Amongst the oil fumes and the briny dinge of the sea, greasy, tired, frustrated, I had a flash. Suddenly, I had it all figured out-the psychology of despots and CEOs. I figured that in order for civilization to exist, people have to stay in one place, and so it seems somehow natural that the evolution of society would be to create an illusion of motion where none exists. Faster cars. Faster editing. Increased sensory stimulation. But all the while we are actually sitting more and more still. The population is placated by the feeling of progress, when in reality they are imprisoned. Even if we feel or strive to be utterly irresponsible, we're still somehow doing ourjob." Carl Watson evokes his desolation angels with great empathy and care, but also with ruthless candor. He writes like someone who pushed himself to the wall, then pushed through it to the void and came back with stories to tell. Here he reclaims the Seventies, one of the more desolate of recent epochs, with the clarity of Proust, the balefulness of Bodenheim, and the raw honesty of an Iggy song. -John Strausbaugh, author of "Black Like You" and "Sissy Nation" "CW writes like he put his thumb in the air on some two-lane American highway that used to be an Indian Trail, where he got picked up by God. Like he has come back to the fire in the woods we have gathered around at the end of the world with our loved ones to tell us what he saw. -Andrew Huebner, author of "We Pierce," "American By Blood"and "East of Bowery" With prose unfurling like cigarette smoke bleeding into that cloud of half-forgotten memories forever shadowing missed opportunities that hangs over a noonday dive somewhere during the twilight of the last blown century, heartbreak rock-n-roll on the radio crackling in exquisite precision between am stations and windswept interstates, Carl Watson daydreams before silent black-and-white televisions in SRO lobbies or as he drinks himself sober in crumbling Chicago tenements. "Backwards the Drowned Go Dreaming" explodes the bleary-eyed myth of the American road. -Donald Breckenridge, author of "This Young Girl Passing" Carl Watson's work is desolate poetry. He writes with sharp nostalgia for a past that really wasn't all that great. It feels like a stay in a down-and-out motel, but right on the other side of the paper-thin wall is transcendence. Watson never lets you forget that even in the most desperate situations, there is humor (even if it's mostly black) and greatness of the spirit. -Emily XYZ, "United States of Poetry
Scott Schroeder dreams of a day when he and his father can have a home of their own. Following an accident that took his mother's life eight years before, doctors discovered Scott was suddenly deaf. Blessed with being an accomplished gymnast and skilled at signing and reading lips, Scott's biggest challenge is convincing others he is able to do all the same things as those in the hearing world. Picking up on conversations he observes along the way, Scott figures out a big family secret concerning his father and uncle and makes his mind up to play a part in their reconciliation.
A Master’s in Love & a Bachelor’s in Growth is a two-part book composed of many different experiences with a collage of linked short stories that includes a dash of visual aids. This collection includes a journey filled with life’s inevitable trials, tribulations, heartaches, heartbreaks, triumphs, victories, and personal enlightenment. You will undergo an adventurous path influenced by moments and lessons acquired through life experiences during higher education. You will also have an opportunity to engage in this journey by responding to conversational questions found at the end of each story. These cultivating heart- to- heart questions will enable you to reflect on your life experiences and share your story. This book has a few primary goals: to influence, to encourage, and to inspire, which simply means to impact; to share experiences and moments that resonate with the audience, which simply means to entertain. Maybe we can learn something about ourselves that classes did not teach us, but life did.
Fiction. Carl Watson applies his eye and hand via pathos, paranoia and chaos to the over-urban world of Chicago's Uptown district, his slices of life housed under such excited mental categories as "Descenders to the Skin Cage," "The Body Like an Arrow on a Nomad Map," "Swirling Birds In the Mind is a Sign of Madness," "Escape from the Totalitarian State of Flight," "They Could Be Cannibals." Acclaimed artist Joe Coleman's paintings dot Watson's pages like interim chapters, each its own explicit but encrypted sad tale. As Watson notes, "Sometimes an event is interpreted as 'news' and re-fed into the system forming a feedback loop that ramifies its every minute aspect until it actually posits a threat that overwhelms so-called reality or 'sense'" Watson's Uptowners reside in a gray zone outside the margin of The News, but they still make their own noise--a murmur not a whimper.
Mike Watkins thinks about a question that bothers him like a pesky fly buzzing inside his head. Why would a guy who spent a good part of his life climbing around on a mountain suddenly fall off a cliff? Unfortunately, he and his cousin, William, must start their vacation by attending the funeral of his grandfather's ranch foreman. A mysterious shaman also attends and warns people to beware of the white wolf. The boys find a map in the foreman's room taken from a library book that tells of a historic bank robbery. They decide to follow the clues in the map to Lookout Mountain where the robbers hid the stolen gold coins. Unfortunately, someone else has the same idea. William is kidnapped and the boys' copy of the map is stolen. With the help of Karana, an Indian neighbor, Mike locates the secret entrance to the cave where the coins were taken. It is the home of the great white wolf and a place of worship for the Indians that reside near there. Mike finds William, and they discover the coins in a room among the skeletons of the robbers who became trapped there many years before. Roscoe, the librarian, appears as the one who wants the treasure for himself. The shaman and wolf arrive on the scene. They tell Roscoe the gold is cursed and cannot leave the cave, but Roscoe doesn't care. Can he be stopped from claiming the treasure? What will happen to Mike and William?
In these days when most short fiction is so affected that it seems to move across the page like a vain actor across the stage, Watson's words give us something good and something real. In this his work is of rare value. No one who enters into it will emerge quite the same.
Pareidolia's field of play is that of the questions behind the questions. Granted, as Watson suggests, a determinist science has proved humans are basically simple machines, rotors, churning a mix of DNA & biological chemicals. And granted a determinist outside of persuasive ads, sellthrough thoughts & FB solicitations have configured people into simple, will-free consumption buckets. Watson poses this question: 'Not only is there but has there even been a human life?' And if there has been how could it survive under this determinist assault? The answer unrolls in querulous, curious infernos of seductive lyrics. Referencing (and poking) Stevens, Hopkins, Eliot & Baudelaire, these poems (like those of the last master mentioned) offer the reader the excitement & ecstasy of a sponge bath of blood in the basement of the famed Heartbreak Motor Lodge." --Jim Feast
The Sherlockian Canon, as prolific as it is, contains few accounts in which Mr. Holmes as his medical colleagues Drs. Watson and Verner, solve cases involving frightening medical conditions. It strikes me that many more such cases were successfully solved by Mr. Holmes and his associates. It is unlikely that Drs Watson and Verner would allow such mysteries remain unsolved. However, the likelihood of public fear nod panic has resulted in the stories being kept secret. Thanks to the current Verner family we have now been permitted to read Dr. Watsons narrative concerning these adventures.
The Sherlockian Canon, as prolific as it is, contains few accounts in which Mr. Holmes as his medical colleagues Drs. Watson and Verner, solve cases involving frightening medical conditions. It strikes me that many more such cases were successfully solved by Mr. Holmes and his associates. It is unlikely that Drs Watson and Verner would allow such mysteries remain unsolved. However, the likelihood of public fear nod panic has resulted in the stories being kept secret. Thanks to the current Verner family we have now been permitted to read Dr. Watson's narrative concerning these adventures.
The life and career of Mr. Sherlock Holmes haves inspired the interest of many of the brightest intellects in the world. They have expended great efforts to penetrate beyond the glimpses afforded us in the 60 published adventures - to detect the real underlying character of "the best and the wisest man" Dr. Watson has ever known ("The Final Problem" by A. C. Doyle). To the hundreds of past and present day Sherlockians, Holmesians, Doyeleans, we owe a great deal of gratitude for helping to shred the veil which has been created to obfuscate the real character of our remarkable hero: from the sainted Christopher Morley and Vincent Starrett; to the renowned commentators Ronald A. Knox, William S. Baring-Gould, Edgar W. Smith, Sydney C. Roberts, Michael Harrison, Michael Hardwick, and many others too numerous to mention. Commentators have included bookmen, journalists and essayists, physicians, psychiatrists and pathologists, chemists, monsignors and vicars, barristers and solicitors, and automobile executives. All have brought their intelligence, unique perspectives, and, most of all, a very desperate need for knowledge to this quest, their labor of love. With great humility but stout heart, I feel highly motivated, even obligated, to attempt to add my voice to this ongoing effort. As a microbiologist, I hope to bring a different perspective to these studies. I am used to dealing with very minute objects that produce consequences much greater than their size would indicate. Is not this obsession with minutiae the perfect training and background for one who feels the need to participate in Sherlockian studies? I do hope that this makes me somewhat qualified to join in this important area of scholarly research.
Many books on human rights either concentrate on human rights as fundamental moral rights with little attention to international human rights, or discount moral human rights and focus on international human rights. The Moral Dimensions of Human Rights takes a broad approach by discussing all three species of human rights - moral, international, and national -at length. At the same time, Carl Wellman pays special attention to the moral reasons that are relevant to each kind of human rights. The book has three parts. In the first, Wellman develops an original view of the nature and grounds of moral human rights based on his previous publications in the general theory of rights, especially Real Rights. The next part explains how moral human rights are relevant both to the justification and to the interpretation of human rights in international law and identifies several other relevant moral considerations. In the third part, the author argues that different kinds of moral and international human rights ought to be incorporated into national legal systems in four distinct ways-recognition in a written constitution, judicial decisions, legislation, and ratified human rights treaties.
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