The old notes I found have gotten my thoughts pointing back in the direction of those kinds of studies again. This is probably obvious to some of you. While it can be difficult to find reliable, scholarly texts on the matter, I find that I learn something new almost every time I read the few texts out there that are supported by scholarship. And there is always those untapped journal articles out there that are less about meeting sales quotas than they are about serious scholarship.
(more…)Well, I knew it was likely to happen.
I can’t decide if I should be surprised that it finally did happen or that it took so long for it to happen.
But I got my first email from a fan who thinks I am an adult film director from the late 90s/00s who also went by “Michael Raven”. For the record, I was using the pen name well before he was directing films in the, ahem, genre.
They wanted to know where they could get a legit digital copy of a specific film. And a song title. Did this fan check to see if I was who he thought I was? Absolutely not. But that did not stop the fan from asking all the same.
What added to the surreal nature is that apparently it was a movie (very) loosely based on Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland.
For the record, there is another author who goes by the name and writes nonfiction and has been published well before I was. I’d almost rather have gotten an email from one of his fans because then I could just say, “Sorry, wrong chap” and be done with it. But with adult entertainment, it could just as easily be a phishing expedition — so ignore and block is my method for handling those.
Sorry Brian, wrong chap.
Of all the things I might unearth as I was repackaging and cataloging some belongings to put into off-site storage, I guess I never expected to find some old handwritten notes from my druidic lessons circa 1992. I had recently joined a local druid group that was one of the original 1970s groups in the US and a handful of pages are from a course they were teaching their new members. And old members looking for a refresher (which was the bulk of the attendees at these gatherings in the head druid’s home).
I found it stuffed alongside the truly awful tale of Ben who, apparently, we liked to lock up just to hear him scream, written about ten years later than these notes. Don’t ask, I can’t imagine my motivation twenty-three years ago for pairing the writings in a single place.
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I had a sudden flashback this morning of a restaurant that I never actually went to, but passed nearly every weekend as a kid as the family drove from the Twin Cities metro area to a cabin my aunt owned in Minnesota’s northwoods. The restaurant was heavily advertised on the route by way of billboards and driving by the venue itself was usually enough to trigger a flurry of requests to stop for dinner.
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I am on the drift again. The wending roads beckoning from my within, an untethering from my abouts.
Though the weather is still too warm still for such things, I drew on my fleece jacket, pulled up the hood around my face and over my head as I walked from car to my once-a-week-office-space and felt at home within the folds of fabric. My bare legs incongruent with the jacket over my torso, but I could care less. I used to half-jest that I was made for kilts — my legs have always been too warm and I still wear shorts at home in the winter when everyone else wraps themselves in thick blankets.
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