Scott S. Phillips, author of Squirrel Eyes and Tales of Misery & Imagination and writer/director of zombie flick cult classic Stink Of Flesh, has just released the annotated script for his film Gimme Skelter as a fine new book (which just happens to feature some material from yours truly) available now for your Kindle!

In case you haven’t heard, Gimme Skelter was a high-point in Indie filmmaking in the DVD era, just before the advent of Netflix, streaming videos, and the proliferation of DVD-on-demand sellers. Skelter tells the tale of a small New Mexico town, overrun by a new wave of sadistic Mansonites, led by a man who deems himself the lost son of Ol’ Charlie himself. Featuring performances by genre mainstays like Billy Garberina, Kurly Tlapoyawa, Trent Haaga, Elske McCain and original LeatherfaceGunnar Hansen, and music from the likes of Spindrift, Gimme Skelter is one of the most surprising low-budget thrillers I have ever seen.

Today is the day, 25th of January, that we honor the original Great Scot, the wordsmithy, The Bard, the voice of the people, the badass of Ayrshire, the man who gave us Auld Lang Syne and A Red, Red Rose. Poet, songwriter, political commentator and liberal shit-disturber, Robert Burns. Robbie Burns Day is a day to unleash the Ploughman Poet within, set down and celebrate the loveliness of words, the wit and the wisdom, the power of language, the redemptive qualities of fine Scots Whiskey, and the horrific cuisine of the Highlands.

Address To A Haggis

Robert Burns (1786)

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o’need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin’, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ hands will sned,
Like taps o’ trissle.

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis!

Go to http://www.robertburns.org/ to learn more about this magnificent bastard on this, the most blessed of days.

So, once again, the creativity bug has latched on to my exposed epidermis, sunk its nasty proboscis deep into my tender flesh, and is now suckling at the teats of my juicy, ripe and corpulent cells. This one’s been floating in the miasma of my brain stem for quite a while. Sci-Fi, post-apocalypso, not very horrorfying at all.

I’ve been reading David Lynch’s treatise on Transcendental Meditation and Film, Catching The Big Fish, and was meditating on the points El Lyncho had made regarding the germination of ideas, and the genesis of a story. I’ve had a few old ideas swirling through the wateslides in my head lately, but this one suddenly came clear as day.

So now, fired up with the blossoms of a new world growing in my brain, do I try and plow through the rest of Sinatra, or set it aside once more and try to get this one down on the books while it’s percolating?

Hmmmmmm… What to do? What to do?

In the meantime, my half-Fae, half-Demon life mate, The Divine Ms Liz, has an amazing objet d’art in a contest for Harlequin Jewellery. If you’re into that kind of thing, and so inclined, check it out and vote according to your tastes (although I personally think her selection is fucking BOSS!) CLICK on the PIC to vote. *You do need to sign into this thing through the Facebooks*

Also, I’m looking for just a couple more bites on the Kindle version of Living Dead at Zigfreidt & Roy for this month to put me at 500 DL’s. I would cry myself to blissful sleep if I managed to hit that milestone and knew there were that many people out there reading my little tale of Vegas Zombiepocalypse. So CHECK IT OUT and PICK IT UP! It’s got a 4.9 out of 5 star average and has been favorably compared to both Deadwood and Shaun of The Dead! How can you say no? And in celebration of being so damn close, here’s an alternate cover for ya!

It’s Eddie Poe’s Birthday!
Light a black candle, curl up with a big, bulky, leatherette-bound volume of the works of the Grand Master of Terror and Suspense and forget the world.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” – E.A.P.

Now seek out some great horror to fill your night with the terrors of The Night’s Plutonian Shore. Might I suggest the excellent novella The Poe Toaster? Based upon the real mysteries surrounding Poe’s last days, and written by the estimable Jennifer Word. Available on Smashwords,  Kindle and Nook!