Death Curses LLC.

Because this week's batch is craaaaaaaaazy late, this one is the last one of the three written. And it's about death curses in Frankenstein and Dresden Files and contains huge goddamn spoilers for Dresden Files. I'm going to be using Not-Frankenstein and Frankenstein nomenclature to refer to the monster and the creator, respectively.

The two death curses are not quite the same.

HUGE GODDAMN SPOILERS.

Seriously.

You've been warned.

Alright: Dresden dies at the end of book 12 after losing or having to distance himself from everyone that cares about him. His girlfriend is dead, he has to turn his back on his friends, though apparently, they all still like him and most of them are alive. Ebeneezer, Thomas, Murphy and most of the wolves are alive. All of them seem to understand, somehow, that distancing is something Dresden has to do. And it's at the point where Dresden finally has a minute to decompress that the death curse aimed at him goes off: Die alone. He dies, alone, getting himself gussied up for a date with a girl in 10 minutes.

Dresden dies comfortably.

I will be with you on your wedding night is the curse that Not-Frankenstein leaves Frankenstein with as Not-Frankenstein resolves himself to kill all of the people Frankenstein loves. Frankenstein, then, in addition to the grim tally of his two virginal family members die, has his best friend Clerval and the woman he wants to marry, Elizabeth, die, by the hand of his monster. His family views Frankenstein as an unhinged wreck.

Frankenstein, after seeing the woman he loves destroyed by the thing he made, vows revenge on Not-Frankenstein and sets after Not-Frankenstein, who remains a couple days ahead of Frankenstein, taunting him and leaving messages. Frankenstein dies on a ship bound back to England, away from Not-Frankenstein, in the care of some random sailors that were lucky enough to pick him up from a loose ice floe and indulged his mission as much as they could.

Frankenstein dies of hypothermia, overexertion and being turned insane by his creation. In short: Frankenstein does not die comfortably.

Dresden dies knowing: I saved my daughter. I am going to kiss a woman and maybe a couple other things. My friends still respect me and exist.

Frankenstein dies knowing: The monster I made, that killed my friends and wife, is still out there. My family thinks I'm a maniac and I can't prove that I'm sane. In fact, I failed. I'm dying turning my back on my monster.

Frankenstein dies with failure. Dresden dies with something like a victory.

Today! Time Keeps On Slipping Into the Cosmic Future with the relevant lyric being: "If I can ask one thing when I am dead / would you lay me down by the river bed / and let me wash away? Let it take me back from where I came / because all I am and all I was is just / blood and dirt and bones and mud /and I’m better off that way."

I first heard this song last year while going down to see a Papal Audience. It was an epiphany on public transportation.

Eldritch Contract Law.

I've been reading a lot of Dresden Files recently and it got me to thinking, between sunbathing with John Rawls and sips of prosecco, that there exists a number of differences in fae contract law that are exploited repeatedly.

Also: Fae can be spelled fey. Or! Fey can be spelled fae, apparently. Additionally: If any readers are left, bravo. Contract law and fairies. If you keep going, you might deserve a Medal of Honor from the internet.

Point is. Fey (fae?) contract law (at least in Dresden Files) is almost exclusively oral, with few written components and most, if not all of the important terms and consequences knowingly obscured by murky language. It's like a deal with the devil. Except the devil is usually female, totally hot and has a court of labyrinthine motivations and aims to keep track of.

And, of course, this court of incredible, accessible power runs on misery, most of the time or at least an intractable web of lies, deceit and half-truths, lorded over by appallingly pretty women with petty worries and apocalyptic schemes. (Makes me wonder who wrote these stories and why.) Wayward, bumbling humans are the the gasoline on which this society runs, and through cunning use of incredibly high stakes and verbal trickery, this position is maintained.

(This is, in case there was ever any question, the opposite of the way any agreement should work.)

Fey bargaining is based, I think, on a loose system of "if I get you to say something when you're bent over a barrel, you're totally liable and I'm in the clear, I just offered you a deal," which we can shorten to bullshit. But supposing we can't shorten it to bullshit, the fae (yes, I'm going back and forth with the names) when pressed will say something to the effect of we had a deal, to which there is an obligation and a tie to that obligation.

Rawls, of course, says that that obligation and that tie presupposes just institutions, or institutions that are as just as can be, given the situation. But, even if we ignore the fey society, there's still one foundational point on contract law that the fae are missing: Informed consent.

Informed consent is basically what the fae contract law runs away screaming from. It means that basically meant to show that all parties agreeing have a minimum understanding of what the terms, consequences and facts are in the agreement, which has never historically been a strong point for fey bargaining. But informed consent is also a goddamned standard of any agreement ever, the basic point that people who are making agreements, need to know, on a deep level, what they are getting into, what they are giving up and what they are getting, which is a standard the fae don't tend to meet.

So: At least on earth, or an agreement signed to here, one would hope our laws apply and not theirs. And if our laws apply, well, their deals might be something you don't have an obligation to keep.

Thus: Here are some ways you can avoid fairy trickery.

1) Don't make deals.
2) No, seriously. Don't.
3) Repeat.
4) Vocalize, explicitly, using the most unequivocal words possible that you want to know exactly what you get and what you give up. And if they don't want to do that, you might know that you have a bad deal. (That said, few people make good deals with the fey.)
5) If you have already made a bargain with the fae, I'm sorry. You're deep in the hole. Try telling them your consent wasn't informed and force the issue. They're a stickler for rules. Maybe this'll help.




If you're reading this and you're involved with fey, then you might not want them reading over your shoulder. I'm not sure about all fae, but hardcore punk seems like it would be a little abrasive for them. Thus, This Is Hell's cover of 108's When Death Closes Your Eyes. Throw that in with some straightforward lyrics about hiding behind words, and well, I'm pretty sure they'll leave you alone. Good luck.

Since Always, Love Frankenstein

I finally, finally got to the point in the book where Frankenstein's monster returns to his maker and tells his story. What's remarkable to me is just how quickly, through a couple months of observation, that creature is able to pick up on human customs, and it's been not even a year since Frankenstein created the creature he is synonymous with, when Frankenstein finds himself face to face with his creature on a sheet of ice, so adrift and so cold, I can feel the chill and the rage in Frankenstein's bones. (Either one.)

Even more remarkable than that is how quickly the monster we are calling Frankenstein (hereafter referred to as Not-Frankenstein, for purposes of making readers cringe) grasps sarcasm and humor, using one of the best comebacks I've heard, ever: You accuse me of murder and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!

Or, somehow manages to capture one of the most brutal, direct and frank maxims of life in language, that well, here: [L]ife, although it may only be an accumulation of tragedy, is dear to me and I will defend it. I just stare at that sentence, sometimes, after I read it on the bus, desperately trying to find my way to Darkest Hour's gig.

There are three reasons why I like it.

First, the use of the phrase “an accumulation of tragedy” is at once both sage and reductive. You have to be thoroughly depressed to look at only the bad sides of life, but there is some truth in the choice of the word accumulation to describe life. The longer we live, the more things multiply and the more things add to each other or compound or play off of what's already there or what will come.

Second, “and I will defend it.” Note: Not-Frankenstein does not use the word kill. Or murder. He wants to protect it, but he/it hasn't expressed the willingness to go beyond that instinct.

Third, the way the whole phrase sounds, phonetically. I like the qualification in the middle and the use of commas. Each successive idea adds another wrinkle to the sentence, which at its finality, it hits like a bomb. It might suck, but it is meaningful enough on its own merits to guard.

Plus, there's love. It's a bigger subject than I can encompass.

Today being Valentine's Day, you probably shouldn't be sitting here and reading me talking about Frankenstein and Not-Frankenstein. You should (yes, I'm being prescriptive) go talk to girls. Or boys. Or both. Or those aren't that sure. It's up to you and this futile blog isn't going anywhere.

I'll see you Wednesday and if you have a partner, I had better not see you later tonight and if you don't, person, remember: more will come, so go find something to celebrate, and though this might be selfish, lift something in honor of Frankenstein. Well, Not-Frankenstein. But you get my point. Lift something. Kiss someone. Etc.

One of the tracks from Defeater's forthcoming 14-song release Empty Days and Sleepless Nights. It's two records, a 10 song hardcore punk disc called Empty Days and a 4 song acoustic EP called Sleepless Nights. This one's from Sleepless Nights, called “I Don't Mind.” It's adorable and simple.

“Did I forget to tell you how pretty you looked in that dress? And, the first time that I saw you you cleaned the mess from my head?”

Justice, On A Timeline.

Liberty, Equality and Fraternity.

A friend of mine has that tattooed on his arm and it's a cool idea. I'm for it. It's French, right? And it means something, yes? How much does it mean, though, when the country lets in dictators, like, recent ones. Mubarak is just the latest, yes? (Of course America engages in the same behavior. Wanted to make that clear.) I guess liberty must apply to former strongmen as well, but...it just seems so at odds with the motto of the country.

Of course: Every country is like that. Every country has its nasty secret, the things that undermine its greatest ambitions, the things that hold it back and the little deals made to keep it going. America's are obvious. Look at the history of the CIA and the little things agreed to in the name of the people of democracy become clear.

It's in Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, though that Rawls tries to tie into A Theory of Justice, saying that the liberty parallel is obvious, equality under the law and fraternity in the difference principle. And liberty for all, I guess, really means liberty for all, unless, say, you're Muslim and want to wear a hijab, but didn't these dictators kind of...say, by virtue of killing a lot of people, get their personhood card revoked? That's a thing.

And yet we're still treating them as people. Why? Because of what we're still doing now. Mubarak was an ally in the War On Terror. Camus didn't just die of a car crash, but a broken heart. Eastern Europe, I guess, is ocassionally happy to have our political prisoners to torture until they confess to murdering Santa Claus, or whatever their hosts want to hear them say. Eastern Europe tortured our prisoners so we could keep our hands clean. And probably still does.

And yet, even after reading Rucka's Private Wars, that has an intense scene about just this (and also about justice, later on, kind of), a recent book, I can still sit here and type about any kind of justice without laughing.

It would give Bolano something else to write about, if he wasn't already dead. Funnily enough, I finished By Night In Chile and it made me angry. I'll write about it for Friday.





Why Fall Out Boy's Grand Theft Autumn? None worth giving. I wanted to hear it again. I'm not sure what to make of the bits with the girl. I'm not quite sure of the politics. If you have a better idea than I do, comment!

It's Like Dr. Frankenstein Took A Knife, Edgy And With Electricity And I Think I'm Stretching The Comparison

I'm at the portion of Frankenstein where Victor returns to find William dead and his family broken from the death and the father says something to the effect of “rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of impartiality.” When I hear something like that, I think instead, man, you're looking the wrong way at it: You want the judges partial to you. You want them very partial to you.

Okay. I've read a lot, but having avoided Frankenstein, I feel like I've missed the original version of many things that I've read now that are playing off of it. In other words: I got to the scene where Frankenstein's monster is illuminated in the lightning and I wasn't terribly impressed when I first read it. I finished up the chapter and then realized: This is the one that started them all. This is the burst of lightning and I have seen it for the first time.

This is where they all come from. Ms. Shelley constructs it well, but man...I really want to be reading By Night In Chile, which I finally have in my possession. By Night In Chile is also about a realization in flashes of understanding, but that's really the extent of the commonalities of the two.

The other major "cover before the original" in my life is I'm On Fire, by Bruce Springsteen, or, should I say, I'm On Fire, by Hawks And Doves. Bruce's version, today, sounds tinny and stuck with an unfortunate synthesizer line, but it struck a chord in the 80's with its frank (dare I say earnest?) lust and its simplicity. Everyone, apparently, has covered it, from Kenny Chesney to Tori Amos to Johnny Cash and of the three (get ready for this), Ms. Amos' version ages the best.

But: The Chesney version and the Cash version both play up the earnestness angle of the song, leaving behind, almost entirely the undercurrent (and also main current) of naked lust. In other words, it does not have the vividness or terror of the original flash. It is a lesser reproduction of what came before.

Assuming that I understand the synthesizer line correctly in the original as something that is there and would be removed now, Hawks And Doves (former Planes Mistaken For Stars singer) gets it right. There are other instruments in the background, but mostly, its Gared with an acoustic and his gravely voice, which emphasizes the dirt, the sand, the grains, the fucking lust. (Finally, one of the few times I can use the word fucking and not have it be gratuitous and have it work, exactly, the way it is meant to. Vulgar, correctly.)

Now. The cover by Tori Amos is another story entirely. She uses the piano (like, obv.) to carry all of ideas and lets her own voice carry the lust for the song. And yes, her voice is lighter and is a little more fragile, but where it is supposed to, it carries that lust. Maybe it is the heavy breathing on the microphone that does it, but. It is pretty and also dirty, in a way that does justice to both.

Anyway. Point is. There is the original and then there are other things. In Frankenstein, I am getting an unadulterated dose of the original. It is terrifying, brilliant and fantastical.

Hawks. Doves. Fire. If you want to reverse engineer my love for Planes Mistaken For Stars, crank the amps as loud as they will go on this song and let the guy vocalize in a way that smiles, bawdily, through bloody gums and broken digits.

Community. Buses.

I was on one of four buses on yesterday. Someone else's broke down on the highway about dinnertime. Lost a tire and in the dark, the drivers of my bus and the one with the lost tire scampered betwixt the traffic to find it.

Within a quarter of an hour, at least two people around me suggested the other three buses should leave. With the road service not arriving for 2+ hours, I tried not to think about what that would mean. It would mean abandoning an entire busload of people so three for every single one could make it back to the compound on time for dinner. It's not barbaric. It's not even cruel. It's...just without empathy or an understanding of what it means to be a community.

And that's not even strictly a utilitarian analysis. It avoids the question of how much it would cost the people left on their own on a bus in a place where they can't urinate or defecate for two hours while the lucky people get to carry on so they can get dinner. Let's not misplace my outrage. I'm sure, given enough of a timespan, I'd say to leave the bus. But it didn't even get to forty five minutes before people were talking about ditching their fellow travelers so they could be more comfortable while affixing more suffering to their fellow travelers. People they know! Maybe even like!

I know there's the joke about cannibalism that people resort to it too early, but seriously! Gimme 45 minutes. At least! That, apparently, is far too much to ask. It's disappointing. Are people really that selfish? I tried to convince myself, when I was on my hands and knees, cleaning up broken glass, at 7 a.m. yesterday morning, in the dark, that people really aren't that bad. It's harder to sustain that line of thinking when you're being insulted by the same guy whom you let in when he was interrupting your sleep 4 hours ago, cleaning up tiny pieces of glass, apparently too loudly.

Man, fuck that guy. And to be fair, there's a little bit of him in me, when I feel like being imperious and an asshole and who knows what the shit else. Of course, it's not for him that anyone is kind, right? They're kind and generous and patient because they want to be, feel like they're compelled to be, ought to be, or maybe, because they don't want to be like him or contribute to that.

I hope.



Songs For Teenagers seems appropriate here, if only for it's title. It's a great song in its own right, and if you look around on youtube for it, you'll find not only the original version by Florida's Fake Problems, but also a cover by The Gaslight Anthem. Enjoy.