Sing into my mouth.

In the course of my travels through the landscape of the internet the other day I came across this:

The only lovers left alive.

At first I was actually stunned by how pretty and serene the moving image was. I thought to myself, “That is really quite pretty,” which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me.

Later, I looked at it again and it terrified me somewhat. It look on an ethereal quality, something more haunting. It was no longer just two people, frozen in a moment of happy contentment. Suddenly it looked almost… ghostly, you know? It got me thinking about the web of time, the way memories are sliced separate from reality. Some moments are really quite lovely, if only they could be frozen in place,  allowed to continue on forever, unaware of the progress or decline that comes as the world continues spinning past them. How wonderful it would be if you could preserve them like this, but wouldn’t that deprive them of their meaning, leaving them stripped of their context and ultimately hollow?

Oh well. Just thinking. Every love story eventually becomes a ghost story, and every happy home eventually becomes a haunted house.

Young Blood!

Mad linkage:

Nudists are seeking the next generation.

The grilled cheese sandwich gets a trendy rebirth.

An absolutely amazing abandoned end of the world bunker.

Animals that have Jack Shephard’s face.

“Only zealots and fools will continue to bow down to the gods of social media.”

Junot Diaz on Tokyo’s insane urbanism.

Relive Bill Paxton in all his glory in James Cameron’s Aliens.

FYI: The last name of the guy who plays Magnitude (which is short for “Magnetic Attitude”) on Community is Youngblood. Pop pop!

Martin Amis on Christopher Hitchens.

Japanese graffiti artist adds Fukushima disaster to famous A-bomb mural.

The haunted pod village of San-zhi.

An interview with Werner Herzog.

Professional online poker player ponders how he’ll make a living now.

Lindsay Lohan & Shenae Grimes: This should be interesting.

Thankfully the death of Osama Bin Laden doesn’t really affect Kathryn Bigelow’s film about the death of Osama Bin Laden.

Salvador Dali’s TV ads for chocolate, alka-seltzer, and wine.

On Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley.

Roberto Bolaño’s European adventures.

The Naked And Famous.

Jim Caviezel says that playing Jesus ruined his acting career. LOL. Good.

Baby was breastfed by wrong woman!

The man most likely to take top military job has never seen war.

The collected letters of Vladimir Nabokov.

Women are changing the sex industry from the inside, by Molly Lambert.

Guy Pearce cast in Ridley Scott’s Prometheus/Aliens prequel.

Will Ferrell shaved Conan O’Brien last night.

The pictures in this post are from this awesome collection of covers to the various editions of the novel and the two film adaptations of Lolita. Some really interesting design work there, ranging from the incredibly boring to the incredibly tantalizing.

Lolita is famous, not I. I am an obscure, doubly obscure, novelist with an unpronounceable name.”

-Vladimir Nabokov, interviewed in The Paris Review.

But I guess they just happened to miss this one:

from here.

Nikola Mihov’s fascinating photography series “Forget Your Past.”

Relive Bill Paxton in all his glory in James Cameron’s True Lies.

The billionaires go back to school.

Bin Laden’s legacy will depend in part on what Obama does next.

Al-Quaeda: the next generation?

Back To The Future 2 is totally amazing and depressing at the same time.

6 medication side effects straight out of a horror movie.

Tracing that fake MLK quote back to its source.

Hipster animals!

Hot women pandering to nerds.

Writing through time and space.

So, in my talking about the works of Russell T. Davies, especially on Doctor Who and “The End Of Time,” parts one and two the other day, I totally neglected to mention this:

The Writer’s Tale, a compilation of emails sent back and forth between Davies and journalist Benjamin Cook over the course of one year in the production and creation of the show, from the “Voyage Of The Damned” Christmas special and thru the fourth series to the following Christmas special, “The Next Doctor.”

This is quite an amazing book, more than the usual fluff that might be put out to cash in on the show’s fame, but more of an in depth and beautifully honest discussion by two people. And Davies is quite the figure, ever the “real” writer, primarily existing in the lonely twilight, chain smoking and pounding away on a keyboard, ironing out frustrations and finding the mad joy in the stories he’s making. Now, no book can truly capture the spark of creation that exists in a writer’s mind just the same as no science text can really tell you about the Big Bang, but this is a fascinating attempt.

Somehow Cook is both silent in the tale, letting Davies assume the full spotlight as he should, letting him become amazing candid, and also conjuring up the landscape to prompt more from the screenwriter. You eavesdrop on these men for something like 500 pages and it’s brilliant, sometimes cheeky and sometimes guilt-ridden and scared, letting the media personages fade away. You’d think this would something solely for the Doctor Who nuts out there, but it’d make a lovely gift for a writer who understands what it’s like pull shapes out of the ether, and Davies gives the craft the size and the majesty it deserves. And somehow, the book just doesn’t feel long enough.

…which lead to good news, I discovered quite by accident, since they’re revising and expanding the book for it’s upcoming paperback release, retitled to The Writer’s Tale: The Final Chapter, and presumably covering the creation of the last specials to feature David Tennant as the Tenth Doctor before Steven Moffat and Matt Smith take over. I can say that, without a doubt, I’ll be getting that as soon as it comes out.

Should be exciting. And I can only hope that Steven Moffat would do a similar project someday. As good as Davies is at these big crowd-pleasing and sweet, sometimes metaphysical, romps of adventure and romance, Moffat is just the same, but simpler, more tragic, more dark, and more human. He falls into the same category, for me, along with writers like Charlie Kaufman or Darin Morgan or Joss Whedon or Amy Hempel or Don Delillo or even Grant Morrison, creators whom I’d love to dissect the inner workings of their creative impulses, the way they move and think. And ultimately steal some inspiration from too, of course.

I’d possibly through Neil Gaiman on that list too, who I mentioned briefly and in passing here, because, while I don’t love everything he puts out, I admire his relentless entries into the creative. Not that Gaiman isn’t famous enough, but he really deserves the empire we’ve handed so easily to Stephen King. Of course, in my mind, the persistent rumors that Gaiman (and also possibly His Dark Materials‘ Phillip Pullman as well) might pen an episode of Doctor Who under Moffat’s tenure don’t exactly hurt either.

by Ape Lad, from here.

Speaking of writers…

How To Talk To Girls At Parties” by Neil Gaiman.

A short film based on Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous With Rama.

Picasso’s Guernica and Roberto Bolaño’s 2666.

Tk’tk’tk” by David D. Levine.

A Study In Emerald” by Neil Gaiman, a brilliant combination of the world of Sherlock Holmes intertwined with the Cthulhu mythos. As good as this story is, I should warn you that it’s really for those “hardcore” fans of the Holmes stories.

Warren Ellis talking about hauntology.

Bruce Sterling on the state of the world here in 2010.

The Nine Billion Names Of God” by Arthur C. Clarke.

I, Cthulhu” by Neil Gaiman. Is it Cthulhu Cthursday, right?

Oliver Wetter’s The Call Of Cthulhu, from here.