoon, and from what I’ve been told the next six hours could unfold into one of the most profound experiences of my life.

Labyrinthine [a new fixtion] by Raymond Soulard, Jr.:
[Excerpt] In this maybe-memory, I am sitting again with my acid guru, in the living room of his old apartment, with Grateful Dead 11/5/77 Rochester, NY cassette on his stereo—“Black Peter” into “Sugar Magnolia”—his blue eyes twinkle in his brilliant ugly face—

Comments are welcomed here or by email at editor@scriptorpress.com.

Peace,
Raymond

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judih
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Re: The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

Post by judih » January 22nd, 2019, 11:39 pm

fascinating edition. looking forward to digging in!

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Doreen Peri
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Re: The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

Post by Doreen Peri » January 23rd, 2019, 7:41 pm

Sounds great!

I haven't had a chance to look at it yet, Raymond, but I'm looking forward to doing so when I can!

I was wondering... would you like to have your own announcements forum? Seems most of the announcements in this forum are for your publication and /or your radio show.

I could set you up your own announcements forum which could be titled "The Cenacle Announcements" or "Raymond's Radio Show Announcements" or any other title you'd like to have. I'd be happy to set that up for you and move all of your announcements into the new forum for you so we can have a separate announcements forum for you and another one for the Studio8 site.

I think that would be a great idea!

Thanks for letting me know if this is ok with you!

All the best.

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stilltrucking
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Re: The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

Post by stilltrucking » January 25th, 2019, 4:17 am

:D thank you
so much to take in
I need to get hold of it so I can give it a good read.



lions and tigers and bears
books and LSD and Nietzsche
Nietzche died for my sins

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stilltrucking
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Re: The Cenacle | 106 | December 2018 | *Just Released*

Post by stilltrucking » January 25th, 2019, 5:11 am

"Desires created to take advantage of the world’s sadness. Those are the ones you have, and they’re the most difficult to control because they’ve taken over the world.”

Abdon Ubidia kills me 8)


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