OK people, I want this to get thrown around a lot, join in if you feel like it but please reblog, add your own thoughts or stories or comments and let’s get this on the move! Let’s make a story. One big story that’s made with everyone contributing a charecter, a place or idea, absolutely […]
By those who lived through its interval, the 1960’s was a time both loved and loathed with equal measure. For every handful of good moments there was another handful of the bad ones. One thing is for certain,though: it was a damn hard era to forget. Oh sure, those of us who had reason to (not a small number) tried their best, but invariably met with little success. And why was that?
You see, the Summer of Love was more than just a tiny tick in the timeline of existence, it was a feeling, a vibe (if you can dig it) that became difficult to explain to later generations because you had to be there to know. It wasn’t something that was necessarily grim or pleasant, or both, it was just there. Pervading society and culture as well as every individual. Something that, unlike Haley’s comet or a blue moon, would never return this world again. No matter how long you wait, how hard you yearn for ‘back then’.
Life has a way of telling you to move the hell on, my dears. So you do … sort of.
… Yet the madness lingers on.
From the ensuing juvenility of the Republican candidacy, to the attacks in Brussels on Tuesday, it’s been an eventful past month – and it’s only the 24th, my dears.
I’m not going to be one of the archetypal old coots, standing on my front porch and shouting at passerby about the rapid deterioration of our world,” And just what the hell is wrong with today’s youth?”. Mainly because I don’t believe those are valid concepts, to be perfectly candid. The problems of today really aren’t so foreign to the ones of the 50’s and 60’s. The youth of today aren’t really depraved as the youngsters of the 80’s. They only seem different because, like all potent viruses, they have evolved to accommodate the times. It is a creeping madness, to be sure, but it has plagued us since man took his first breath of air (much cleaner back then, I’d wager).
Neither do I condone what is happening – what has been happening. These tragedies are terrible and unnecessary. But, if I may pose a question: Does anybody believe that these things could ever truly stop? Does anyone believe in a utopic society? The liars, the cheaters, the rapists, the killers … they will continue their existence. They are human. They are neighbors. They are friends.
They are us.
What can we do?
March Madness isn’t confined to one month, my dears, it is the summa of our life.
I’m afraid I’m not one for regularity, my dears. However, I would like to maintain some iota of frequency on my posts, so … here we are. As the song goes ” Back in the saddle again, out where a friend is a friend.” Lovely little ditty, that one. Gene Autry, I believe.
Currently, I am working on a novel called We Fear the Reaper (originally Don’t Fear the Reaper, but I don’t imagine the Blue Oyster Cult would have been pleased). It is a primarily a work of horror – what else?- but the underlying subject I wanted to explore is the tumultuous 60’s era, and the abuse of drugs like cocaine. The main character is a man who has had a hard life and has been addicted to ‘Charlie’ for nearly twenty years. He has an estranged wife and teen aged son, who love him yet can no longer abide his self-destructive ways. A dark little tale, and it doesn’t end well. I have faith in it, though, and its message.
Also in the works: a continuing cycle of stories called The Blackfeld Letters. The premise of this is to show the darkest and most chilling secret deeds of man, through fictional letters sent anonymously. Dear Blackfeld … I have at least five of these letters , and plan on many, many more. ( If anyone would like to suggest something for a letter, by all means do. I will certainly give due credit by posting with your name on The Devorian.)
Well, this was fun. For me anyway. Look out for another of Devore’s Visions, coming soon … how soon, I cannot say.
I lack consistency, my dears.