I have not been idle during my long hiatus from Armagideon Time. In fact, a good part of my free time has been spent dabbling in a form of digital necromancy, pulling and salvaging interesting and otherwise “lost” bits from a stream of block VHS-to-digital transfers that have been getting dumped onto the Internet Archive.

The quality of the recordings has been fairly decent considering the limitations of the source technology and the age of the tapes, which date back as far as 1987.

There are a lot of truly damaged recordings in there, though — some originating from the source signal, some from the imperfections of 1980’s A/V technology, and some from the entropic rot that magnetic tape undergoes over three decades. It’s irksome when it affects something I did want to crop out and archive, but otherwise I enjoy the nostalgic vibe it evokes.

After all, what are these recordings if not digitized ghosts, ragged and distorted echoes struggling to maintain a foothold in the present day material world?

Recommended listening: It’s always weird to be reminded that they started off as a junior division Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Confession time:

I cannot stand having makeup or any form of goop applied to my face. It’s one of my odd sensory tics and got me into loads of trouble when I was a young tyke and would scream and hide behind the plaid orange sofa when my artist mom wanted to apply the finishing touches to whatever elaborate Halloween costume she’d crafted for me that year.

It’s why I’m wearing an expression of abject shellshocked misery in every Halloween photo taken of me prior to 1979.

More than my usual resting hangdog face, I mean.

Recommended listening: From Boingo’s “best” album, in the sense that Trouser Press merely damned it with faint praise instead of calling for the public execution of the parties involved. Still, nothing compared to the blazing mad-ons they harbored towards INXS and Robert Palmer.

New York hipsters, man.

Testing…

Testing…

Is this thing still on?

Sigh.

If nothing else, the thick veneer of dust and curtains of cobwebs which have accumulated in Armagideon Time HQ will add to the ambience of my foolhardy attempt to reanimate the rotting corpse of this blog.

I don’t even have a concept of plan for where this will lead — and that, my friends-in-fright, is truly scary.

Recommended listening: Not my favorite rendition of this familiar standard, but she was the vocalist Johnny Mercer had in mind when originally penned the lyrics for it.

Sorry, kids, I really flaked on this year’s countdown.

It started off on a decent note, but the general state of affairs led me to call time on the spooky stuff halfway through the month and opt for more cozy comforts.

It’s not doomerism. Just a general sense of distraction.

Thanks to those of you who did tune in for what little there was. It was nice seeing those familiar names in the comments. It still haven’t written this place off entirely, but the stars aren’t quite aligned yet for me to consider what that would look like in practice.

Happy Halloween!

Recommended listening:

“I think their predominant colour was a greyish-green, though they had white bellies. They were mostly shiny and slippery, but the ridges of their backs were scaly. Their forms vaguely suggested the anthropoid, while their heads were the heads of fish, with prodigious bulging eyes that never closed. At the sides of their necks were palpitating gills, and their long paws were webbed. They hopped irregularly, sometimes on two legs and sometimes on four. I was somehow glad that they had no more than four limbs. Their croaking, baying voices, clearly used for articulate speech, held all the dark shades of expression which their staring faces lacked.

But for all of their monstrousness they were not unfamiliar to me. I knew too well what they must be — sexy as fuck.”

Fun Fact: My maternal ancestors founded the real life community upon which H.P. Lovecraft based Innsmouth. There’s even a marker there featuring several appearances of that branch of the family’s surname.

Recommended listening: More inexplicable strangeness from forgotten aeons.

If you’re going to tamper in God’s domain, the least you can do is invest in a shatterproof containment flask.

Recommended listening: Breaking up is shard to do.

Running into a ghost while spending the night in a haunted mansion? Scary.

Fleeing the room and running into Vince Van Patten wearing a pair of novelty boxer shorts? PURE NIGHTMARE FUEL.

It truly put the hell in Hell Night.

Recommended listening: When you get caught between the goth and New York City.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Phil, but I was asking if you folks wanted to go to Applebee’s or the Olive Garden for the weekend’s infernal meet-up.”

Recommended listening: Until even the Horned One gets sick out your antics and boots you out of his band.

Swan: Madame, Swan here. I want you to answer a question for me.

Madame: Yes?

Swan: What would you give me for a starring role in a syndicated sitcom?

Madame: Anything you wanted, sweetheart.

Swan: Anything? Would you give me… your spot on Hollywood Squares?

Recommended listening: The devil is real and spent the better part of the 1970s programming celebrity variety hours as summer replacement series.

Status update, 2024:

The Vampire: Actuary for a major insurance corporation.

The Ghost: Middle school guidance counselor.

The Werewolf: Sells souvenirs made from painted shells in Myrtle Beach, S.C.

The Clown: The Tri-State Torso Ripper, still at large.

Recommended listening: Tick tick tick.