mr-dirtyluck1

There are a lot of places where poetry does not matter. Dark places. But in Rockford poetry matters. It matters the way Black lives matter. Rockford needs poetry, and poetry needs Rockford, for the very same reason that tautology would be considered a perfectly acceptable Chamber of Commerce slogan.

Misery lives in Rockford. A real, original kind of misery you can’t just find everywhere else. The kind that comes from a legacy of corruption, racism, and hatred.

As well as being the world’s leading Xenobiologist, Dr. Millard Rausch is also an Outlaw Poet. The Dirty Tricks Squad is happy to have been granted access to three of his poems from his book Flesh Wounds, published by Zombie Logic Press in 2011. Here’s a picture of something...

Warehouse

Old Toothless Thinks poetry Is for queers. “That shit You write ever Get you laid?” He asks with Jealousy and contempt. He’s no different Than dozens of Stock characters I’ve worked with In warehouses Trucks and bars. If they only knew How much business Their beer-drugged Cocks and flaccid Humanity sent My way.

The Winter Collection

A collection of jewelry Piles up by the bed- A jade ring, several earrings, A titanium stud I Inadvertantly pulled out Of one’s nipple with My teeth. The bathroom is littered With creams, potions And unclaimed toothbrushes. On occasion one will See another’s socks, Panties or hair thingamajigs Laying around and sniff Like an indignant cat. I make no attempt To hide the evidence. Hell, I’m all set If I ever decide to Become a crossdresser.

Contraband

The Hall of Bad Dudes is an online sociological museum curated by fictional anthropologist Dr. Henry Wolfsburg, who is an alias of Dr. Millard Rausch, who is a character in the movie Dawn of the Dead. He is the scientist who wears an eye patch and yells "dummies, dummies, dummies," when those who disagree with his analysis that the living dead are now no longer human and must be destroyed on sight, or later, that they should be fed to placate them. Such thinking certainly could end one up in the Hall of Bad Dudes, an online rogues gallery of some of the most shady, villainous characters in history, including Richard III, ten different Popes, Lance Armstrong, and Margaret Thatcher.

What is it exactly that qualifies one for inclusion in The Hall of Bad Dudes? No one really knows but curators Henry Wolfsburg and Millard Rausch. Hypocrisy doesn't seem to be one of their favorite transgressions, as many of the rogues in the Hall are notorious hypocrites. Playing sports certainly seems like a likely road to being memorialized in the Hall, as Lance Armstrong, Steve Alford, and Oscar Pistorius are in. Only one woman, Margaret Thatcher, has yet to be enshrined among the august assembly that is the Hall of Bad Dudes. August is probably the exact opposite of the word that would describe the members, though. Each has earned his or her way into the Hall by repeated and revolting acts of skullduggery, mayhem, and cruelty.

The Hall of Bad Dudes is often confused with the video game Bad Dudes, where some muscled up bad dudes try to beat up some other bad dudes and save president Ronald Reagan from some turtles. There is also a band named the Bad Dudes. It is unlikely the Bad Dudes will ever end up in the Hall of Bad Dudes, but never say never because Ted Nugent is a member. That's right, creative types do not have immunity from being included in the Hall of Bad Dudes, as Bill Cosby, J.D. Salinger, and Charles Schulz are members. It is also possible for fictional characters to get in, as the Hall once examined the possibility that Bad Bad Leroy Brown should be a member. He failed to pass muster as the lyrics of the song clearly demonstrated he wasn't even the baddest man in the song.

What more can I tell you about Dr. Henry Wolfsburg, Dr. Millard Rausch, or the Hall of Bad Dudes that hasn't already been said, mostly here? I will shortly attain my goal of having written 500 words on this awful topic and shut down my computer to watch Night Gallery on MeTV. My creative partner has been on my case increasingly lately because my efforts on the internet haven't produced any tangible outcomes, even justifiable cybernetic outcomes. For the sake of honesty, I have to admit for the first time since I discovered the internet, I'm growing bored with it. I no longer hold out any hope of reaching the audience I once dreamed was out there for my work, and even I did I no longer find my own work in the least bit interesting. Well, that's 500 folks, so maybe my next move should be voting myself into the Hall of Bad Dudes. I'm sure I can get doctors Wolfsburg and Rausch to concur.

A few movies are continually going to be unjustifiably defamed, and The Monster Club is one of them. Truly, it didn't have the best promoting crusade on the planet - I faintly recall seeing it advanced in the funnies of my childhood, and the notice is essentially a cartoon - making it appear to be a parody children film.

What's more, a percentage of the film is all that much played for chuckles - the consideration of a Bela Lugosi-like vampire wearing a "stake evidence vest" is immaculate end-of-The Generation Game representation material. Additionally you have the "creatures" who continuous the "club" of the title, who are essentially a pack of children in those full-head elastic covers you can purchase from joke shops. Yes, it is that awful. They really make BA Robertson's blue face make-up and teeth look tasteful. His music still sounds shite, however.

Ok yes, the music. Having a dance club scene in any film can be a mix-up, and when its a 80s film its far more detestable. Simply investigate such neon smeared bad dreams in gathered "classics" like The Terminator and Robocop to see precisely what I mean. They may have the capacity to make trustworthy relentless executing machines and ultra sensible way out injuries, however would they be able to make individuals move and look great on camera? Not a chance.

Furthermore, The Monster Club, as you'd anticipate from the title, is no special case - the whole encircling succession for the film is situated in simply such a spot. To aggravate matters, we're additionally "treated" to a group of musical "acts" who "treat" us to whole forms of their turgid delicate rock bollocks. Goodness, the awfulness.

However, don't despondency, its not all awful. As a last heave endeavor at an Amicus-style collection, in general it may not measure up to the confirmed virtuoso of From Beyond The Grave or Asylum, yet two out of the three stories are amazing - and really thump spots off some past fragments (Lucy Comes To Stay in Asylum, for instance).

Furthermore, as a trump card, and sparing the club-bound scenes, you've likewise got sheer class in the stately types of Vincent Price and John Carradine - who totally shimmer. They may have some stupid rubbish to gush, however the pair do it with class - not for them simply taking the cash and running. Besides you get the chance to see them two disco moving toward the end, which is justified regardless of the cost of affirmation alone (and really demonstrates that maybe individuals can move and look great on camera, giving they have style in any case).

The film begins with writer R Chetwynde-Haynes (Carradine) getting assaulted by a vampire (Price), who understands he's just nibbled the neck of his most loved essayist and as a statement of regret takes him to The Monster Club, where he regails him with three stories of dread. All things considered, two spooky stories and one Peter "Crackerjack" Glaze would turn his nose up at, in any case.

Utilizing a convenient delineated guide on the divider, Price demonstrates that between beast mating is overflowing - and by taking any two of the beginning four elements of a Vampire, a Werewolf, a Ghoul or a Human, you can concoct a Shadmock, or even a Humgoo (hold on for me...)

Shadmocks can disfigure or even slaughter with their shriek, which is an intriguing thought which the first story adventures to its maximum capacity. By turns touching and appalling, this portion is a visit de power which, if indicated as an independent dramatization on BBC1, would presumably win an honor or something.

The "creature" of the title is a fairly unfortunate figure, rearranging around in his house and taking care of his pigeons. His energy is demonstrated overwhelming everything in the vicinity when a feline chooses to crunch on one of his buddies, yet its full drive is just brought out when his heart is broken.

This fragment has numerous important pictures, particularly the conceal ball where the creatures (sensibly) never demonstrate their appearances. The last scenes are by turns tragic and stunning.

The second story includes the previously stated vampire, and even this one begins off promisingly, with the vampire's half-human child being sought after by energetic vampire seekers (among them Donald Pleasence and Anthony Valentine). However, it soon plummets into sham. Britt Ekland (the vampire's wife) has never been the world's most prominent performing artist, and Pleasence demonstrates that when the script calls for it he can be grisly terrible, as well.

Fortunately, the last story is another visit de constrain as an American blood and guts film maker takes a wrong turn and winds up in an overlooked town inhabited by primative nutters. Taking shelter in a congregation with an amicable Humgoo (a result of union twixt human and devil, despite the fact that why anybody would need to shag a flesh eater is past me, their breath must smell horrendous), he battles off sundry villagers (counting a practically downplayed Patrick Magee) before scrambling toward it, just to discover that its not going to be that simple to escape...

At long last we are educated that Carradine is to turn into an individual from the club, in light of the fact that "people are the greatest creatures of all". Not an extremely particular passageway strategy, then.

It's possible I may be one of the last people on planet Earth to have been diagnosed with Schizoid Personality Disorder. Over the past couple of decades the diagnosis has largely been replaced with more specific, well-studied disorders along the Autistic Spectrum. I found out I had Schizoid Personality Disorder by accident when I was undergoing treatment for depression and an aversion to school and social interactions when my psychologist left his door open and told the psychiatrist I was about to see for a referral for anti-depressants that I was a "Schizoid kid." If I'm here to be treated for depression what does he mean by Schizoid kid I thought to myself. I'd seen the word before, mostly on the boxes of horror movies, and like many people confused Schizoid with Schizophrenia, and I wondered what kind of a monster I was being classified as. This was the early 1980's, so I couldn't just home and Google Schizoid. I had to go to the public library and look it up. In retrospect, after getting a Psychology degree, it seems ironic and counterproductive to hide diagnoses, assessments, and treatment plans from one's clients. After all, how is one supposed to even remedy an ill you don't think they have the wherewithall to tell them they have in the first place?

"Schizoid personality disorder is an uncommon condition in which people avoid social activities and consistently shy away from interaction with others. It affects more males than females. If you have schizoid personality disorder, you may be seen as a loner, and you may lack the desire or skill to form close personal relationships. To others, you may appear somewhat dull or humorless. Because you don't tend to show emotion, you may appear as though you don't care about what's going on around you. Although you may seem aloof, you may actually feel lonely, even if it's hard for you to acknowledge. Or you may feel much more at ease being alone, and feel comfortable with your life."-Mayo Clinic

Later in life I fell upon some bad times and needed help again dealing with mental illness. It was now the internet age, and no one had really used the term Schizoid Personality Disorder in a long time, and from my readings I understood there was no treatment that was successful, anyway. More importantly, there was no drug the major drug companies could sell you, so it seemed ironic that with no drug to push no one was really interested in dealing with patients with SPD. Indeed the entire disorder is probably destined for the dust bin of Psychological history. Every mental health professional I encountered was so eager and excited to get me on an anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication they just never even bothered to deal with issue of my Schizoid Personality Disorder. But I had to. I had to have a life, and work, and interact with other human beings despite having a missing component that made it virtually impossible to relate to, or be understood by, other human beings.

I did what a lot of mentally ill people do for most of my thirties: I self-medicated. Which was a convenient solution for me because I worked in bars for that entire decade of my life. I drank to be able to deal with other people, then I drank after that because it was there.

Why am I glad to have Schizoid personality Disorder? Because SPD is part of my personality, part of my history, part of my make up as a human being. The same way one might be known for having a cheerful or positive disposition, that might be an attribute they are proud of, even though it is probably an accident of genetics. I don't have bitterness or ongoing anger that some component of my humanity never showed up in the mail. I have learned to rather successfully translate myself to other people, and have come to have a sensitivity for their wide array of "feelings." On occasion I have wondered what it would be like to just be a human, not to constantly worry about actinf human, but whatever I am isn't so bad after all.

Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things is quite frequently referred to as a campy, low budget zombie movie made in 1973 by director Bob Clark and writer/actor Alan ormsby, who later created the Porky's series of movies about life in Southern Florida during the early 1960's. The movie was also known as Revenge of the Living Dead, Things From the Dead, and Zreaks at different points in its evolution.

The movie consisted of a crew of relatively young and inexperienced actors, crew, and production team that all seemed to be having a good time both on screen and off. The movie was made for an estimated budget of $70,000 and was released by Genini Film Distributors mostly for a drive-in movie audience. The movie starred Alan Ormsby as a power-mad theater troup director who had delusions of grandeur, but was nonetheless capable of transforming an island cemetery and caretaker's abandoned shack into a pretty exciting evening of terror. Valerie Mamches, Jeff Gillen, Anya Ormsby, Jane Daly, and Paul Cronin also star. Many of these actors never worked very much after Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, although Gillen did return to play a mall Santa Claus in Bob Clark's iconic Christmas movie The Christmas Story.

The plot of the movie involves Ormsby's character taking his theater troup to an island used as a cemetery then using a necromicon and Satanic summation to raise the dead, including one Orville Dunworth, who they exhume and drag to the shack of the former caretaker of the cemetery, who Alan claims had hung himself to add to the atmosphere of horror he is trying to instill in his actors. After his summation of Satan probably fails, Alan is upstaged by his former lover Valerie, who steps into Orville's grave and delivers a comic diatribe against Satan that in my estimation does manage to raise the dead from their graves.

While the troup relaxes at the caretaker's shack, lamenting the failure of the ceremony and the possibility that the weekend is a bummer trip, the dead rise from their graves and descend upon the shack. Here is where I differ with many critiques that the movie is simply and early 70's example of schlock. The zombie makeup is done really well, and the rising from the grave scenes done very deftly. It is scary. It is an effective zombie movie that in addition manages to be funny and not take the subject too seriously. With dialogue thrown in referencing hippie cults ala the Manson Family the island cemetery, supposedly a real one near Coconut Grover,a nd also used in the movie Porky's 2, is legitimately creepy, and both the colors and sound by Carl Zittrer are effective.