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Interesting visualisation of a world only 25 years in the future from when the article was published. That’s an impressive faith in the ability of civil engineers.
Future city streets, says Mr Corbett, will be in four levels: The top level for pedestrians; the next lower level for slow motor traffic; the next for fast motor traffic, and the lowest for electric trains. Great blocks of terraced skyscrapers half a mile high will house offices, schools, homes, and playgrounds in successive levels, while the roofs will be aircraft landing-fields….
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City of the Future – click full size
1925. The year this image came out was an interesting one.
The “International Exposition of Modern Industrial and Decorative Arts” opened in Paris. An exhibition that epitomized what came to be called “Art Deco” decades later – highlighting a “modern” style characterized by streamlined forms with a sleek, machine-age appearance; geometric and symmetric arrangements, and a prominence of motifs that celebrated athletic prowess, power and speed. Lightning flashes and “Aztec” styling infused surfaces that would ordinarily have been plain. Animal forms invited the viewer to feel a new energy and vibrance in their surroundings. A fusion of French Decorative Cubism, German Bauhaus, Italian Futurism, and Russian Constructivism. All of which seems noticeably absent from the plain, conservative and almost utilitarian creation portrayed in this poster vision of the future.
1925 saw the first demonstration of radiovision! Pictures and sound transmitted five miles from Anacostia to Washington, DC. In the same year Washington, DC saw 40,000 members of the Ku Klux Klan parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. And biology teacher John Scopes was arrested in Tennessee for teaching Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution; found guilty he was fined $100, nearly half the cost of a Thompson submachine gun.
And 1925 saw New York City apparently become the largest city in the world, taking the lead from London – a significant portent of the waning British Empire following the ravages of conflict in the First World War.
New Tokyo – another “city of the future”:
In the novel, Iron Man Project – the main protagonist Jean-Luc Korda travels from the idyllic mountain mansion of the corporate Carthew family in Taormina, Italy, to the massive urban sprawl of New Tokyo in the former US state of Florida – sold by UTOC to a conglomerate of businesses involved in building the world’s largest space port. It’s a city of contradictions; vast wealth and giant structures fusing organic design with technology, surrounded by rapidly decaying tenement slums as the boom bubble bursts. .
IRON MAN PROJECT { novel } Ex-special forces man, Vincent Brent, is tough, ruthless and highly trained; he’s now using his skills for whoever will pay him without cashing in the bounty on his head. In this world of the near future, the UN has failed. Wars are fought in boardrooms through attorneys and politics, and on our streets with private armies of military or criminal assets. In Sicily, the Chief of Security for one such corporate alliance struggles to survive as hidden forces attempt to manipulate him for their own ends. Both these men find their fates intertwined. In the cross-hairs of powerful adversaries, they must both make decisions of life and death in a choice between command and conscience. David J Rodger’s trademark unforgiving rendering of brutal reality, and relentless narrative pace, are here in palm-sweating abundance, delivered in a complex novel that will keep you turning pages until the end.
There’s nothing ahead of me except a lot more of the same hard work
Finally feeling some positive state of mind after a hellish few days; the overhaul of Yellow Dawn – The Age of Hastur (2.1) to create a new fandangled version 2.5 has been going 10 months now and it’s really dragging down my spirits. It’s not like writing a novel.
All Hail The Chaos That Stalks The Space Between the Stars
Sitting here wrapped in the woolly embrace of Starsky Cardi, supping first mug of tea – and ignoring the massive crack that’s now appeared in the outward sloping roof of this room. The Sky Bunker looks set to let the sky in! *rolls eyes*
Currently listening to a tribal electro trance mix put out by the very awesome blog, A Strangely Isolated Place. Check him out and subscribe if you want a range of electro flavours dropping into your inbox every few days. This
Azathoth
I can’t believe how long January seemed to last. It was the month of Forever-ember-uary.
However, January did see me manage to finally complete the edit for the overhaul of Yellow Dawn; after 10 months of painful progress and hard work. Now I’m wrapped in the evening tasks of formatting the document as I prepare version 2.5 for launch in the next few weeks.
I’ve also started prepping the next novel for launch; Living in Flames – a near-future (cyberpunk) horror story set in Bristol:
I think I’ve been burning the candle at both ends too long, and with a blowtorch. The final push to finish the 11 months of hell, re-writing Yellow Dawn; I’ve popped out the other side with a sense of grinning blissful relief… but also the (foolish) notion I can continue with the intense pace, switching to a raft of new shiny things I’ve got lined up to roll out. Instead… I’ve succumbed to exhaustion.
On top of this, my house – Cosy Castle – is falling apart, or at least that’s how it seems. The big crack in the roof of the Sky Bunker continues to worsen and now leaks every time it rains, leaving trails of rusty water running down the inside of the wall – in one way appropriate for a writer who works with gritty horror and post-apocalyptic vistas, but living in it causes an acute sense of stress. Added to this, now have water getting into the kitchen through a flawed back-wall; electrics have blown again. So, phone calls made, contractors coming round to evaluate damage and work required to make repairs. The joys of owning a house that’s 130 years old.
The Alan Parsons Project – Eve – Soundtrack to the moment
I got down here Friday morning, took the day off work, hired a car (I’m wary of my Rocket doing long journey’s at the moment) and drove down here. Big Pete, who this house belongs to, was there to greet me with a 6ft 2″ hug and big grin. He’s been here since Wednesday. He lives in Newcastle and until recently was the neighbour of my parents place up there…. but that’s all dead now.
The drive down was fantastic.
The whole morning was shrouded in drifting banks of fog.
Completed Songs of Spheres, anthology of my short stories (horror, cyberpunk, and Yellow Dawn).
Arriving at Hayling Island there’s a palpable of excitement and relief. We’re here! Now we can decompress. All of us have been experiencing high volumes of stress with work. Abruptly we’re in a large empty and comfortable (blokey) house and there is no plan, no agenda, no schedule to keep to. The only thing we know we’ll be doing is playing Yellow Dawn tomorrow. This trip follows the rules of The Fellowship – a group of individuals and friends that I sometimes go travelling with… the rules are this: nobody tells anybody what they HAVE to do. Everybody is free to go off and do their own thing or join the group or… whatever. It’s easy. It’s relaxed and stress free.
Got hit by a weird strain of man-flu last week that had me nailed last weekend and most of last week. Morning’s would wake-up feeling OK but by time I’d gotten into the office in Bath, I’d be feeling like the walking dead and by time the evening swung round I was tripping out and feeling like I was drunk. Exhaustion was close on the trail.
Meanwhile I’ve been working on a super exciting new bolt-on for Yellow Dawn (The Age of Hastur) and a bunch of ideas that also fit snugly into the wider universe of my fiction writing.
Called Nanomech and Synthology, it facilitates characters buying pre-configured clumps of nanotechnology, but more importantly, clumps that can be re-configured by tech-heads into new and diverse creations, using deployment code templates. Of course, those characters with less skill than great ideas will experience the joys of aberrant technological mutations. Counter to this is the parallel technology of synthetic biology: splicing existing genetic code together to create new “things”; from bacteria able to eat up oil spills to larger and more complex organisms that can do… whatever you can dream of, so long as you can get past ethical and moral issues of intelligent and self-destiny.
Get to London. Short walk to Victoria train station but we’re early. Kill some time at a Pret Manger: standing there in the big window by a narrow bench, munching on a salmon cream cheese slice of heaven, I’m aware of the number of glances and stares I’m picking up. It’s the suit. Jo and I grin about it.
We return back to Victoria and find that the tiny little Orient Express check-in office is now open; tucked away beside platform 2. There are two impeccably dressed women outside, serving coffee from flasks; they’re smiling and genuinely welcoming and not at all what you would normally get from service. Everything is groomed to make YOU feel special. The personal egos (and mood) of the staff are subsumed within the larger identity of the company. It’s an immediate and enchanting effect.
Then the train pulls into the station and there’s an electrifying crackle of anticipation from all the gathered passengers. Local trains pulling into the station disgorge commuter passengers who pause or slow their stride to take notice of this spectacle of a bygone era: a platform of smartly dressed passengers making their way inside the Orient Express.
A tiny island 18 miles long by 9 miles wide with 7,000 years of human history crammed down on top of it in compressed layers. I had no idea how potent the history of the country is, and how vital a role it has played in so much history involving Europe and the Middle East since time immemorial – occupying a central position in the heart of the Mediterranean sea. It may as well be a floating fortress. A staging post for armies throughout history. From neolithic settlers who arrived 7,000 years ago from Sicily, to the Phoenicians with their “imperial” purple dye (20,000 Murex shells were needed for 1 gram of dye) and the Romans – with their Punic wars – and then the Muslims, the Knights of St John, the Normans, the French with Napoleon treating the Christian island like his own penny jar to raid to fund the campaign in Egypt, and then Nelson and the British. In general, the Maltese people are wonderfully friendly, hospitable and respectful. They go out of their way to make sure you’re having a lovely time and the price of things is reasonable, rather than being a tourist rip-off accompanied by cynical service. If you’ve not been to Malta before then I can’t recommend the place highly enough.
Strumble Head Lighthouse – evening view from remote cottage in Wales
The lighthouse was set dramatically against the night sky, a beam of light circling around it. This amazing sight sits a little over a mile from the cottage. It greeted me in the morning when I supped my first mug of coffee, and it enchanted me every night as I stood by the window, staring, supping wine and listening to “Montok Point” by William Orbit.
It was the Royal Diamond Jubilee celebration. Rented a cottage for the week. A fantastic place, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms (master en-suite) and an utterly cosy open plan living room, kitchen and breakfast bar (which became my study for the entire week). Strumble head occupies a rugged headland on the far west coast, a region called Pembrokeshire. Insanely beautiful coastline, cliffs, blue sea crashing on rocks, wild birds and seals. Most wonderful of all was a lighthouse, sitting on a fang of rock sitting out in the surging sea – a stubby metal mesh bridge connecting it to the mainland.
Welcome to England. Summer and it’s pissing down. This was back on Thursday last week. The longest day of the year. I’d wanted to be with family up in the arctic, celebrating with a bottle of whisky sitting in a rowing boat on a fjord under the magical glow of the Midnight Sun. However events here have kept me UK bound for the next few weeks. Plus I’m getting near the end of a new novel - The Black Lake – and writing within a momentum is important at this stage.
A couple of good friends of mine suggested a return to Clifton Lido, a shallow outdoor pool surrounded by grand Georgian houses in the hidden heart of Bristol’s upper echelons. Last time I went there was back in November when the temperature was close to zero oC – swimming with steam rising off your body (swimming under the stars & cocktails). And like then, this visit was superb. A visceral experience, where your bare body is subjected to the raw elements. In this case – sheets of chilly rain. However, it comes with the blissful escape clause of luxury sauna, steam room and jacuzzi placed within trotting distance of the pool, walls of thickened glass providing a two-way view of both worlds; the external elements and the internal comfort.
Back in May, whilst watching the Olympic flame being brought into Bristol, I struck up conversation with a young couple sitting beside me on the edge of the river; instant friendship. One of those moments when you just “know”. Later I took them to the Grain Barge and in that busy crowded place there was only one free table – a solitary bloke sitting there minding his own business. I asked if we could share the table and we promptly took over – and included him in the unfolding of new friendships. This was Jeff – and like the young couple – Chesney and Ginny – became instant and very close friends. One of the most wonderful things to have happened this year if I think about it.
This was the weekend I was furiously working towards the end of the new novel, The Black Lake. Fingers blurring over the keyboard all Saturday – using my Da Vinci method (polyphasic sleep) to keep spiking my brain with freshness. Come Saturday night – I was so near to finishing and yet just not there. Close but no cigar. In a remarkable example of how I’m managing to fight back against the internal beast that tries to covet all my time, I closed down the laptop – got dressed up and went out and joined friends for a night of fun. Freaking glad I did. Awesome night. Which is pretty much the standard for any time I’ve gone to the Big Chill Bar. People rocked up with great costumes and wide smiles.
If Pete had chosen to live anywhere else, it wouldn’t have been so weird to go back. But now I’m walking through the echoes of my deepest past.
I went “home” to Newcastle last week. I say home, but I’m faced by the reality that the place I grew up in, the house that was my family home for the past 31 years now has a locked door. It might sound a little dramatic but ever since I could remember – every time I came back to Newcastle, my experience of getting home has revolved around the same routine – a bus or plane ride to Newcastle, then the Metro to (W) Jesus Mound and then the walk through familiar streets that I’ve pounded since being 9 years old. And always ending at the same destination. Kosekroken. My dad died when I was 36. But I still went home. My mum died when I was 39 – but the house then belonged to us (children), and I still went back.
August. My mate bought a hot air balloon for his company. And it was making a debut here at the Bristol International Balloon Fiesta. He invited us to join him in the VIP area. Getting there we found ourselves wading through 300,000 people in a tightly cordoned area. Freaking intense – but finally made our way to the gated entrance where we were able to step past security, through into the wide open space of the central field where several dozen balloons where lying deflated – waiting for darkness to come. Great atmosphere – especially being able to lounge around nice tables in the comfort and space away from the massive crowds.
Once it was dark, the Night Glow begins. All the balloons inflate over 30 minutes or so and then abruptly the darkness is swept away by the roaring blast of burners lighting up the night. Magical. Especially being so close to the action. Although we soon got much closer.
Krakow invites you to walk its cobbled and paved streets. It is a walking city. The Old Market is a VAST open space surrounded by beautiful buildings and even the large clusters of bric-a-brac stalls doesn’t rob any notion of the space that’s available to you. The edges of lined by rows of chairs and tables beneath umbrellas. And unlike most cities where the local establishments try to rip you off for sitting somewhere nice, here you can sit and enjoy a drink and some nibbles from bright and friendly staff.
I have a friend called Jake. I met him in Bristol in 1997 when he was bouncing between worlds with his wife (of that period). I gave them a place to stay when they needed one. Eventually they would be the couple who gave me their bed for a week in Vancouver (2003). After 2003 I didn’t see Jake again until he came to visit me in Bristol in 2008, this time with a new partner (Mags); meanwhile he’s been through the many ups and downs that the journey of life can throw you through. Toronto and Berlin have seen him arrive and go. And now here he is, living in Krakow. So, in line with our tradition of seeing each other every 4 or 5 years, we hook up on my first night in Krakow. I walk down into the old Jewish quarter: Kazimierz. There’s a bar called Singer’s – every table is an old sewing machine. And later we’re eating the most amazing Russian dumplings at a place that has 28 different types of dumpling on the menu. I could have lived there.
Auschwitz. A deeply thought provoking place. Our guide got us inside and then left us to it. I cut loose and made my own route. What really got me was the built-up, almost urban structure of the place. Like the dormitories of some private school, or a government complex from the war era. But then you look at the twin rows of electrified barbed wire – enough juice to kill you, which is how some people ended their lives by just throwing themselves against the wires – and you visualise the thuggish guards with their sticks, machine guns and dogs. And so many people confined in this organised hell.
There’s a lot of contextual information placed there as you walk between and through the buildings. Auschwitz has become a museum. A record of human barbarism and atrocity in a time that is only yesterday. It is a beacon of warning to the new generations: may we never let it happen again.
Most chilling for me was the death wall. A courtyard between two blocks. A doorway in the side of one building (#11) led straight from the washroom out into the courtyard where people were summarily shot – or subjected to prolonged public torture. Black and white drawings, as large as life, give you a visual inkling of what it could have been like. But only a numb whiff of the true emotional horror.
It was my birthday the other day. I was trying to recall the last time I’d actually celebrated it – always away or “too busy” writing to bother. I think it was when I was 25.
So a last-minute text to a bunch of folks living in Bristol led to a fantastic night at the Grain Barge, an old boat moored up on the edge of the harbour loaded with smiles and the best local ales (Bristol Beer Factory) this side of the planet.
It was lovely to see disparate clusters of friends and new individuals come together in one place; many of them had never met each other before – only knowing me. So it was great to see new connections forming and conversations flowing. Fab cake from The Crew.
Everything changes <> My entire world seems to detonate – extreme personal trauma leads to acute insomnia
BOOM – Nothing Can Ever Be The Same Again
It started like just an ordinary day… new job – followed by decision to stop writing, which opened up deep hidden subconscious floodgates – fresh stress in the form of my parents house (£££) – going 5 days without sleep nearly drove me mad – a month later I went 10 days without sleep… and I did go mad. The horror show lasted from September right through into December.
Taormina – overlooking the sea as Vincent Brent would have done. Iconic image for me. Hope and dreams of the future.
Not Italy. That’s the way they view it. I was in Malta back in May. Toured around various archeological and city-based sites, hired guides, did the whole thing. Bloody amazing place. Getting back I was hungry for more of the same-same but different. Whilst visiting some of the neolithic temples on Malta the guide stated that the people who settled there 5,000 years ago came from Sicily. Bingo, great excuse to go there then. Booked the flights and accommodation near Agrigento and in the heart of Taormina.
Taormina was actually the primary reason for going to Sicily. I’ve never been there before in reality, but back in 1997 and again in 2004 I went there for a long period of time in my mind and imagination: I used the cliff-based town as a location for major scenes that take place in two novels, Dante’s Fool andIron Man Project. So I was super excited about the chance to finally go there in the flesh and walk in the footsteps of some of my favourite characters: Natalya Dorganskya, Vincent Brent and the ubiquitous Jean-Luc Korda.
Flew into Catania and caught a ride to just outside Agrigento. Not much happening there but it’s right next door to the Valley of the Temples and provided an opportunity to switch-off and chill out with a reasonable (and slightly random) hotel. Down-time was a big need, for taking a break from the punishing writing regime I’ve been under for several years.
I’m also delighted to find the Return of the Mood (my weird scrambled sensory phenomenon that occurs every few months).
Actor David Suchet (Hercule Poirot ) shakes hands with David J Rodger
Getting back to England the post-travel blues were swept away by a swift visit to Cheltenham where I got to enjoy an audience with the actor David Suchet, as he discussed his career to date, and the very special contribution he has made to the wonders of Agatha Christie. On the 15th October he’ll be starting filming of the very last Poirot story – roughly 23 days of filming; followed by filming of the previous and final four stories (The LeMesurier Inheritance is being bundled into The Labours of Hercules). Once completed, it will make David Suchet the only actor to have ever completed performances of every Poirot story in Christie’s canon of work. Something the man should be very proud of because he has done such a wonderful job of it. David Suchet is one of the few genuine heroes I hold in my mind. So it was an insane treat to be able to meet him at a little area later, shake his hand and share some words with him: I spoke about the Simplon Orient Express – his visible pleasure of being able to ride it to Venice, how I thought his performance in Murder on the Orient Express was sublime. The man is an absolute gentleman charmer – and a secret comedian. Very intelligent. Very witty. Fantastic to meet and talk to.
For hours later, I kept looking at my hand thinking… wow. I shook hands with Hercule Poirot.
New York – Freedom Tower Rises – Viewed from Staton Island Ferry
Against the backdrop of weeks of personal trauma and insomnia I take a trip to the great playground that is New York. It’s through this trip that I discover the core reason for the personal crash I’m going through is delayed grief over the death of my parents. Writing every hour I wasn’t working or asleep is what has kept this grief at bay for 3 (plus) years. I stopped writing in September – and VOOOMP – everything dark and painful bubbled up to the surface.
Despite this – the trip was good.
It was a Tuesday night, New York in late November – a chill wind blowing in off the river and my friends and I were hurrying from a rendezvous at Bryant Park, just behind New York Central Library, to meet another friend on 9th avenue. Fate had us trudging quickly along 38th Street between 5th and 6th avenues, racing to get to 9th. I pass this place and literally screech to a stop. Something about the interior, the design, the glimpse of the ambience registered on lots of levels. And then I saw the words: Chinese Dumplings. One of my favourite things.
As I stood there, gawping some random bloke walked past and called over to me, “Man! That place is AMAZING!” So…. a couple days later I return. This time not in a rush to meet anybody AND feeling rather peckish. The owner and I got talking and he just blew me away with his generous and energetic spirit. Great atmosphere. Great business. And GREAT food.
But those quibbles aside, The Black Lake was good fun: short, atmospheric and creepy. Having read tons of zombie novels, and horror novels, I’m surprised a publisher hasn’t snapped this one up, as it could definitely hold its own alongside more traditionally published genre material. If I had the time, I wouldn’t mind returning to check out some of Rodger’s other novels, set in the Yellow Dawn world.
If you’re the kind of person who considers the limit of board games to be Cluedo, Monopoly and maybe a little bit of Risk then hopefully this post will inspire you to check out and acquire (if you’re lucky enough to find a rare copy still available) a copy of what is, in my opinion, one of the most perfect games ever created.
Fury of Dracula was released in 1987 by Games Workshop following its creation by Stephen Hand. I purchased a copy in 1990 whilst living in Osbourne Avenue (Jesmond) in Newcastle Upon Tyne – I was 19 and enjoying the “perfect shared-house” experience. A blissful bubble period of my life that overlapped with the first few months of me starting out (rather wistfully and naively) to become an author of horror novels. That aside, the game came to dominate the sultry summer evenings of that year as my close friend Richy and I played session after session for weeks. To the point that whenever I see the lid of the box the game comes within, I’m always drawn back to potent memories of my small room within the eaves of the house and the garret window that overlooked the graveyard across the road – and the heat of those nights, despite the window being wide open. Candles burning. Spooky music playing. Perfect atmosphere for this game of gothic adventure.
A fantastic Christmas and New Year period – one of the best ever <> a period of healing and a gradual return to writing since I stopped in September
Christmas 2012 – photo by David J Rodger – All Rights Reserved
It wasn’t the kind of Christmas I normally have – but it was still perfect, for so many reasons. Friends and the comfort of another person’s family; warmth, people; Cluedo and Dominion; roast gammon victory.
New York Chinese Food – Spring – 36 West 38th Street, New York, NY – Chinese boiled dumplings to die for
It was a Tuesday night, New York in late November – a chill wind blowing in off the river and my friends and I were hurrying from a rendezvous at Bryant Park, just behind New York Central Library, to meet another friend on 9th avenue. Fate had us trudging quickly along 38th Street between 5th and 6th avenues, racing to get to 9th. I pass this place and literally screech to a stop. Something about the interior, the design, the glimpse of the ambience registered on lots of levels. And then I saw the words: Chinese Dumplings. One of my favourite things.
As I stood there, gawping some random bloke walked past and called over to me, “Man! That place is AMAZING!” So…. a couple days later I return. This time not in a rush to meet anybody AND feeling rather peckish. The owner and I got talking and he just blew me away with his generous and energetic spirit. Great atmosphere. Great business. And GREAT food.
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38th Street between 5th & 6th best Chinese food near Bryant Park and New York Library
Best restaurants in New York – Manhattan – Spring – best Chinese dumplings in the city – 38th Street, New York, NY
November. The owner’s wife studied fashion in London – living there for 6 years. Now they’re back in the US she’s applied her creative skills to the interior design of the place. It’s spacious and has a lovely atmosphere. I really can’t recommend this place enough.
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VITAL INFO
Telephone Orders: (212) 768-4226
Top review(s): Cute place love the lighting. Nice decoration and sweet staff
This email is about my latest novel The Black Lake. Always nice to get words like this. I’ve removed SPOILERS by overwriting them with XXX.
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> Subject: The Black Lake
> From: xxxx@floydhayes.com
> Date: Thu, 18 Oct 2012 21:14:53 -0400
> To: xxxxxx@xxxxx.com
>
> Hi David,
>
> As usual when I finish one of your books, I think, “this is his best yet .”
>
> I read TBL up at the house in the Catskills over a 3 day period, alone. A Hudson valley bourbon by my side, the environment is pretty creepy on your own – the silence, the massive ancient mountains. The woods. Not only that but I had an infestation of “stink bugs” – harmless but quite unnerving – like little brown crickets. Maybe 20 or so in any given room. Easy to catch in a jar, but they buzz when they fly…
>
> That’s the setting.
>
> I loved the book. It was your most “horror” to date, in some ways…there were some well trodden horror tropes here but felt stronger in your hands – im thinking of when the XXXXX is seen in the lightning when our man had presumed it was tarp….
>
>
> I wrote a few comments as I went through.
>
> Some great one liners in here, “it was August and there was ice in the sea”
>
> The checklist of equipment, I thought was smart as it underlined the fact this was a proper expedition, not a boys own adventure….
>
> Giggledust really did it for me – brilliantly described and an amazing piece of SCI Fi thinking. Absolutely loved this character/tech.
>
>
> The chill vortex – shudder – fantastic idea….reminiscent of Frank Herbert.
>
>
> You deftly got round the whole “why don’t you tell your comrades about the XXXXX?” Very human and keeps the isolation going…isolation being a good psych button throughout.
>
>
> Tornado description properly scared me…
>
> The tatters XXXXXwas horrid. Kudos for that one.
>
>
> Nice breather when he XXXXXXX – needed a little reprise from the mare and it was well-timed here.
>
> Fantastic description of XXXX losing the plot, “like a simple mind seeing something it wanted but could not articulate the desire “
>
> Sundown and time running out worked so well man….”the darkness ruled his life”
>
> Very good man. Gripping and horrible.
>
> F.
>
THE BLACK LAKE: The Earth has been ravaged by an event known as Yellow Dawn. Ten years later, survivors are putting lives back together and probing the frontiers of a new Wilderness; whilst overhead the orbital colonies slide across the sky, removed and unaffected. Five men leave the fortress island of Malta on an expedition to the sub-Arctic waters above Scotland. They intend to undertake scientific observations of an alien meteorological phenomenon that has followed the apocalyptic event. What they find is a cosmic horror that seethes amongst the shadows of a shattered Earth. It is a story of escape and wonder, of madness and terror. David J Rodger’s trademark unforgiving rendering of harsh reality, and relentless narrative pace, are here in palm-sweating abundance, delivered in a novel that tears open a rent in the boundary of reality, providing a nerve-jarring glimpse of the Outer Chaos and the horrors that lurk just beyond the threshold of our fragile, human existence.
Hyperdimensional art by Daniel Arsham – All Rights Reserved – Click Full Size
Part of a series of images from the shadowy fringes of the Internet. Visuals that stir my sense for the eerie and macabre.
Raised in Miami and now living in New York City, contemporary US artist Daniel Arsham likes to blur the boundaries between fictional / conceptual space (art) and physical / utilitarian place (architecture). The subtext of his creative mandate could easily be interpreted as the prophetic declarations of an adept of the Cthulhu Mythos
Arsham challenges our perceptions of physical space in order to make architecture perform the improbable. The surfaces of walls appear to melt, erode and ripple. Animals contemplate the emergence of floating shapes in nature. Sculptures from antiquity are infused with rigid, geometric forms.
Pilar Viladas – T.Magazine
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This image tweaks my antennae for the obscure in everyday reality. The conjuration of potent entities that lurk within the absence of light – on the threshold of our universe – does not have to occur in sweaty, dank, lantern lit grottos around ancient altar stones. This is a brightly lit room that contains the emerging form of absolute cosmic madness. A rapidly expanding conglomeration of spheres that has the capacity to warp space and time – to behave as the gate and the key to realms past, present and future. One touch can incinerate flesh and burn away the soul to a cloud of sparkling, dissipating energy. Horror is not a fear of the unknown. True horror is standing in the presence of such things that can extinguish your existence in an impulse.
Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth’s fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.
Old skool rave coming back with a beautifully dark 21st century twist – The Horrorist, One Night in New York City http://wp.me/pTAKk-1fA— David Rodger (@davidjrodger) June 10, 2011
Thursday 5th May 2011. Lunchtime. I’ve been back from New York a couple of weeks now. It was a spectacular trip (again). Although I’ve come back with another hacking cough and flu which left me span out for a while; ironic, when you consider I’ve been writing up in-depth notes on the Infection that swept through my fictional world of Yellow Dawn (The Age of Hastur). A sympathetic illness caused by my imagination corrupting my physical being? Who knows. Past few days I’ve been enjoying that slightly trippy state of mind and euphoria that comes when you recover from a bug. (Traces of The Mood are lingering but it never fully formed this time).
So. New York.
The journey begins – and I’m riddled with aprehension. The recent crash I had in my car – with its brain jarring impact, had left me feeling depleted and lacking in confidence. Really strange.
This is the journey I had been planning on doing back in February but the whole motive seems much different now: however, one thing is fixed – I’m doing the Catskill mountains with my publicist, Floyd.
Ramona is there to meet me at Newark airport. Back to her place in New Jersey with its amazing view overlooking the length of Manhattan; much comfort, nibbles and the blueberry vodka that I left there from December 2010.
Next morning is like clockwork. Up early. Ramona and I head into the city to grab breakfast at a proper old-school diner. It’s surreal riding the van into Manhattan. My brain is not prepared for actually being here again, so soon after December. Meet Floyd as arranged and it’s a blissful 2 hour coach ride north, out of the city, past Tappan Zee Bridge, past Bear Mountain. We get off at a small town called Kingston. Then Floyd calls his man, Jamal, and we get a taxi for a 45 minute ride into the middle of nowhere… literally, stopping via a beer shack and spending $50 on a stack of imported beers.
Djr in Catskill Mountains
I didn’t know what to really expect with Floyd’s country retreat. I certainly didn’t expect the immaculate show-house decor and the sense of extreme isolation being there. It was wonderful. It started to rain as we arrived; the house was like a fridge so Floyd got the heating going. Then we cracked open the beers.
After a few hours we were hungry so did the 50 minute walk along a deserted and lonely strip of blacktop – winding through dense and endless forests – to Krumville Road and the Country Inn. It was raining lightly but I’d brought along my pack-a-mac. Inside we peeled off damp outer layers and stood by the roaring log fire to take off the chill and dry out, whilst supping pints of delicious Evans Kick Ass Dark Ale. We sat at the bar, ate great food, chatted with locals who found the English accent a little exotic and intriguing.
Then it started to get dark and the rain was coming down heavier than ever. We did the walk back in the final blue haze of twilight, me with the Foals playing through headphones… grinning despite being soaking wet. Floyd was jangling his keys as we strode along, I lifted me headphones to ask why and he muttered casually, “To let the bears know we’re coming. Don’t want to startle them. That’s when they attack.”
Bears. Right.
Great.
We got back soaked to the skin – the rain was so heavy it had penetrated even our waterproofs. We stripped off, grinnning like kids, shivering and cold. Floyd got the cast iron fire going whilst I took a hot shower – my skin flaring red with the chill in my flesh and the hot water.
Pulling on fresh dry clothes and coming down to the fire, and a bottle of Hudson Valley Whisky… was just heaven. We stayed up until the wee hours, drying our clothes and boots and chatting away. A lot of whisky and a lot of beer.
Slept like a baby. Next morning I felt only a little delicate – a close shave with a bad hangover. Instead, I chilled out on the sofa whilst Floyd slept into the morning and I have really special memories of sitting with my legs stretched out, blankets on my lap, headphones playing The Foals and gazing out the window at the moody forest surrounding the house on every angle. Every few minutes the sun would burn holes through the low clouds and flood the room with light. It was really magical.
Floyd woke and made breakfast. Then we went for a long hike around the area.
Djr in isolated woods of Catskill Mountains
Walking and walking you only pass another building infrequently. You get the sense that anything could come stumbling out of the woods towards you.
Taxi driver arrives to take us back to Kingston. He’s behaving a little strange – not quite with it. It takes him five attempts to reverse out of the drive. A few miles later we narrowly avoid (blink and we would have crashed) a head on collision with a stationary SUV that was straddling our lane… a big black thing that you just could not fail to see was blocking the road… unless of course you were asleep… which our driver was. He only snapped awake as Floyd and I made sounds of protest seeing the crash begining to unfold in sickening slow motion before us.
As it was we veered across into the opposite lane, on a blind corner (which could have been another tragedy if something had been coming the other way), and then managed to avoid crashing into the trees on the opposite verge before swinging wildly back into the proper lane. The driver muttered something about having quick reflexes. WTF?! So I watched his eyes in the mirror and saw him nodding off again. Floyd and I kept up spontaneous and random conversation with the driver for the remaining duration of the journey.
Getting into Kingston we rang his boss and told him to get the driver off the road before he killed somebody. That’s when the shock settled in… and left us both feeling uneasy. This increased many times when on the coach ride from Kingston back into New York… we passed an area where the northbound lane was closed off with emergency vehicles… and there in the middle of the isolated lane was a burning wreck of a car that looked oddly as if somebody was still inside.
Both Floyd and I felt freaked out. As if strange unnatural forces were at play. Getting into Port Authority the CITY hit us like a slap in the face. We grabbed the tube to Brooklyn and the Iona for a beer. Then I headed off to meet Irini for a dinner party – in a Taxi that nearly hit and killed a dog and a driver who didn’t know where the fuck he was supposed to be taking me.
Next day Irini took me for a tour of Brooklyn and then to H P Lovecraft’s apartment on Clinton Street, a place that was his inspiration for the short horror story he wrote in August 1925 – the Horror at Red Hook.
It was great to be there. Even though the building has been to a visible modern refurb, I could stand by the steps and peer at the surrounding buildings – many of which looked original and dating back to his era, and I got a sense of the man and what it must have been like for him being there.
The rest of my time was spent in Manhattan. Me on my own, pounding pavement with headphones on – finding cafes to touch down and write. Or hanging out with Ramona or with Irini.
New York City - The High Line - Looking North East
Empire State Building and Manhattan
This image captures the variety that is Manhattan. The old red brick church, the turn of the last century factory building and the varying bulks of skyscrapers from different eras.
New York City - The High Line
New Jersey - Gibbous Moon over Manhattan
This is a view that never fails me make me pause and stare. It’s the view from Ramona’s apartment building, overlooking the Hudson river… and it stretches left and right almost as far as the eye can see in either direction.
Manhattan Day
Djr near Times Square
New York City - Grand Central Station and view of the Crystler Building
A final bus ride into the city with Mona. Coffee at her office, then I dumped my bags and walked south south south.
New York City - When Stone Gods Rise in Manhattan
Steam and stone. Ancient and modern.
Lion flanking the steps of New York City Library
One of the two lions flanking the steps of New York City Library and the very same that were visible in the film Ghostbusters.
New York City - Mary's Fish Camp
I caught up with Irini and she took me to yet another amazing place; this one called Mary’s Fish Camp in West Village. Best oysters I’ve ever had; ever.
New York City - Ear Inn - Floyd
The Ear Inn is an incredibly special place. Look up the history of it and you’ll see its managed to remain standing for nearly two hundred years against all the odds, and the never ending flurry of re-development that churns around the island. A den of inequity for decades and a haunt for the many gangs and river pirates that used to terrorise the settlements and docks along the Hudson. For me, I first discovered the Ear back in 2007 when Floyd took me there – and since then it’s become our prime rendezvous point.
Floyd’s clutching the NATO issue pen he bought as part of his post-apocalyptic survivor fetish he’s gotten into since reading Dog Eat Dog.
Irini
So now I’m back in the UK and looking forward to another big trip starting this weekend. Heading off to Switzerland and Italy. Bristol to London then Paris to Mulhouse and then Basel on river Rhine. Then Lucerne and the wooden walkway of chapel bridge; then enter the Bernese Oberland in central Switzerland – the alpine heart of Europe. Stop at Meiringen village, near the Reichenbach Falls, the site of Sherlock Holmes’ fatal struggle with Moriarty. Then four cable car rides to top of the Schilthorn, 9,000 feet,location of the James Bond film ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service; views of the Eiger, Jungfrau, Mönch, plus Mont Blanc and 200 other peaks. Then train journey up to 11,000 feet and the Lauterbrunnen Valley, lined by sheer cliffs and sparkling waterfalls. Pushing higher I reach north face of the Eiger. Then take legendary ‘Glacier Express’ to St Moritz, before heading down to Lake Como for 3 nights and a boat ride to elegant and exclusive town of Bellagio, the ‘Pearl of the Lake’. Finally drive to Milan for a day before catching a flight back.
Meanwhile I’m continuing work on the massive overhaul of Yellow Dawn (RPG). Have just finshed collating a ton of feedback from people who’ve recieved the latest work-in-progress, finalising the chapter on the Infected (zombies) and now working on a chapter describing those people who survived the 1st pathogen but were left changed at a molecular level.
Finally, if you’re interested in Lovecraft’s story The Horror At Red Hook, you can read it here – click
-April 15th 2011. The journey begins – and I’m riddled with aprehension. The recent prang in my car – with its brain jarring impact, has left me feeling depleted and lacking in confidence. Strange. Part of me is terrified about going to New York on my own – the first time since 1999 – but another part of me can’t wait. Soundtrack to these memories is albumn by The Foals.
This is the journey I had been planning on doing back in February but the whole motive seems much different now: however, one thing is fixed – I’m doing the Catskills with Floyd.
I do the bus ride into Bristol, grab a traditional coffee at Cafe Amore (formerly Joe Cubas) and then head to London; leave London around 4.40 pm and arrive in Newark around 8pm after an 8 hour flight that I really enjoyed. Watched Wall Street 2 and Get Low (Robert Duvall as old man in the woods).
Ramona is there to meet me at Newark. Back to her place for much comfort. Nibbles, red wine, a shot of blueberry vodka that I left there from December 2010. Watch Camelot before I crash on the sofa.
Next morning is like clockwork. Up early. Ramona and I head into the city to grab breakfast at a dinner (sausages, eggs, potatoes, black coffee and OJ). It’s surreal riding the bus in. My brain is not prepared for actually being here again, so soon after December. Meet Floyd as arranged and it’s a blissful 2 hour coach ride north, out of the city, past Tappan Zee Bridge, past Bear Mountain. We get off at a small town called Kingston. Then Floyd calls his man, Jamal, and we get a taxi for a 45 minute ride into the middle of nowhere… literally, stopping via a beer shack and spending $50 on delicious imported beers.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – The Country Club
April 2011. I didn’t know what to really expect with Floyd’s country retreat. I certainly didn’t expect the immaculate show-house decor and the sense of extreme isolation being there. It was wonderful. It started to rain as we arrived; the house was like a fridge so Floyd got the heating going. Then we cracked open the beers and started to talk about everything: in particular his situation with his wife and child. Difficult times for him. A sense of feeling trapped – but I challenged his desires to return back to the UK and suggested that he was possibly viewing England as a green field on the other side of a fence through rose tinted glasses. I don’t think he could ever go back.
After a few hours we were hungry so did the 50 minute walk along a deserted and lonely strip of blacktop – winding through dense and endless forests – to Krumville Road and the Country Inn. It was raining lightly but I’d brought along my pack-a-mac. Inside we peeled off damp outer layers and stood by the roaring log fire to take off the chill and dry out, whilst supping pints of delicious Evans Kick Ass Dark Ale. We sat at the bar, ate great food, chatted with locals who found the English accent a little exotic and intriguing.
Then it started to get dark and the rain was coming down heavier than ever. We did the walk back in the final blue haze of twilight, me with the Foals playing through headphones… grinning despite being soaking wet… Floyd jangling his keys to alert the large number of bears in the area to our approach.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – The Country Club – Floyd
April 2011. We got back soaked to the skin – the rain was so heavy it had penetrated even our waterproofs. We stripped off, grinnning like kids, shivering and cold. Floyd got the cast iron fire going whilst I took a hot shower – my skin flaring red with the chill in my flesh and the hot water.
Pulling on fresh dry clothes and coming down to the fire, and a bottle of Hudson Valley Whisky… was just heaven. We stayed up until the wee hours, drying our clothes and boots and chatting away. A lot of whisky and a lot of beer.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – The Country Club – Floyd
April 2011. Needless to say we both slept like babies. Next morning I felt only a little delicate – a close shave with a bad hangover. Instead, I chilled out on the sofa whilst Floyd slept into the morning and I have really special memories of sitting with my legs stretched out, blankets on my lap, headphones playing The Foals and gazing out the window at the moody forest surrounding the house on every angle. Every few minutes the sun would burn holes through the low clouds and flood the room with light. It was really magical.
Floyd woke and made breakfast. Then we went for a long hike around the area.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – The Country Club
April 2011. Soundtrack to memories.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – The Country Club – Djr
April 2011. That’s the house in the background – with one of the two house sized sheds that also come with the property. A lot of the land is his too.
Catskill Mountains, New York State – Djr
April 2011. Walking and walking you only pass another building infrequently. You get the sense that anything could come stumbling out of the woods towards you.
Getting back to the house we packed and got ready to depart. I dropped my camera (that I’ve had since October 2005) and cracked the casing. You could “kind of” still use it but the thing was a mess.
Taxi driver arrives before 1pm to take us back to Kingston. He’s behaving a little strange – not quite with it. It takes him five attempts to reverse out of the drive. A few miles later we narrowly avoid (blink and we would have crashed) a head on collision with a stationary SUV that was straddling our lane… a big black thing that you just could not fail to see was blocking the road… unless of course you were asleep… which our driver was. He only snapped awake as Floyd and I made sounds of protest seeing the crash begining to unfold in sickening slow motion before us. As it was we veered across into the opposite lane, on a blind corner (which could have been another tragedy if something had been coming the other way), and then managed to avoid crashing into the trees on the opposite verge before swinging wildly back into the proper lane. The driver muttered something about having quick reflexes. WTF?! So I watched his eyes in the mirror and saw him nodding off again. I texted Floyd and so he and I kept up spontaneous and random conversation with the driver for the duration of the journey. Getting into Kingston we rang his boss and told him to get the driver off the road before he killed somebody. That’s when the shock settled in… and left us both feeling uneasy. This increased many times when on the coach ride from Kingston back into New York… we passed an area where the northbound lane was closed off with emergency vehicles… and there in the middle of the isolated lane was a burning wreck of a car that looked oddly as if somebody was still inside.
Both Floyd and I felt freaked out. As if strange unnatural forces were at play. Getting into Port Authority the CITY hit us like a slap in the face. We grabbed the tube to Brooklyn and the Iona for a beer. Then I headed off to meet [] for a dinner party – in a Taxi that nearly hit and killed a dog and a driver who didn’t know where the fuck he was supposed to be taking me.
Felt like shit the next morning. [] took me out to a cafe, then down to H P Lovecraft’s apartment in Red Hook. That was great to be there. Then we walked to and across the Brooklyn Bridge,
New York City – The High Line
April 2011. Wednesday. Another ride into the city with Mona on the bus; coffee at her office, then I cut loose and pounded pavement. Bought myself a new camera, a Nikon. Met up with [] at a private club for creative types called Norwood on 14th West Street between 7th and 8th… very lovely. Then she took me to the High Line, a stretch of elevated railway following the line of Grenwhich which has recently been targeted by an urban regeneration project. Really lovely thing to do.
New York City – The High Line – Looking East across town.
April 2011. Wednesday.
New York City – The High Line – Looking North East.
April 2011. Wednesday. This image captures the variety that is Manhattan. The old red brick church, the turn of the last century factory building and the varying bulks of skyscrapers from different eras.
New York City.
April 2011. Wednesday. Another iconic aspect of the city… cars stacked up in vertical car parks.
New York City. Just another street scene.
April 2011. Wednesday.
New York City. Djr.
April 2011. Wednesday. It’s my final night.
New York – New Jersey – View of Manhattan Skyline
April 2011. Wednesday. This is a view that never fails me make me pause and stare. It’s the view from Ramona’s apartment building, overlooking the Hudson river… and it stretches left and right almost as far as the eye can see in either direction.
New York – New Jersey – Gibbous Moon over Manhattan
April 2011. Wednesday.
New York City – Grand Central Station and view of the Crystler Building
April 2011. Thursday. A final bus ride into the city with Mona. Coffee at her office, then I dumped my bags and walked south south south.
New York City – When Stone Gods Rise in Manhattan
April 2011. Thursday. Steam and stone. Ancient and modern.
New York City
April 2011. Thursday. One of the two lions flanking the steps of New York City Library and the very same that were visible in the film Ghostbusters.
New York City – Mary’s Fish Camp
April 2011. Thursday. The plan was to meet Floyd at the Ear Inn (not far from his work) in the early afternoon. I caught up with [] before this and she took me to yet another amazing place; this one called Mary’s Fish Camp in West Village. Best oysters I’ve ever had; ever.
New York City – Ear Inn – Floyd, Djr
April 2011. Thursday. The Ear Inn is an incredibly special place. Look up the history of it and you’ll see its managed to remain standing for nearly two hundred years against all the odds, and the never ending flurry of re-development that churns around the island. A den of inequity for decades and a haunt for the many gangs and river pirates that used to terrorise the settlements and docks along the Hudson. For me, I first discovered the Ear back in 2007 when Floyd took me there – and since then it’s become our prime rendezvous point.
Floyd’s clutching the NATO issue pen he bought as part of his post-apocalyptic survivor fetish he’s gotten into since reading Dog Eat Dog.
Sam Rockwell – a vastly underrated actor – is to take on the role of villain in this much anticipated comedy written by the hugely talented duo Alessandro Tanaka and Brian Gatewood. It also stars Jonah Hill as a college dropout who begrudgingly agrees to watch some snot-faced brats as a favour to his mum. Taking the brats with him when he goes to score some drugs leads to a unfolding chorus of calamity and a wild chase through New York City.
Put this in your diary as one to watch for 2011. And keep your eyes fixed on the ascending arcs of Alessandro Tanaka and Brian Gatewood… a powerful writing duo who I anticipate making me laugh, guffaw and grimace in uncomfortable delight for a few decades to come.
This is a brief email exchange with a compatriot in New York (with a country house in the Catskills) whose opinions I rely upon and trust. It’s about the short story “House of Heavenly Light” . I’ve XXX out potential spoilers.
From: clovenfeet@hotmail.com
To: xxxxxx@hotmail.com
Subject: House of Heavenly Light
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2010 14:46:49 +0000
Hey Floyd, hello from the Sky Bunker.
I spent yesterday writing a new short story, nailed it in one day start to finish… based on an idea I had whilst treading around New York. It’s designed to fit into the world of Yellow Dawn and reveal some of the influence of Hastur through the zombie infection. It’s very short.
David
From: xxxxxx@hotmail.com
To: clovenfeet@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: House of Heavenly Light
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2010 20:22:49 +0000
What a lovely treat it is to have one of your fave authors just rock up in the inbox to say, hey, fresh of the press – new story!
You would have loved it at my house in the Catskills last night. man. Blizzard. The mountains where HOWLING like I’ve never heard.
I turned lights out, big whiskey. sat in my little spot and listened.
When we arrived, we had no heating oil. It was intensely cold. Luckily we have another stove to keep alive but it went all a bit “post yellow dawn” for a while there…
Will read this story tonight.
Cheers.
Floyd.
Subject: Re: House of Heavenly Light
From: xxxxxxx@hotmail.com
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2010 23:30:26 -0500
To: clovenfeet@hotmail.com
Hi David,
Just finished your short. Bravo. You mentioned the Hastur effect when we met, its an intriguing addition to the “zombie” cannon.
I can see where the NYC trip had influenced – the infected woman is obviously the bar maid from the Ear ;)
The XXXXXX experience was nicely rendered, good sense of a bad trip kicking in. Im guessing his experience is due to XXXXXX?
“bite sized” book add ons like this are a fan treat, good stuff geezer.
Thanks for sending.
Floyd.
House of Heavenly Light is a short story (2,000 words) that fits into the post-apocalyptic world of the science fiction & dark fantasy RPG “YELLOW DAWN“. You can read the story as a stand alone, or use it to gain further insight into the influence of the Great Old One – Hastur – through the zombie infection.
BUY it today, or see how you can get a copy sent to you for free.
.
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Wednesday Dec 15th, 2010, @ 13:06 GMT. My head is swirling. A combination of man-flu, lingering grasp of jetlag and a sense that my world is evolving… shuddering free of long held foundations. Sunday saw me return from a week in New York. A place I’ve known through various phases of my life, through various incarnations of who-I-am, since coming here on my own in 1998. Here’s some pics and words to give you a flavour of the trip:
Sunrise through freezing fog as I'm blasting towards London Heathrow.
It was like a positive omen. A visceral reinforcement of the vibe I was already savouring: that new things are on the horizon, changes and opportunities, personal growth and hopefully a liberal splashing of success as Dog Eat Dog continues to attract extra-ordinary compliments, and everyone I meet seems to be genuinely impressed with what I’ve churned out, and how much I’ve produced, in the past few years. It’s a good feeling and I want it to continue and grow.
Me walking through the bright lights and urban canyons of Manhattan - pounding pavement with tunes in my ears
Jo and I went straight from JFK via long taxi ride into Manhattan and then a van ride through Lincoln tunnel to New Jersey and Ramona’s place.
The last time I was here was December 2007. I’d just started working at the Company after 2 and a half years of writing and living on savings. Yellow Dawn hadn’t been released, and Shadows of the Quantinex was just a bunch of complex scribbled notes (which I spent most of the trip unravelling). EDGE hadn’t been written and Dog Eat Dog was still a bunch of notes written out in the South of France in summer 2006 and summer 2007. And my mum was still alive. In fact, she was in preparation for really living her life after dad had died – booking a big trip to South America, and just going for it. We didn’t know about the cancers yet.
Being at Ramona’s apartment is a treat. This is somewhere I’ve known in my life and associated with trips to New York since 1999. It’s comfortable and comforting being there. Hot shower. Views of the Manhattan skyline (across the Hudson river) from her windows. We eat pizza, sup the blueberry vodka I brought with me, and catch up until late into the night.
Sharky Bones McCoy was supposed to be here already, along with Jules Ms Scarlet. But a freak wild-cat strike by Spanish air-traffic controllers on Friday caused Kelvin to be stranded in Spain and miss his original flight from London to NYC. He spent several tense days trying to find funds and means to book a new flight direct from Madrid. Hopefully those wankers who walked out without warning will find themselves held personally accountable for ruining the plans of some many thousands of people. Kelvin was lucky- finding a gruelling flight that will take him via Frankfurt. So many others will not have been so lucky. Jules was rear-rammed in a car crash a few weeks ago, the impact reigniting the terrible brain swelling and pains she’s suffered since taking a nasty fall from a horse several years earlier – it effectively prevents her from flying.
Sharky Bones McCoy & OJ riding the gypsy van from NJ to Manhattan
Kelvin finally makes it to New York. We meet him at Newark and he sinks into the comfortable fold. The above picture is typical of the journey we made every day from Ramona’s pad in New Jersey into the City.
Typically, we grabbed some breakfast together, then I peeled off to go do my thing. Walking 9 or 12 miles is standard for me now. First day I walked down to the Village listening to tunes, and found a cafe. I was grinning from ear to ear. Radiating good vibes and feeling very much like I was in an excellent groove. I found a window bench seat, parked up, perched up, pulled out my stack of notepads and working notes and got on with… stuff.
I was without laptop, so working on the new contents structure for Yellow Dawn and writing notes for the expanded background section I’m planning. What was refreshing, going through the rulebook, was how much it stands up to scrutiny. People have been telling me this since I first published a list of what I considered bugs and need-for-improvement, but it was good to finally have the time to just read through it myself and feel confident about Yellow Dawn as it stands.
I also started to map out a new, and hopefully very short story, which aims to expand the concept of the zombie infection (in Yellow Dawn) and …the influence of Hastur through it. It’s got a working title of “House of Heavenly Light” and I’m hoping to write it during the Christmas break.
Several bodies switch in and out of the seats next to me…a blur of human motion whilst I’ve got my brain buried in my books. 2nd cup of coffee I look up and chill out, then get talking to Laura G who’s appeared next to me. She’s running a business that is the next step on from Life Coaching. I was impressed and ran through her website in development and shared some knowledge. She admitted that her current copy was dire and needed serious work: would I want to help her out? She’d pay me. I was tempted but knowing how much work I’ve got to get through on my own turf, I declined. I did brainstorm a new strap line for her business though. She might use it. She might not. Definitely one of life’s interesting characters.
Later I reconnect with Jo and Kelvin, share some time before I bail back out for a rendezvous with my publicist at the Ear bar, on Spring Street.
Mr Hayes at the Ear Bar, Spring Street - a den of iniquity and rather cool people
Over the past few years, this chap has gone from being a mere advocate of my work, pushing my books through his channels, to become one of my biggest fans. Sitting there, in the low light, cramped, crowded and eclectic ambience of the Ear bar, I was stunned by the enthusiastic torrent of compliments and praise he had about Dog Eat Dog, and about the world of Yellow Dawn.
The night turned into a drinking session, sociable and chatty we rapidly began to explore the tables around us in this tightly packed space.
I turned to one of several people who had arrived at a table beside me – and who had already caught my eye for being damned interesting looking – and asked them to take a pic of us holding a copy of Dog Eat Dog. The girl who took this photo is now rapidly becoming an amazing friend. Snapping the shot, she handed me back the camera and asked “so which one of you is David J Rodger”.
And the conversation just flowed from there :o)
Flat Iron Building
The rest of the trip was a combination of socialising with Ramona, Jo, Kelvin and the regular crew, or me peeling off to do my own thing and meet new people. One day Jo and Kelvin and I headed down to find my old faithful eating house: Chat ‘N Chew. Went for the famous Mac & Cheese that I’ve been enjoying here since 2002. It did not disappoint.
Crossing the snaking giant of Tappan Zee Bridge
If you’ve read Dog Eat Dog, or ran a Yellow Dawn scenario near to the Living City of New York, you’ll know Tappan Zee bridge has a major role to play for survivors. Ramona obligingly drove me, with Kelvin and Jo in tow, up through the dead zone to visit it.
We’re actually on the bridge at this point. It’s a three mile expanse, in a winding s-shape. And I just love it. In Yellow Dawn, and so Dog Eat Dog, it becomes a protected place within the surrouning dead zone – a place where surivors create settlements and businesses, a thriving community that crosses the boundary between the Living City of New York and the rural support zone beyond, where precious metals and digital credits can intermingle.
Crossing Tappan Zee bridge: so good to be able to blend the visual realiy with a fictional universe in my mind
View of Manhattan from Ramona's pad in New Jersey, looking out across Hudson river
My last solo trip into the City
It was my final day. I grabbed a late night van ride into Manhattan… and stayed out til past 1.a.m.
Me and the City – we really connected this trip, and this night in particular. And it’s lodged a thought in my mind for possible new directions for the future. Where do I want to be in my life?
Times Square at night - cyberpunk city in the here and now
So now I’m back in the UK, struggling to snap back into my groove as a result of a viscous hacking cough and general spaced-out state of mind. Infection. Man-flu, New York style, and no doubt caused by the number of late nights out that saw me walking miles in sub-zero temperatures – the hazy, freezing air, jabbing my face and lungs with every breath. Worth it though.
Finally, here’s a little retrospective of my previous times in NYC.
1998. I met this girl as she got out of a taxi fresh from Chicago. We made a pledge - to success
1999. Empire State Building with a view of Twin Towers in distance
2000. Still big into my clubbing scene. Timo Mass played at Twilos. Bliss.
2002. Just your everyday American breakfast.
2007. Five years since last trip my whole world has changed.
December 2010. So I’m off to New York, again. This is somewhere I’ve been going to since 1998… back then a trip that certainly defined a new iteration and re-invention of myself. Something I do every now and then.
I’m beyond the whole tourist vibe. I’m not going there to site see. I’m going there to be with people I love, to enjoy good times with friends, and, I’m going to just DO MY THING. My Thing… split off the main group, pound pavement with tunes in my ears, enjoy cafes with my paper notebook and pen and streams of ideas.
This is what I’m looking forward to. But I’m also conscious of a niggling feeling of change. That this trip will be significant. Already, this year has seen me shifting back into a far more sociable vibe. I’ve been meeting new people and building on new relationships and networks.
This trip is also about disengaging from the intensity of the past 6 weeks, since finishing Dog Eat Dog, of marketing and PR activities.
So after an early start, leaving Bristol in the dark of the wee hours, Jo and I are blasting east towards Heathrow airport to start our journey. I see the sun rise through the freezing rain and mist and I’m painted by this beautiful heavenly light.
New York City – Djr
December 2010. It’s Monday morning. Jo and I got here last night and went straight from JFK via long taxi ride into Manhattan and then a van ride through Lincoln tunnel to New Jersey and Ramona’s place.
The last time I was here was December 2007. I’d just started working at the Company after 2 and a half years of writing and living on savings. Yellow Dawn hadn’t been released, and Shadows of the Quantinex was just a bunch of complex scribbled notes (which I spent most of the trip unravelling). EDGE hadn’t been written and Dog Eat Dog was still a bunch of notes written out in the South of France in summer 2006 and summer 2007. And my mum was still alive. In fact, she was in preparation for really living her life after dad had died – booking a big trip to South America, and just going for it. We didn’t know about the cancers yet.
Being at Ramona’s apartment is a treat. This is somewhere I’ve known in my life and associated with trips to New York since 1999. It’s comfortable and comforting being there. Hot shower. Views of the Manhattan skyline (across the Hudson river) from her windows. We eat pizza, sup the blueberry vodka I brought with me, and catch up until late into the night.
Sharky Bones McCoy was supposed to be here already, along with Jules Ms Scarlet. But a freak wild-cat strike by Spanish air-traffic controllers on Friday caused Kelvin to be stranded in Spain and miss his original flight from London to NYC. He spent several tense days trying to find funds and means to book a new flight direct from Madrid. Hopefully those wankers who walked out without warning will find themselves held personally accountable for ruining the plans of some many thouands of people. Kelvin was lucky – he’s due to arrive tonight (Monday) – finding a gruelling flight that will take him via Frankfurt. So many others will not have been so lucky. Jules was rear-rammed in a car crash a few weeks ago, the impact reigniting the terrible brain swelling and pains she’s suffered since taking a nasty fall from a horse several years earlier – it effectively prevents her from flying.
Monday morning is long and slow. Ramona makes coffee. I make Gordon Ramsay’s scrambled eggs. Delish. Then we’re on the van heading into the city. And it’s all familiar and lovely.
It’s also unbelievably cold!
New York City – Times Square
December 2010.
NJ – on the bus – Sharky, Oj
December 2010. Tuesday. Leaving Ramona’s pad you’re faced by the imposing stretch of the Hudson river and the sprawling metropolis of Manhattan beyond. Hold your hand out for one of the many vans that zip along Boulevard East, jump on, barrel through Lincoln tunnel and pay $3 to the driver when you jump off in the City.
Ramona had to go to a funeral in Florida. We headed in, grabbed some breakfast together, then I peeled off to go do my thing. I walked down to the Village and listened to tunes, and found a cafe. I was grinning from ear to ear. Radiating good vibes and feeling very much like I was in an excellent groove. I found a window bench seat, parked up, perched up, pulled out my stack of notepads and working notes and got on with… stuff.
NYC – cafe in the Village – Laura G
December 2010. Tuesday. Several bodies switch in and out of the seats next to me…a blur of human motion whilst I’ve got my brain buried in my books. 2nd cup of coffee I look up and chill out, then get talking to Laura G who’s appeared next to me. She’s running a business that is the next step on from Life Coaching. I was impressed and ran through her website in development and shared some knowlege. She admitted that her current copy was dire and needed serious work: would I want to help her out? She’d pay me. I was tempted but knowing how much work I’ve got to get through on my own turf, I declined. I did brainstorm a new strapline for her business though. She might use it. She might not. Definately one of life’s interesting characters.
Later I reconnect with Jo and Kelvin, share some time before I bail back out for a rendezvous on Spring Street.
NYC – The Ear Bar – Floyd
December 2010. Tuesday. Last time I saw Floyd in NYC it was hear, in the Ear bar on Spring street. I had such a great time I was really looking forward to coming back to the place again. Floyd had suggested I meet him in Brooklyn but I wrinkled my nose. Ear bar for me, please. I got there early, so settled down in the only seat/table available, with a double-whisky and coke. There was a vibe in the air. It had been there all day. I was in an ebullient mood.
Floyd is my US publicist, and a good friend with connections that stretch back into the 1980s and growing up in the North East of England. And it was fucking good to see him again.
He’s halfway through Dog Eat Dog – and I was stunned by the enthusiastic torrent of compliments and praise he had about the book, and about the world of Yellow Dawn. It reinforces the notion I have that this book could really launch me… get me noticed…
Here’s to hoping. :o)
The night turned into a drinking session, sociable and chatty we rapidly began to explore the tables around us in this crammed and tightly packed place.
NYC – The Ear Bar – Djr, Floyd
December 2010. Tuesday. I turned to one of several people who had arrived at a table beside me – and who had already caught my eye for being damned interesting looking – and asked them to take a pic. The girl who took this photo is now rapidly becoming an amazing friend. Snapping the shot, she handed me back the camera and asked “so which one of you is David J Rodger”.
It became a fantastic night of new people, new stories and new connections; I discovered that the Ear bar has a tight-knit community within its heart of regulars.
We left the Ear bar around 3 in the morning. Found ourselves in a strange place with a strange Scottish barman and a mangy dog… and then I was walking, reeling, actually very drunk. A tube ride to Port Authority… and me unable to find any vans back to NJ or any buses leaving platform 212… so I had a very bizarre and random 2 hour crash / sleep / pace around in Port Authority until sometime after 6 A.M. when I finally got a bus back to NJ.
I spent the next day, Wednesday, in bed and did not leave Mona’s apartment. I missed the John Lennon rememberance with Mona, Jo and Kelvin. But did get to indulge in the mass of Beyti Kebab goodies they ordered on their return.
NYC – Bobby, Irini
December 2010. Bobby’s criminal defence lawyer and Irini is a successful fashion designer. Seriously lovely people. Missing from the set is Alex, a screenwriter making waves in Hollywood.
NYC – Flat Iron Building
December 2010. The rest of the trip was a combination of socialising with Ramona, Jo, Kelvin and the regular crew, or me peeling off to do my own thing.
This was taken when Jo and Kelvin and I headed down to find my old faithful eating house: Chat ‘N Chew.
NYC – Chat n’ Chew – Sharky Bones McCoy
December 2010. Went for the famous Mac & Cheese that we’ve been enjoying here since 2002. Also went for meatloaf and a veggie chilli.
NYC – Sharky Bones McCoy
December 2010. Kelvin like you’ve never seen him before.
New York State – Tarrytown – Castle on the Hudson
December 2010. Part of our planned itinerary was for us to drive back to Tappan Zee bridge – a place I’d only glimpsed back in 2007 when we all took a drive to Bear lodge, but a location now vitally important in my world of Yellow Dawn and the novel Dog Eat Dog.
Bearing in mind, that driving over a hulking old bridge wasn’t really a great tourist attraction, the girls, and Kelvin, hunted for other places to visit during the trip there. They found this place, an early 20th-century castle with towers and turrets; Castle on the Hudson is perched on a hilltop overlooking the river and just beyond site of the Tappan Zee bridge itself. A great place to visit with a very good wine collection to sample.
New York State – Tarrytown – Castle on the Hudson – Ramona, Oj, Sharky
December 2010.
New York State – crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge
December 2010. So we’re actually on the bridge at this point. It’s a three mile expanse, in a winding s-shape. And I just love it. In Yellow Dawn, and so Dog Eat Dog, it becomes a protected place within the surrouning dead zone – a place where surivors create settlements and businesses, a thriving community that crosses the boundary between the Living City of New York and the rural support zone beyond, where precious metals and digital credits can intermingle.
New York State – crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge – Djr
December 2010. So good to be able to drive across it and blend the visual realiy with a fictional universe in my mind.
NJ – Ramona’s pad
December 2010. Ramona finally got the lights on her tree finished. And then went to add one more set of lights, against the advice of Kelvin who said, “won’t you risk blowing the fuse?”
At which point the fuse blew and the whole tree plunged into darkness.
NJ – view from Ramona’s pad
December 2010. This was taken in NJ, overlooking the Hudson river at the Manhattan skyline. Never fails to catch my breath and cause me to pause and stare. It’s been doing this for 11 years now.
New York – Djr
December 2010. It was my final night in the city. I’d dithered about coming in earlier, opting to spend the day with Jo, Kelvin and Ramona for a day trip to Lambertville and New Hope – lovely places but not the big city vibe I was hankering after. So, getting back to NJ around 8.30pm, instead of settling down in Ramona’s pad with a view to an early night to get up at 5 A.M. for flight back home, I leapt free and grabbed a van ride into Manhattan… and stayed out til 1.A.M.
Me and the City – we really connected this trip, and this night in particular. And it’s lodged a thought in my mind for possble new directions for the future. Where do I want to be in my life?
New York – overlooking Weehawken New Jersey rooftops
The journey began with a Big Cheese & Ham sandwich from Cafe Amore in Bristol. It was tradition, especially since the legendary Joe Cubas cafe had closed down. Gordaz was in there; I grabbed a sandwich to take with me to the airport (as I usually do when I’m making a big trip).
An easy ride to Heathrow. Onto a Virgin Atlantic, whisky & coke, several glasses of wine, nice food and a choice of about 30 films… I see a familiar jaw and browline… there’s Ron Pearlman! Mr Hellboy, Mr Chronos.
It was a Big Trip for a lot of reasons; primary amongst them is the fact this feels like me reconnecting with some mainline vein of life again, after the 2 years out on the periphery of reality and deep within my own world (I left my career in 2005 to living on savings and write, write, write. Come October 2007 I started contracting to pull in the money again).
On the flight I’m reflecting on the person I used to be back when I first did this journey – late 1998… one year into my stint at the Agency; I guess the only things that have really changed is the punky blonde hair replaced by a thinning mop of mousey colour, and I no longer crave the night-thrill of clubbing. But as always I was looking forward to just pounding pavement for hour after hour, drinking coffee, camping out in cafes spending hours on my writing.
Landing in JFK we were met by Sean (my first time meeting him), who was a complete star and drove us all the way back to New Jersey to R____s place. Walking into her place was like stepping into a little slice of heaven: the lighting, heat, scent, it is so cosy, inviting, welcoming, you just want to curl up on the sofa and share good times with good people. The sofa was our bed, a monster of ultimate comfort when folded out, large enough for Sarah, Oj and I to sleep without claustrophobia. I drank an ice-cold bottle of beer and got to watch ” A Miracle on 34th Street” for the first time.
The first morning I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee simmering in the pot; I drank a couple of mugs black, and ate some more of R_____’s amaaaazing pumpkin pie.
The photo above is the view from R___’s apartment that first morning… a richly familiar view to me, although I had never been to New York this late in the year… had never seen New York with snow… the bulk of the view is lost in the icy fog. Manhattan (across the river) is concealed in the distance.
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New Jersey – Angel Heart anyone?
When I first came to New York (my first time in America) back in 1998, I was full of emotive daydreams… Angel Heart, The Hunger, and all things Lovecraftian, especially the Cthulhu campaign Masks of Nyarlathotep. This is one of those moments that brings all those feelings back; I can’t explain it… but it’s more than just bricks, mortar and cast iron.
