IS A PREDICAMENT some of us are now realizing is ours. Robots and space travel-- the rise of a dictatorship. Restoration of extinct forms. And so forth, and so on. All foreseen by Pulp-magazine prophets. Technophobia (from Greek τέχνη technē, "art, skill, craft" and φόβος phobos, "fear"), also known as techno-fear, is the dislike of, or discomfort with, advanced technology or complex devices-- especially personal computers, smartphones, and tablet computers. You know, although there are numerous interpretations of the term, these tend to become more complex as technology continues ever faster to evolve. The word's generally used in the sense of an "irrational" fear, but others do contend these selfsame fears are justified. It's the opposite of technophilia. An impartial, historically-minded approach suggests that there are three dominant subcategories of so-called technophobes – the "uncomfortable users", the "cognitive computerphobes", and "anxious computerphobes" (which are you?)... First receiving widespread notice during the Industrial Revolution, technophobia has caused some groups to take stances against a pulsating plethora of modern technological developments in order to preserve their pre-techno ideologies. In some cases, any new technologies conflict with established beliefs, such as the personal values of simplicity and modesty...

COME, LET US kiss and part.
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes—
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!

All things in the universe must have a beginning and an ending, including the universe itself, according to Hanūṣ, cosmic space Spider often referenced here. [Actually, in addition to being the name of the Bohemian nobleman and intricate clock-designer-builder in Sanskrit, "Hanūṣ" has the meaning of demon or goblin. Putting that particular disturbing datum aside, we at Ask Dr. Hal! believe in the bona fides of the Spider, who was assigned that name by Czech astronaut Jakub, when we mention that wise Arachnid on this program.] So it is that Love also comes to an end, and we must in this life endure the death of Love as we also abide Death itself. But in the former case, perhaps... just perhaps, poet Michael Drayton suggests, the deceased has a hidden vitality and may, if encouraged, return to Life. Drayton (1563-1631), a personal friend of Shakespeare, wrote this verse, which flashes a strange and stoic note of modernity. One line was used by the late John D. MacDonald as a book title: CANCEL ALL OUR VOWS... But Drayton was mostly known in his own time by his Epic poem NYMPHIDIA, a work about the amours and battles of tiny beings, the diminutive Fairy folk (1627), including Queen Mab (Oberon's first wife, later replaced by the better known Titania). Yes, Mab in the poem is the wife of the fairy king Oberon and is the queen of the diminutive fairies. Mab is similarly mentioned as a pixie-like fairy in works by Ben Jonson, John Milton, and Robert Herrick. Her place as queen of the fairies in English folklore was eventually taken over by Titania. But here we have tiny insect-riding gauzy winged minikins and their amours and court intrigues. This poem only seems of interest to scholars in this Year of Grace. For more on NYMPHIDIA and Drayton, see THE OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY by C.S. Lewis. For those like us, affected by the sorrows of loss of a love, we offer his cited short poem.

INCITER OF IMPROVISATION, plays a puissant prank on us at the start-- this mischief-mongering being stealthily surreptitiously subtracting 20 minutes of playtime, causing us to start the show twenty minutes late... So, the result was that last week's show plays here, plays right up to 21:48, before this week's true episode commences. And how fortunate that we are visited then, first by KrOB and then by Mr. David Normal, back from yet another trip into mysterious regions of the unknown East. These are top-notch guests; with their assistance we actually do better than usual. Not a flopperoo, not a bit. How about that? Thus, we fit the paradigm once again of being in an apparent deadly dive toward Earth and a fiery, fatal crash-- only to pull up somehow at the very last possible moment and fly on. This, we find, is in our own case a fractal pattern that repeats indefinitely. Until it won't someday, and we Come to the Ultimate Terminal, where Everything's Final and Nothing is Germinal. Also from our reticule: Dr. H. Owll's address to the assembled Pagans at the Starwood festival a few years back-- the topic: "Deflecting the Conspiracy." This is the sort of sermon the Church of the SubGenius mandates and encourages, one that we have in our repertoire. So we find that in the end that slippery Imp has not derailed us after all with his wiles (See Alexis-Vincent Berbiguier, "Les Farfadets" [On The Imps], 1764, 3 Vols.; 1200 pp.).

...OF THE FIRST CHURCH of the Last Laugh-- St. Stupid's Day will be April first, and it will bring the annual St. Stupid's Day Parade. We will also be there, as will Puzzling Evidence and others. In our show we discuss the Parade and its 47-year history in San Francisco with the Bishop, our on-air guest. At the Parade, by the way, we will be passing out our highly collectable Jack T. Chick-style tract, STUPID? As it does every year, the Doggie Diner Heads platform will roll with the Parade, also bearing Wavy Gravy, Puzzling Evidence and Bishop Joey. We, though somewhat reined in by the pains of age, will attempt the March afoot. Join us at Noon at the foot of Market Street, then follow along to and through the Seven Stations of Stupidity. If you miss this event-- well, there's always next year...

AND GODS inform this episode, beginning with the six-tusked elephant who dwelt on the Golden Mountain and foretold the birth of the Buddha. Primordial beings in a Legendary age generated later generations of sui generis creatures. For example, many of the most distinctive players in Hellenic lore Greek were descendants of Typhon, the most deadly monster of Greek mythology, according to some authorities. He, Typhon, was the last son of Gaia, fathered by Tartarus. This tentacular mountain-sized beast is known as the “Father of All Monsters.” Instead of a human head, a hundred Ghidorah-like dragon heads erupted from Typhon's neck and shoulders. His wife, Echidna, Mrs. Typhon, half woman and half snake, was likewise, and symmetrically, the “Mother of All Monsters.” Together, this couple in their time raised some of the most well-known monsters and creatures in all of legendry. To mention only a few-- Orthrus, a fearsome two-headed hound that lived with giants, not to be confused with Ray Harryhausen's Dioskilos, the Sphinx, a half-human, half-lion who would slay anybody who did not answer his-her riddles (Sphinxes partake of both sexes and have both male and female genitals and female breasts), who, when Oedipus was able to answer a riddle correctly, is said to have jumped into the ocean in a fit of rage and drowned, the Nemean Lion, a gigantic felid with impenetrable skin that eventually became the star constellation Leo... There are numerous descendants of Typhon, including Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to Hades. And forget not Ladon. That's the name of that serpentiform dragon (drakon) who guards the golden apples in the Garden of the Hesperides, coiled around the bole of the Garden's central Tree and associate of the two devastatingly beautiful, naked Daughters of the Hesperides. With: Pete Goldie, Puzzling Evidence, KrOB (live!) and others.

DURING HIS VARIEGATED CAREER, in which he met or encountered many. Of course, here we do not speak of Victor Frankenstein, who brought the divine spark of life to the creature, but of that latter being himself-- the name is used as a metaphoric appellation in this production, in which a sort of cyborg-- a partially machine being, is "Frankenstein." A NASA astronaut with one too many space accidents in his past, the semi-human reveals his inner workings; as the plot progresses, various burns uncover the subcutaneous mechanical network, doing nothing for his cosmetic needs. Preposterous Martians kidnap bikini babes from the beach while the creature's struggles progress elsewhere-- these females are needed to replenish the humanoid Martian population, as the (female) Martian leader explains.
Later we touch upon the Alchemical philosophy of one Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, who went by Paracelsus, and discuss the variety of Nymphs who preside over various realms. A note: as we do frequently these days, we present the close of the show before the literal end of the hour. Late-night drawing with the present generation of Underground cartoonists takes place after we end our podcast, so to prepare for this activity we conclude prematurely and provide music, in this case by the great Bernard Herrmann.

...BUT LET'S TRY TO KEEP IT HONEST, shall we? We begin with Thomas Hardy's "The Darkling Thrush." And: Experiences as a grave-robber. The allegedly evil skull destroyed by occult practicioners. How the Martians got that way. The Nasmork. Jon's World, Second Variety by P.K. Dick. Conversation with Jett. The return of Janor (with Phineas and Aunt Bertha). Love for the Broken-Hearted. SubGenius ranters and howlers. Puzzling Evidence hovers, with Ivan Stang. Watching the lovely and talented Appel Berry get a tattoo at Dermaphilia. The Convergence of the Twain, by Thomas Hardy. The Jerusalem Cricket-- it's not really a cricket. Don't let one inflict "a painful nip." A love letter to THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, a gloss on the recent SCARY MONSTERS article (in Issue #138) by Allen Champion. And to the great Ernest Thesiger, born 15 January, 1879, in London, the third of four children of the Hon. Sir Edward Peirson Thesiger (1842–1928), K.C.B., Clerk Assistant to Parliament, and Georgina Mary, daughter of William Bruce Stopford-Sackville, of Drayton House, Thrapston, Northamptonshire, of the family of the Earl of Courtown. Ernest was the grandson of the 1st Lord Chelmsford, first cousin once removed of the explorer and author Wilfred Thesiger (1910–2003), and the nephew of the 2nd Lord Chelmsford.
As a young man, he attended Marlborough College and the Slade School of Art, with aspirations of becoming a painter, but quickly switched to the study of drama (though he never gave up painting and brought some of his canvases to the set of THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, as we once saw photographic confirmation of in Forrest J. Ackerman's FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND magazine). Let's mention here that he also walked in demonstrations with the Men's League for Women's Suffrage at their history-making mass rally in 1909.
Then there was his service in the Great War for Civilization: after the outbreak on 31 August 1914, he volunteered with the British Army's Territorial Force, enlisting into the 2nd Battalion of the 9th London Regiment (Queen Victoria's Rifles), as Rifleman No. 2546 at its Regimental Headquarters in London's West End. After training in England for three months, he was sent to the Western Front in late 1914 with the Q.V.R.'s 1st Battalion. And on 1 January 1915, he was wounded in the trenches, and medically evacuated back to England. Thesiger's interest in needlework had begun with buying and repairing pieces of historical embroidery with his brother in law William Ranken while in France. After the military incident in a combat-related barn explosion, his hands had been damaged-- and on return home, despite the Ministry of Pensions declaring it "too effeminate an occupation for men," Thesiger developed small sewing kits for soldiers similarly injured to provide activity and pain relief. These eventually provided the basis for what was to become The Disabled Soldiers' Embroidery Industry, still to be found active at 42 Ebury Street, London. As "Honorary Secretary Cross-Stitch," Thesiger was convinced that needlework could improve injured men's morale and earn some money, for he also obtained multiple commissions, including an Altar frontal for private use in Buckingham Palace itself.
At a dinner party shortly after his return, someone asked him what it had been like in France, to which he is supposed to have responded "Oh, my dear, the noise! and the people!"
In 1917, he married Janette Mary Fernie Ranken (1877–1970), sister of his close friend and fellow Slade graduate William Bruce Ellis Ranken. In her biography of Thesiger's friend, Ivy Compton-Burnett, Hilary Spurling has suggested that Thesiger and Janette wed largely out of their mutual adoration of William, who shaved his head when he learned of the engagement. Another source states more explicitly that Thesiger made no secret of his bisexuality, which public acknowledgement we should believe in, though he has been smeared by Clive Barker as a single-sex player in recent years. The great Thesiger, whose movies are all worth tracking down, moved in several artistic, literary and theatrical circles, and is reported to have spent time with her Highness Queen Mary, both doing needlework. And the OTHER movie featuring "Doctor Pretorious" with a secret history. Would you believe... Cary Grant? That movie is PEOPLE WILL TALK. Three hours, with a brief "after-show..."

BY MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES is featured, though marred by the leak-through from the disco next door through Radio Valencia's uninsulated east wall and from the hooting and shouts of the street crowd outside the door awaiting entrance. Rotting ash wood is a valuable invertebrate habitat, if you happen to be an invertebrate-- and, if you are not, well, --not so valuable, as a feature on your property. The tale also suggests Bibliomancy as a vessel for prophecy. If only those who tried it had interpreted it properly. Particularly Sir Matthew Fell who did not come down to receive his first meal. According to the account: "Servants went and knocked at his chamber door. I need not prolong the description of their anxious listenings and renewed batterings on the panels. The door was opened at last from the outside, and they found their master dead and black. So much you have guessed. That there were any marks of violence did not at the moment appear...

"One of the men went to fetch the Parson, and then by his directions rode on to give Notice to the Coroner. [The Vicar,] Mr. Crome himself went as quick as he might to the Hall, and was shown to the room where the dead man lay. He has left some Notes among his papers which show how genuine a respect and sorrow was felt for Sir Matthew, and there is also this passage, which I transcribe for the sake of the light it throws upon the course of events, and also upon the common beliefs of the time:

'There was not any the least Trace of an Entrance having been forc'd to the Chamber: but the Casement stood open, as my poor Friend would always have it in this Season. He had his Evening Drink of small Ale in a silver vessel of about a pint measure, and tonight had not drunk it out. This Drink was examined by the Physician from Bury, a Mr. Hodgkins, who could not, however, as he afterwards declar'd upon his Oath, before the Coroner's quest, discover that any matter of a venomous kind was present in it. For, as was natural, in the great Swelling and Blackness of the Corpse, there was talk made among the Neighbours of Poyson. The Body was very much Disorder'd as it laid in the Bed, being twisted after so extream a sort as gave too probable Conjecture that my worthy Friend and Patron had expir'd in great Pain and Agony. And what is as yet unexplain'd, and to myself the Argument of some Horrid and Artfull Designe in the Perpetrators of this Barbarous Murther, was this, that the Women which were entrusted with the laying-out of the Corpse and washing it, being both sad Persons and very well Respected in their Mournfull Profession, came to me in a great Pain and Distress both of Mind and Body, saying, what was indeed confirmed upon the first View, that they had no sooner touch'd the Breast of the Corpse with their naked Hands than they were sensible of a more than ordinary violent Smart and Acheing in their Palms, which, with their whole Forearms, in no long time swell'd so immoderately, the Pain still continuing, that, as afterwards proved, during many weeks they were forc'd to lay by the exercise of their Calling; and yet no Mark seen on the Skin.

'Upon hearing this, I sent for the Physician, who was still in the House, and we made as carefull a Proof as we were able by the Help of a small Magnifying Lens of Crystal of the condition of the Skinn on this Part of the Body: but could not detect with the Instrument we had any Matter of Importance beyond a couple of small Punctures or Pricks, which we then concluded were the Spotts by which the Poyson might be introduced, remembering that Ring of Pope Borgia, with other known Specimens of the Horrid Art of the Italian Poysoners of the last age.

'So much is to be said of the Symptoms seen on the Corpse. As to what I am to add, it is meerly my own Experiment, and to be left to Posterity to judge whether there be anything of Value therein. There was on the Table by the Beddside a Bible of the small size, in which my Friend—punctuall as in Matters of less Moment, so in this more weighty one—used nightly, and upon his First Rising, to read a sett Portion. And I taking it up—not without a Tear duly paid to him which from the Study of this poorer Adumbration was now pass'd to the contemplation of its great Originall—it came into my Thoughts, as at such moments of Helplessness we are prone to catch at any the least Glimmer that makes promise of Light, to make trial of that old and by many accounted Superstitious Practice of drawing the Sortes: of which a Principall Instance, in the case of his late Sacred Majesty the Blessed Martyr King Charles and my Lord Falkland, was now much talked of. I must needs admit that by my Trial not much Assistance was afforded me: yet, as the Cause and Origin of these Dreadfull Events may hereafter be search'd out, I set down the Results, in the case it may be found that they pointed the true Quarter of the Mischief to a quicker Intelligence than my own.

'I made, then, three Tryalls, opening the Book and placing my Finger upon certain Words: which gave in the first these Words, from Luke xiii. 7, Cut it down; in the second, Isaiah xiii. 20, It shall never be inhabited; and upon the third Experiment, Job xxxix. 30, Her young ones also suck up blood.'

"This is all that need be quoted from Mr. Crome's papers. Sir Matthew Fell was duly coffined and laid into the earth, and his funeral sermon, preached by Mr. Crome on the following Sunday, has been printed under the title of 'The Unsearchable Way; or, England's Danger and the Malicious Dealings of Antichrist,' it being the Vicar's view, as well as that most commonly held in the Neighbourhood, that the Squire was the victim of a Recrudescence of the Popish Plot." Yes, the fraudulent operations of one Titus Oates, who does not come into this story, were big news in England at that time. (The Popish Plot turned out to be malicious myth-making, like the "Q-Anon" fabrications in our own sad time. Also: Thoughts on I WAS A TEENAGE FRANKENSTEIN and divers other matters...

IS KNOWN AS A PRIMAL AND PRIMORDIAL BEING ruling over all other creatures of the sea. There are varying descriptions of the origins and intent of the beast in history which acknowledge its pre-human genesis–- and most unite in agreement that the monster is dangerous and truly capable of terrifying destruction. He was created as one of the first creatures, one of three Ur-beings that could hold great power on the Terrestrial Plane. BEHEMOTH, vast powerful and of bull-like bulk, was dowered with dominion over the lands of Tellus (the Earth), while the great Air Dragon ZIZ, an Aerial Serpentiform of the troposphere, was awarded reign over the skies. Lastly, LEVIATHAN was given rule over all the seas – though originally the wine-dark Mediterranean was his home. Of these three Titan monsters, the mighty Leviathan, in some accounts associated with Jormungandr the Midgard Serpent, was thought to be the most powerful among them. This is possibly because of the profound perils of the sea, and also perhaps because the Leviathan was known to be destructive, while Behemoth and the flighted Ziz were in comparison relatively unaggressive creatures. In the Beginning, there were supposedly two Leviathans – a breeding pair, the sire and the mare. They were fashioned to keep each other company in the trackless seas, but as time went on it became clear that both gigantic organisms could not be allowed to survive. According to the secret lore, the Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything foresaw that in the fullness of time the Leviathan would take over (and possibly devour) the world, if able to create offspring. Alternative or apocryphal versions also say that it was only necessary to kill one of the mountainous marine monstrosities after it had been corrupted by an evil fallen Archon, an entity causing it to lose its inoffensive nature and become a Juggernaut of great destructive power. And so, in the Time of Legend, in order that He might preserve the lives of his other creations, Yahweh descended to the earth to battle and destroy the she-Leviathan. There was a great struggle between Yahweh and the female during epicycles and lustrums of Cosmic Time, but the Ancient of Days prevailed and was eventually able to kill the female, which saved the rest of his creations from ingestion. The male Leviathan, bitter from the loss of his ordained partner, awaits the End Times, it is said, when He also will battle with Yahweh, making the firmament shake and shiver. During the program KrOB's Banana Gummies were entirely consumed, necessitating the later purchase of a second bag.

WE RETURN TO CONVEY what we have learned. We survived the Museum of Death and other strange venues. Now we shall put our house in order. We saw various elephant forms and an immense Titanosaur. These meanderings, in the meantime, are leavened in this episode by the succedaneum of a timely visit from KrOB on his rounds. Do watch our next show on Twitch, February 16th at 6 PM Pacific Standard time.

OR. TALKING SHOP WITH THE UNDERGROUND Cartoonists. The talented Appel Berry and her associate Dr. Tangeman reappear for conversations and reminiscences. The latter was actually drawing with ink during the show. Anonymous trolls on the Chatterbox seemed particularly offended and hurled their bromides accordingly. A criticism of metastatic Capitalism is a necessary historical feature in an audio survey of the history of the decline of the medium.

--THE ONE THAT WAS SOLDERED in the thought, before the Pitch was Forking to a Sun. The dead live again on this episode, specifically Dr. H. Owll's late brother Dr. Ygrundas Quimby, Jr. a.k.a. Jeff Robins (obit 2002). These commemorations were primarily instigated in the late 1980s after the making of the obscure motion picture, KAMILLIONS. Hear the brothers, varied others. With: Stan Freberg. Also with: Dylan Thomas, Clark Ashton Smith, G.K. Chesterton, Jeremy Taylor, Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, excerpted courtesy of The Dobbstown Mirror, SubGenius newspaper, Rev. Onan Canobite, Editor. Three hours. Happy New Year, if such may be! Stay alive in '25!

BY WILLIAM BLAKE, Artist-Engraver. This fam'd Poem, which may be found within the Show, is assum'd to have been written in Year 1803, but was not Publish'd until full Sixty Years pass'd, in the Companion Volume to Alexander Gilchrist's Biography of that Poet. These Exhortations contain a Series of apparent Paradoxes which speak of Innocence juxtapos'd with Evil and Mortal Corruption. The Work consisteth of 132 Lines and has been oft Reproduc'd with and without Breaks, thus dividing it into Stanzas. An Augury, a Sign or Omen inherent in the Poetick Voice, we offer as we do confront the New Year; such Precepts as the Singer shews by Example may be likened unto a Candle Flame, we assert, within the Surrounding Darkness. The Next Week shall bring One more Show this departing Year. Also: Giant Spiders of the Underground Realms, etc.

AS PROMISED as part of this episode. Comparatively, Zorn of Zorna hardly appears in the second half of Thurber's book. His great battle with the Duke's Iron Guard and its commander, Kang, occurs offstage while the Golux and Saralinda discover how to start the frozen clocks. The origins of Hark and, to a degree Saralinda are explained, and, inevitably, the Todal, an unspeakable agent of the Devil sent to punish evildoers for not being evil enough, gleeps the Duke; after this there is nothing left. Pictured: The Toads in the Rice that ate the Poppycockalorum and the Cockahoopatrice. Their tale was related by the Golux (see part one, last week's podcast) to prompt Hagga, the woman who could weep jewels and precious stones, to shed her famous tears. The prompt was unsuccessful-- she was stony-faced --but unexpectedly Hagga then wept the Tears of Laughter, producing the thousand jewels the iron Duke had demanded. Unknown to the Duke's avarice, however, the Tears of Laughter, unlike the Tears of Sorrow, melt in a fortnight back to salt tears. When this happened, with a sound like sighing, the Duke had to face the Todal, and despite his Destiny-defying resistance in the face of overwhelming doom, was swiftly, and inevitably gleeped. Also: the legendary Marriage of Janor and Aunt Bertha, with Best Man Phineas Narco, from the Nacreous Archives. Three hours. DO view the Ask Dr. Hal! Show, the Home Edition, this Sunday at 6:00 PM Pacific Time FREE by going to www.askdrhalshow.com --then join us in the After-Show Chat Room found at the same useful URL.

PART ONE. By request, we are reading James Thurber's story again on Radio Valencia. During this episode we presented the first half of the book. The Duke of Coffin Castle was as cold as he was evil. Many were the suitors who came to win the hand of his beautiful niece, the Princess Saralinda. Under a spell, she lived in the castle-- and in fact, wasn't his niece at all; he planned to marry her himself. The suitors unvaryingly met death after failing to surmount the Duke's preposterously impossible tasks. But, disguised as a ragged minstrel, the Prince Zorn of Zorna, aided by the Golux, a semi-divine being, having been imprisoned by the Duke, was released to attempt the latest task-- to find a thousand jewels within ninety and nine hours and bring them to Coffin Castle. At the time of delivery, the thirteen frozen clocks in the castle would have to be striking the hour. Many had tried to fix them but they could not ever be made to go. The Duke always claimed to have murdered Time himself, to have wiped his bloody blade upon His beard as He lay stricken, His mainspring stopped and His pendulum disintegrating. The Duke himself was the potential victim of a horrendous monster, the Todal, an agent of the Devil sent to punish evildoers for not being evil enough, were he, and not any of the suitors of Saralinda, to fail. The unspeakable Todal would Gleep you-- and there would be nothing left. After a long journey, the Golux and the Prince climbed a lonely hill and visited Hagga, a hermit-like woman who could weep precious stones. Although she had never been able to weep for years, they somehow induced her to laugh-- and as she shed the tears of laughter, these too became precious stones... Later is the show we had a welcome visitor of our own-- KrOB... Next week: the second half. Three hours.

OR, MIXING to Create-- By combining threads of (mainly) two Archived episodes, we synthesize a new creation, also overlaying it with an intermittent reactive vocal performance. And in future we might so employ this newly-created amalgam to make yet another of this type. In this way, dead voices may be made to live again... So the combining of often diverse conceptions into a coherent whole epitomizes artistic creation, in which, perhaps, the dialectic combination of thesis and antithesis resolves into an entirely new form. With: Phineas, Janor, Philo, KrOB, Ginger Vee, Puzzling Evidence, Dominique Stigmata, Jody Donaldson, Jim Khennedy, the late Don Joyce and others, here revived for our purposes. Once again, the eternal Show walks the earth, when deranged “edits” segue into a cascade of echoing glossolaliac madness, the voicing of lyric ruminations from the free-falling brains of disintegrating personalities. Three hours.

...AGAINST MY RUINS, as we say. Fragmentation is both a theme and a formal feature of the Ask Dr. Hal! Show, the Puzzling Evidence show long on KPFA and its successor feeder show, Reloadio (ongoing). The fragmentary nature of certain recorded previous archival material, eternally "ploughed under" and then, through an active synthesis, "seeded" to produce a new layer in active currency, mirrors the social, psychological, and spiritual fragmentation of the cultural entities extant in the Noosphere after the final U.S. election. National borders will be changing and citizens’ nerves shot to bits as unstable and mobile populations, refugees from Authoritarianism and climate change disasters, move across previously official frontiers, many of these suffering from shell-shock or PTSD. This presentation, alas, offers no solution, except to offer the enduring fragments in new combinations. Song: "Me and my Mummy," by Bobby "Boris" Pickett and his Crypt Keepers. No guests this show, but perhaps we'll have some anon, on a nearing future episode. Three hours.

PAY ASK DR. HAL! A VISIT on Radio Valencia... something of an experimental nature. One, Floyd, actually drew comic strips WHILE the Show was going on. Unfortunately, getting lost in his work, always a possibility, he often sinks into inaudibility as, bent over his work, his lips retreat from the vicinity of the microphone. Another artist of talent, Appel Berry, is more easy to hear during the conversation marking this episode. We think we will be featuring these two again in some future episode. The lore and history of this medium is always a gateway into a nearly infinite landscape of literary and artistic creation. Pen-and-ink rules! We speak of the amazing work of Basil Wolverton and other stars of the comic book plenum. Also, excerpts from the once (but most likely not the future) live Ask Dr. Hal! Show of yore. Additionally featuring an all-too-brief stop-in from KrOB. 3 hours.

HIGHLIGHTS THIS EPISODE, a reading from Smith's long lyric poem. The poem is also titled The Apocalypse of Evil:

Bow down: I am the emperor of dreams;
I crown me with the million-colored suns
Of secret worlds incredible, and take
Their trailing skies for vestment when I soar,
Throned on the mounting zenith, and illume
The spaceward-flown horizons infinite.
Like rampant monsters roaring for their glut,
The fiery-crested oceans rise and rise,
By jealous moons maleficently urged
To follow me for ever; mountains horned
With peaks of sharpest adamant, and mawed
With sulphur-lit volcanoes lava-langued,
Usurp the skies with thunder, but in vain;
And continents of serpent-shapen trees,
With slimy trunks that lengthen league by league,
Pursue my flight through ages spurned to fire
By that supreme ascendance; sorcerers,
And evil kings, predominanthly armed
With scrolls of fulvous dragon-skin whereon
Are worm-like runes of ever-twisting flame,
Would stay me; and the sirens of the stars,
With foam-like songs from silver fragrance wrought,
Would lure me to their crystal reefs; and moons
Where viper-eyed, senescent devils dwell,
With antic gnomes abominably wise,
Heave up their icy horns across my way.
But naught deters me from the goal ordained
By suns and eons and immortal wars,
And sung by moons and motes; the goal whose name
Is all the secret of forgotten glyphs
By sinful gods in torrid rubies writ
For ending of a brazen book; the goal
Whereat my soaring ecstasy may stand
In amplest heavens multiplied to hold
My hordes of thunder-vested avatars,
And Promethèan armies of my thought,
That brandish claspèd levins. There I call
My memories, intolerably clad
In light the peaks of paradise may wear,
And lead the Armageddon of my dreams
Whose instant shout of triumph is become
Immensity's own music: for their feet
Are founded on innumerable worlds,
Remote in alien epochs, and their arms
Upraised, are columns potent to exalt
With ease ineffable the countless thrones
Of all the gods that are or gods to be,
And bear the seats of Asmodai and Set
Above the seventh paradise.

Supreme
In culminant omniscience manifold,
And served by senses multitudinous,
Far-posted on the shifting walls of time,
With eyes that roam the star-unwinnowed fields
Of utter night and chaos, I convoke
The Babel of their visions, and attend
At once their myriad witness. I behold
In Ombos, where the fallen Titans dwell,
With mountain-builded walls, and gulfs for moat,
The secret cleft that cunning dwarves have dug
Beneath an alp-like buttress; and I list,
Too late, the clam of adamantine gongs
Dinned by their drowsy guardians, whose feet
Have fell the wasp-like sting of little knives
Embrued With slobber of the basilisk
Or the pail Juice of wounded upas. In
Some red Antarean garden-world, I see
The sacred flower with lips of purple flesh,
And silver-Lashed, vermilion-lidded eyes
Of torpid azure; whom his furtive priests
At moonless eve in terror seek to slay
With bubbling grails of sacrificial blood
That hide a hueless poison. And I read
Upon the tongue of a forgotten sphinx,
The annulling word a spiteful demon wrote
In gall of slain chimeras; and I know
What pentacles the lunar wizards use,
That once allured the gulf-returning roc,
With ten great wings of furlèd storm, to pause
Midmost an alabaster mount; and there,
With boulder-weighted webs of dragons' gut
Uplift by cranes a captive giant built,
They wound the monstrous, moonquake-throbbing bird,
And plucked from off his saber-taloned feet
Uranian sapphires fast in frozen blood,
And amethysts from Mars. I lean to read
With slant-lipped mages, in an evil star,
The monstrous archives of a war that ran
Through wasted eons, and the prophecy
Of wars renewed, which shall commemorate
Some enmity of wivern-headed kings
Even to the brink of time.

OF ONCOMING BARBARISM accompanies the inevitable approach of the Armies of the Night, the exaltation of ignorance and, potentially, the last, expiring act of our familiar country. As cartoonist Larry Gonick (THE CARTOON HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE) has said, it is not unlike being in the path of an approaching hurricane without any ability to do anything about it. We take refuge in an excerpt from T.H. White's THE SWORD IN THE STONE-- the original work, not the rewritten trilogy combined by the author in the later THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING. In this performance, putting aside at the last moment our unwilling contemplation of the advent of the Orange Caligula, we essay to leave our frame of temporal reference and experience cosmic Time-- first as do the Trees, to whose years-long conversation we listen, then, at the rate of millions of years per second, the voice of the Rocks-- the mineral world. In the form of an Owl, the future monarch accompanies Archimedes, the Strigiform Familiar of Merlinus Ambrosius, to the presence of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. The bird emblematic of Athena, the Greek goddess of practical reason known as Minerva to the Romans, is specifically in fact the Little owl (eponymously, Athene noctua). Why associate this particular bird with the sanctity of wisdom? It is related that Owls became symbolic of intelligence because it was thought that they, birds of omen and epiphany, symbolically presaged events when seen. On the other hand, because of their nocturnal existence and supposed ominous hooting, they have also been symbols associated with the Occult and in general the otherworldly. Their secretive habits, swift, silent flight, and haunting calls have made them the objects of superstition and even fear in many parts of the world. In the Middle Ages the Little owl was used as a symbol of the “darkness” before the coming of Christ; by further extension it was used to symbolize a nonbeliever who dwells in this darkness. Such are we as the menace of control by an unintelligent, malevolent minority silently hovers over us. Similarly the barn owl (Tyto alba) was looked upon as a bird of ill omen, and it subsequently in some places became relevant to our universal national predicament as a symbol of disgrace. Scientific study of owls is difficult owing to their clandestine nighttime activity, with the result that the ecology, behavior, and taxonomy of many species remain poorly understood. Here's hoping we find we have the ability to maintain tolerance and understanding of the foibles of our own species.