But let us start Thursday with something I was not in, but attended.  Thursday night offered an, as it were, otherworldly start to the Halloween weekend with a 100-year commemoration of Cabaret Voltaire.  Say what?  In the sponsors’ words:  On 5 February 1916, in the back room of a small bar in Zurich, a group of artists launched a nightclub which changed the course of modern art.  Cabaret Voltaire was the home of Dada, a movement that revolutionized European culture and led to seismic global shifts in art, literature, music, film.  Like Punk, Dada survives as an attitude, a rejection of aesthetic convention and authority.  A hundred years later, The Burroughs Century Ltd. and the Wounded Galaxies Festival are creating a dracula1958-melissastriblingandchristopherlee-50one-night-only homage:  a feast of the senseless.  This was at a local Bloomington nightclub and included, yes, movies as a sort of background/ accompaniment, some old, some just filmed,  but all experimental.  Added were musical and spoken word performances, as well as costumes — some quite creative — worn by onlookers (mine, less creative, was of a Zurich bourgeois who has come for an evening of entertainment).  Odd and fun, the event was also a fundraiser for Wounded Galaxies Festival to help with more presentations in the future.

Then Friday came the reading performance of Act I of D. L. Mabbott’s play THE UNFINISHED (cf. October 19), with two readers who also performed the night before, Joan Hawkins and Anthony Brewer, and two who didn’t, Shayne Laughter and me.   Or, quoting Shayne, [f]ree, tonight, at The Back Door!  I’m reading with Joan Hawkins — we are two lovely ladies in the organ harvesting biz, Tony Brewer is the burglar who sees too much, and James Dorr is the Inspector who . . .  well.  We could call this a 21st-century “Arsenic and Old Lace,” with more sex and stabbing.  This also was at a local nightclub, sponsored by the Bloomington Writers Guild, and while underattended (in this case perhaps because it was early, before many patrons had arrived, but more to the point before we’d be displaced by the night’s headlined band*), quite a bit of fun.

Then, Saturday having been a day off of sorts, Sunday night brought back the Ryder Film Festival (see October 27, 24, 17), this time with two films at local tavern Bear’s Place, 1958’s Hammer production HORROR OF DRACULA and new Korean ghost movie THE WAILING (the latter also screened tombs-final-copylast Sunday at the Buskirk-Chumley theatre), including my rescheduled reading of “Raising the Dead.”  As originally planned for last week, it preceded THE WAILING, scheduled at 7:30 but, because that’s the way things seem to work, actually starting about ten minutes late.   Like Friday’s play-reading the “crowd” was sparse (maybe the big kids were out trick-or-treating too) although at all times it outnumbered the players (me), even picking up a bit about half-way through.  Such is the way of the oral presenter.  “Raising the Dead,” billed by the Ryder as a tale of necromancy, dark fantasy, airships, and doomed love, is a story/chapter to be included in my forthcoming novel TOMBS:  A CHRONICLE OF LATTER-DAY TIMES OF EARTH, due out from Elder Signs Press in spring-summer next year, and concerns an attempt to reunite a deceased man’s soul to his body by raising the latter up into the air, where souls congregate, during an impending storm.

But of course, if things all worked as planned, it wouldn’t very well be horror, would it?
.

* The walk over, in fact, included fording a river of Halloween-costumed children and parents.

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