Summary: Ray Bradbury has died. For generations of geeks, he has been one of the quintessential sources of wonder and merriment. For me, he was a second star from the right to sail on till dawn towards. Here are three of my most recent thoughts about him, his work, and his influence, and one of his most powerful quotes.
My last three thoughts of Ray Bradbury, and one of his more powerful quotes.
BLOT: (06 Jun 2012 - 07:28:52 PM)
My last three thoughts of Ray Bradbury, and one of his more powerful quotes.
The most recent thing I remember about Ray Bradbury is Rachel Bloom's "F**k Me Ray Bradbury", which suddenly takes on a strange vibe after Bradbury's recent [as in yesterday's] death. Still, it was a touching tribute that I, and many other geeks, appreciated. Sure, some of us appreciated it because the idea of a busty girl singing about how hawt science fiction makes her was pretty much our key fantasy from ages 13-181, eventually only superseded by one with various
The second most recent thing I recall is reading "The October Game" and finding it fascinating. First read that in one of the EC Comics reprints. This version seems to the same text as the first link but includes some bits for the EC version as illustrations. One time I thought I might like to convert it to a radioplay. It wouldn't be very hard. And would have a great pay-off. I did a couple of touch bases to make sure it would be ok to make it, and kind of found out that as long as it was a free endeavour offered up as such, it would be no problem. Then I guess my standard laziness hit and I never got around to it. Maybe now I should.
The third most recent thing, and second to last thing in my tribute of a post, is this tidbit from way back when on my blog of old about Bradbury walking out of a classroom discussion because they refused to believe his interpretation of
Enough of all that. I'll just end with this...one of his most powerful quotes. One of my favorites, if not my favorite, and it has been highly influential on me and my concept of horror. Appropriate now, and sad. Good night, Bradbury. Sleep well.
Death is your little sister one morning when you awaken at the age of seven, look into her crib and see her staring up at you with a blind blue, fixed and frozen stare until the men come with a small wicker basket to take her away. Death is when you stand by her high chair four weeks later and suddenly realize she'll never be in it again, laughing and crying, and make you jealous of her because she was born. That is death. ("The Night")
1: I lie, of course, that was a distant number two behind "Princess Leia in a metal bikini to our Jabba the Hutt".
OTHER BLOTS THIS MONTH: June 2012
dickens of a blog
Written by Doug Bolden
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