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Diablerie, v. 1, issue 1, January 1944
Page 9
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diablerie 9 girl! Think over your favorite plot-incident stories – unless you are a Cummings-Burroughs addict, I'm willing to wager that they are realistically conceived and written, or at least are more realistic and less artificial than the run of the mill "pulpu kes". Writers whose sole aim is acheiving a saleable level of mediocrity would not care to "waste" their time with atmosphere fantasies; nor would such writings stand a ghost of a chance in the commercial pulp magazines. It is highly probable however, that any science-fiction which may survive as "literature" will contain a minimum of action for action's sake, and will be written primarily as mood-creation. the end purpose A silver-winged moth dances in the candlelight, A soaring speck that courts the flame, And gaining it, finds also dissolution. I pause a while to laugh at its futility, And then 'turn to beck'ning destiny... Who laughs at me? fantasy A flower stirs the water's face, A ripple spreads... and so are dreams begun; A web of fantasy that some enchanting Circe weaves. Around the walls of mud and clay the dreamer's eye perceives A golden beam that lances from the sun To slay the drab and deadly commonplace. Banks Mebane
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diablerie 9 girl! Think over your favorite plot-incident stories – unless you are a Cummings-Burroughs addict, I'm willing to wager that they are realistically conceived and written, or at least are more realistic and less artificial than the run of the mill "pulpu kes". Writers whose sole aim is acheiving a saleable level of mediocrity would not care to "waste" their time with atmosphere fantasies; nor would such writings stand a ghost of a chance in the commercial pulp magazines. It is highly probable however, that any science-fiction which may survive as "literature" will contain a minimum of action for action's sake, and will be written primarily as mood-creation. the end purpose A silver-winged moth dances in the candlelight, A soaring speck that courts the flame, And gaining it, finds also dissolution. I pause a while to laugh at its futility, And then 'turn to beck'ning destiny... Who laughs at me? fantasy A flower stirs the water's face, A ripple spreads... and so are dreams begun; A web of fantasy that some enchanting Circe weaves. Around the walls of mud and clay the dreamer's eye perceives A golden beam that lances from the sun To slay the drab and deadly commonplace. Banks Mebane
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