My Question on the Outer Dark

by Andrew M. Reichart

The Outer Dark podcast recorded an episode At NecronomiCon 2017 in front of a live audience. They had a brief Q&A, and I got to ask a question.

When speaking in public, I tend to cut myself off too quickly. I really don’t want to be That Guy who rambles on and on. But I sometimes rein it in to the point of selling myself short.

So, not wanting to do that here, I made a conscious effort to err in the opposite direction, and just let myself say my piece. Which I did. Err, that is. In my defense, this is partly because I was trying to get at the heart of a somewhat nuanced question, and even so I barely scratched the surface. But yeah, here I am being pretty much That Guy for a few minutes.

Still, in those minutes (yes, unfortunately, ‘minutes’ plural), I am getting at some stuff worth exploring. So, here’s the question more or less as I asked it, edited a bit for brevity but not so much for clarity. In one or more future posts, I’ll elaborate on certain points I introduce here.

I’m interested in how political ideas are expressed in fiction in ways that are not didactic or obvious. I think that Lovecraft’s kind of an interesting example of this, because sometimes he’s really obvious, where he’s saying explicitly racist stuff. But there are other times where the cosmic vision that he’s presenting – if you’re not reading critically, you can miss the fact that these incursions from beyond are a metaphor for immigration of people that he regards as subhuman, and that sort of thing. So I found myself very interested in subverting that, and in my own early writing, there’s a very direct, “Ok, well, if that’s the case, and I believe the opposite, therefore his monsters are the good guys? What does that look like, and how can we sort of like explore that kind of idea?”

But if we still use certain tropes – tentacles coming from beyond – don’t we just recapitulate hatred of the Other? Or does it? And how can we cultivate a sort of embrace of the Other?

Y’all mentioned “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.” I think that’s a really interesting example, because obviously he’s got this fascination as well as revulsion. And I get to the end of that story and I’m like, “Yeah, fuck yeah, I wanna live forever under the sea too, that’s awesome.” And given the basically unreliable narrator, unreliable author here, like, what is Innsmouth really like? He makes it seem creepy, but I don’t trust his judgment about anything, it coulda been some sorta anarchist utopia, I dunno.

So anyway, I’m interested in how folks have put political sentiment in ways that aren’t obvious or didactic, and aren’t unwittingly repeating awful stuff that we actually don’t wanna be reproducing.

Here’s the episode, which is worth listening to. If you must listen to the unedited rambling version of my question, it starts at 1:15:14.

Andrew's NecronomiCon pack: 4 days, 2 climates, & 99 chapbooks
Lived out of this for four days on my NecronomiCon journey. Between the redeye to Logan and switching hotels each night, I had everything with me almost continually. On a mission.

NecronomiCon Providence 2017

swag from NecronomiCon Providence 2017
swag from NecronomiCon Providence 2017

Report back by Andrew M. Reichart

Had a great time at NecronomiCon in Providence, Rhode Island, August 17-20. I was on the fence about flying across the country for this, but I won a contest for a free pass on The Outer Dark podcast, and that tipped the scales. Thanks, The Outer Dark podcast! All weekend I had compelling conversations about literature, publishing, art, and politics, and saw great panel discussions (and regretfully missed many more) about Ligotti, Aickman, small press publishing, editing anthologies, the trajectory of weird fiction… plus recordings of The aforementioned Outer Dark podcast, where I maybe might’ve posed one of those rambling questions-from-the-audience, and the H.P. Lovecraft Literary Podcast, where I wanted to do so but couldn’t manage it ‘cause I’d just stumbled in off a redeye.

I lived out of a canvas knapsack the entire four days and nights, including clothes for two different climates and 99 chapbooks I brought to distribute. Through supreme force of will I managed to rein in how much stuff I picked up, pacing incoming swag to match the outgoing zines, ultimately carrying out exactly the same weight as I arrived with. (I have just a few copies left of that limited edition, by the way.)

Things I couldn’t resist picking up included the swag pictured above, such as: a grip of of Mike Bukowski‘s super-limited-edition Illustro Obscurum zines-I-thought-I’d-never-see… the new Dim Shores anthology Looming Low, not pictured ’cause it’s on my nightstand, though there’s a print of the cover next to…: a print of the Alert by Jason C. Eckhardt (which appears in Leslie S. Klinger’s The New Annotated H.P. Lovecraft… and Fufu Frauenwahl’s wacky zombie-themed “memory” variant, Zombory (with some really clever advanced rules, actually). Worth mentioning that I was only able to resist Nick Gucker’s amazing “The Cats of Ulthar” print thanks to (a) his assurance that he’d have plenty for mail order and (b) dread of it getting destroyed in my aforementioned bag.

The main thing drawing me to this event was my sense of the level of discourse I’d find there. I hoped to encounter interesting discussions of weird literature and art (and perhaps a bit of political analysis), and hear some good practical advice for writers & publishers. The event sure did not disappoint. Weeks later I’m still riding high on these panel discussions, hallway conversations, and pub rants.

(By the way, speaking of politics, I have to mention that this event really won me over by making Nnedi Okorafor a guest of honor. Here’s her blog post from 2011, which afaik catalyzed the final push to redesign the World Fantasy Award:…. I remember reading this post when it came out, on my phone, at the Occupy Oakland encampment, and finding it hella righteous lol.)

Finally, I must offer my deepest gratitude to Skeleton Camera for his friendship & for the finest conversations of the weekend, including introductions to an inimitable four: the aforementioned Frauenwahl; Brandon (who inspired me to finally get on instagram and, oh yeah, start drawing again); and Greg & Max of (among other things) Feral, my new favorite north american black metal band.

Really inspired. Looking forward to 2019.

Andrew's NecronomiCon pack: 4 days, 2 climates, & 99 chapbooks
Andrew’s NecronomiCon pack: 4 days, 2 climates, & 99 chapbooks

Weird Luck Patreon


The WEIRD LUCK webcomic, co-written by Andrew M. Reichart and Nick Walker and drawn by Mike Bennewitz, will launch sometime this Spring. But the webcomic is just one part of the Weird Luck saga, a web of closely interconnected stories that Andrew and Nick have been working on for some time, and aim to continue working on for a long time to come.

We’re pleased to announce the launch of the Weird Luck Patreon, which will help to fund the webcomic and which is the platform through which Andrew and Nick will be serializing their epistolary novel-in-progress, INSURGENT OTHERWORLD, which starts out as a prequel to the webcomic (and sequel to Andrew’s Argawarga Press CITY OF THE WATCHER trilogy, sort of) and will remain closely connected with the storyline of the webcomic.

Become a Weird Luck Patreon subscriber and support the ongoing creation of the Weird Luck saga (and get to read the latest pieces of the saga as they’re created). There’s one free public post up on the Weird Luck Patreon already, in which Nick explains the basics of what the Weird Luck saga is about. Next week they start posting the first weekly installments of Insurgent Otherworld, which will be accessible to anyone subscribing at $3 per month.

And in March, Andrew’s short story “Monsters” and Nick’s novelette “Bianca and the Wu-Hernandez” will appear in the Autonomous Press anthology Spoon Knife 2: Test Chamber. Both stories are part of the Weird Luck saga – “Monsters” is an immediate prequel to Insurgent Otherworld and takes place in the same city as the webcomic, and “Bianca and the Wu-Hernandez” takes place 28 years before the webcomic and provides backstory on two of the webcomic’s central characters.


Weird Luck webcomic soundtrack

Tyger in Feral CityThe Weird Luck webcomic is brewing, and we’ll start publishing it later this year. To keep you warm meanwhile, the comic’s creators have put together a soundtrack of songs that have inspired the comic. This rollercoaster ride of different styles and genres will give you some sense of wildness and weirdness awaiting you in the pages of the comic.

And if you’re curious who picked which songs…:

Mike Bennewitz
Secret Chiefs 3, “Nova Ihvh”
Vhöl, “The Desolate Damned”
Judas Priest, “Riding on the Wind”
Secret Chiefs 3, “Resurrection Day Soundtrack”
Black Fast, “I Conspire”
Vhöl, “Deeper Than Sky”
Hammers of Misfortune, “The Day the City Died”

Nick Walker
Wings, “Live and Let Die”
Blue Öyster Cult, “Veteran of the Psychic Wars”
Steely Dan, “Sign In Stranger”
Tuxedomoon, “Incubus (Blue Suit)”
Regina Spektor, “You’ve Got Time”
David Bowie, “The Man Who Sold the World”

Andrew M. Reichart
The Coup, “Fat Cats and Bigga Fish”
Bambu de Pistola, “ACAB”
Alix Perez, “Villains 1 x Heros 0” ft. They Call Me Raptor
The Death Set, “They Come to Get Us”
Tuxedomoon, “Volo Vivace”
Coil, “The First Five Minutes After Death”

Holy Calamity (part nine)

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(excerpted from Weird Luck, book one in the City of the Watcher trilogy)


…Aleck felt a tugging at his foot; glancing down, he saw his shoelace had wound itself in the gears. He braked hard, skidded, and fell over painfully. He disentangled himself from the bike as he rose, kicked off his shoe, and limped up to the wrecked ship. Broken Herax bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones.

Minister Apraxos floated in the air directly above the wreck, his robes flowing.

“Ah, it’s our Earth-boy!” said Apraxos.

“Cannibal-King!” shouted Aleck. The man and woman glanced back at Aleck, the man keeping his rifle trained on Apraxos.

“I’m busy,” said the Cannibal-King.

“I need to talk to you!” said Aleck.

“Looks like you have the same dog we do,” said the freckled, red-haired white woman with the face of the Nymph, pointing at Akaz with her chin.

“People are murdering each other in there,” said Aleck, pointing at the Circus. “Your revolution is going genocidal!”

“Our dog’s inside him right now,” said the woman, gesturing towards the Cannibal-King. “Want to meet him?”

“Uh, don’t do that,” said Akaz, backing away.

A wolf’s jaws burst forth from the Cannibal-King’s mouth, and snarled, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, shit,” said Akaz. “What are you doing here?”

“You aren’t supposed to be here yet!” snapped the Cannibal-King’s wolf-jaws. “Get out of here!”

With the Cannibal-King momentarily distracted, Apraxos flew away towards the Herax Zone, robes flapping. The woman fired after him with her pistol. The Cannibal-King’s wolf-jaws retracted. He aimed his rifle, lowered it.

“Oh no,” said Akaz, “goddamn it, go get him!”

“You have to stop those maniacs in the Circus!” Aleck shouted at the Cannibal-King. “They’re eating people!”

“What?” said the Cannibal-King.

“Yeah,” said Aleck, “you’re the Cannibal-King, aren’t you? What do you expect?”

“Fuck!” shouted the Cannibal-King. “I made every goddamn one of them vow not to do that!”

Old Aleck and Beth rode up, both unsteadily perched on her bicycle. “Aleck,” said Beth, “come on. This is much too risky.”

“No no no,” said Akaz, backing further away. “This is bad! Get the hell out of here, you idiots, now!”

“Freeze!” blasted an electronically amplified voice. “Reality Patrol!” A dozen soldiers in black riot armor appeared in a circle around them. Most of the squad pointed silvery rifles; some consulted instruments.

“Two temporal recursions,” said one of the technicians. “One foreign; one local.”

“Two entirely foreign parallel recursions,” said another technician, “with a local-slash-mixed trine parallel — correction, that’s quincunx — hold on, I’m registering an error….”

“I’m registering an error as well,” said a third technician. “It’s off my scale; filtering for ECSS…. Oh my God! They all have Weird Luck!”

“Hold your fire!” blasted the amplified voice. Then, a burst of static, and “—fire!”

A beam of light flashed into Old Aleck’s chest. He fell backwards, knocking down Beth and the bicycle. A wisp of smoke rose from his robe. “Aleck!” screamed Beth.

“Train Wreck!” shouted Akaz, flattening himself to the street with his paws over his head.

Doors and windows up and down the street flew open, each revealing a different scene: rooms and streets, woods and beaches, barren wastelands and cities on fire.

Aleck watched the Cannibal-King draw in a huge breath and spit a blazing gout of fire across several Reality Patrolmen. As light-beams flashed and gunfire erupted, Aleck dove through the nearest doorway, slamming the door behind him.

Naked under his Keeper robe, white-haired, scar-faced, and with one shoe, Aleck found himself on the stoop of a ruined shack, hand on the rusty door-latch, gazing through the trees at the wrecked Camaro.

Beside it, on the shoulder, sat an ambulance, the red light atop it turning lazily. Aleck snuck up closer, keeping his hood up. Two paramedics held a stretcher with Mikey on it. Billy stood beside him, looking unscathed.

Mikey reached up to poke Billy in the chest. “We should call you Doomer,” he said.

“Gonna call you Cripple if we don’t get your legs fixed up,” said Billy.

Aleck stepped out of the woods and dropped his hood back.

“Who’re you, Fuckface?” asked Billy. The paramedics looked over, and Mikey looked up from the stretcher.

“Che fuckin’ Guevara,” said Aleck, “who’d ya think?”

Billy and Mikey’s eyes went wide.

Aleck shrugged.


continued in the Aleck Woad adventure

Time Traveling Blues in the City of the Watcher


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Holy Calamity (part eight)


(excerpted from Weird Luck, book one in the City of the Watcher trilogy)


…Aleck looked around. Everywhere he saw murder. He heard the motorcycle passing by, at the edge of the arena.

“I’m here,” said Aleck. “It’s happening now. I can’t just do nothing. I won’t. I saw your Cannibal-King, and he looked sane to me. He’s a warrior, but not a mass-murderer.”

“You don’t get it,” said Old Aleck. “If you travel back in time like we did, you’ll be able to make it so that none of this ever happened. There’s no hurry! Write a better Guidebook. Find out what broke the Skull. Summon a peaceful Cannibal-King. Who knows! But jump the gun like this, and he could turn out even worse. He could come here with an H-bomb!”

Aleck crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought. “But why don’t I just go talk to him now, and if it doesn’t work, try it your way when I grow up?”

“Because what if he shoots you,” said Beth. “If you don’t grow up, you don’t get that second chance.”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” said Old Aleck.

“Well then I guess you’re not me after all,” said Aleck, grabbing the handlebars of the fallen pink bicycle. He swung onto it, jumped down on the far pedal, and sped away. They chased after him, Old Aleck falling behind on foot, Beth on her rickety bicycle.

Akaz kept pace with him. “You’re nuts,” he said to Aleck. “And you’re annoying me. This situation is fucking fine, as far as I’m concerned, and I don’t need those hippies complicating it with their ethical handcuffs. Goromath and Apraxos are doomed. Melkhaios is gonna get burned clean of their lousy influence, and we can turn it into a goddamn eternal party like it was intended to be.”

Aleck ignored him, pedaling as hard as he could, following the sound of the motorcycle. Overhead he saw a richly decorated Herax ship, flying away towards the Herax Zone.

“Damn it, Aleck,” Akaz continued, “You can’t even conceive how much goddamn effort I put into this. I hadn’t crossed the Spiral Mounds in years, till you flew us to the God-Dog from Billycutter’s Tunnel. And I’ve completely restrained myself from attacking Apraxos directly.”

“What about when you jumped into Blood Eagle’s mouth?” asked Aleck. The motorcycle headed into a tunnel out of the Circus, following beneath the fancy Herax ship.

“Possession doesn’t count!” snapped Akaz. “That’s indirect. And I only did it under insane circumstances, in the Well, which created a Haugermath resonance to clean my karma of it. Dammit, I haven’t killed a Herax in a hundred years! I don’t want you wasting all that effort by starting a Train Wreck!”

Aleck rode into a tunnel half-lit by firelight.

“What do you think is gonna happen,” shouted Akaz, “when all you people from parallel realities, all with Weird Luck, are simultaneously trying to alter the course of history?” His voice fell to a whisper. “We’re surrounded by dominoes, Aleck. Everything we do has side effects.”

“And I’m going to prevent some of them,” said Aleck. “Try and stop me, if you want.”

“If I could rip yer fuckin’ throat out right now, I would!” snarled Akaz. “Unfortunately, that would start a Train Wreck for sure at this point!”

They exited the tunnel. Aleck saw the man with the rifle take aim from the back of the moving motorcycle. He fired at the fancy Herax ship; the motorcycle wobbled slightly from the recoil. Lightning flashed up the mainmast. Something resembling mist peeled away from the sail and dispersed into the air. The ship sank quickly and smashed into the ground, breaking open, rolling onto its side, and skidding into a building. The motorcycle rode up close and the man dismounted, hefting his rifle. The woman followed suit, drawing a pistol from her hip. They both wore sleeveless army shirts, ragged blue jeans, and boots.

“Don’t go up there!” snarled Akaz.

Aleck pedaled fast up the street towards the wreck….

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Respect the Daysleeper – New 2nd Edition released!

Respect the Daysleeper, the first anthology from our friends at Sto*Nerd Press, has just been re-released with a completely redesigned layout and new illustrations.

“Coked Out Demon Worshipers,” the feature story from our comic book Weird Luck #0, was first published in the initial release of Respect the Daysleeper three years ago. The anthology also contains another creepy story by Andrew M. Reichart, “Psychic Vampire.”

Coming soon: the re-release of Anthology 2: Fight Against the Heartbeat, and the Call for Submissions for future anthologies!

Sto*Nerd Press descibes Respect the Daysleeper thusly:

A unique collection of stories set in a variety of strange, surreal, uncomfortable, or horrific situations. A man receives a letter in the mail from one of his Sims characters. An old rockstar waits for the Devil’s administrator to retrieve his promised soul. A homeless street wizard confesses to psychic murder. A seeing eye dog observes the many strange forms of affection within his master’s life. Plus many more alternate and future Americas and unpopular realities. Featuring stories from Micaela Petersen, Andrew M. Reichart, J. Duncan Cook, and Sean Schlemmer in three themed sections: Weird Love, Unfamiliar Territories, and Be Careful What You Wish For. This is the first anthology from Sto*Nerd Press.

Respect the Daysleeper is available now at CreateSpace for $6.

Respect the Daysleeper

Holy Calamity (part seven)


(excerpted from Weird Luck, book one in the City of the Watcher trilogy)


“…Look,” Akaz said to Old Aleck, “help me convince the kid to get the fuck out of here and lay low. He’s jeopardizing everything we’ve done.”

“So what!” shouted Old Aleck.

“What?” said Akaz, cringing.

“I did all that work, for this?” Old Aleck flung his hands wide to indicate their entire surroundings. “This is carnage! This is the last thing I wanted to create!”

“You dingdong,” shouted Akaz, “what did you expect, a tea party? This is war!”

Old Aleck dismounted his bicycle and let it fall clattering onto its side. “God damn you, Akaz, you said our Cannibal-King would be a ‘master of moral restraint’! Those were your exact words!”

“Look,” said Akaz, “tomorrow I’ll argue would’ves and could’ves with you all damn day. For now, just get your younger self out of here!”

“To hell with you!” said Old Aleck. Turning to Aleck, he snapped, “Hey kid, do me a favor, go get javelined or something.”

“Aleck!” shouted Beth.

“Sorry,” said Old Aleck, turning to her. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” He looked around at the crowd and the fire. He turned to Aleck. “Do you know what broke the Skull?” he snapped.

“What?” asked Aleck.

“The Skull of Kaios! What broke the Skull of Kaios!” asked Old Aleck.

“I have no idea,” said Aleck. “Why?”

“Maybe that’s why he’s crazy,” said Old Aleck to Beth. “It made him crazy when we put the busted Skull in his head. Or maybe we just got the wrong Cannibal-King. The broken Skull led us to the wrong one.”

“Or maybe your Guidebook screwed him up,” jeered Akaz. “Or maybe he’s exactly the Cannibal-King we wanted! Look around you! Melkhaios is free!”

You look!” shouted Old Aleck, pointing. Aleck saw a dozen Shallow Ones hung on hooks, a mob of Deep Ones pelting them with rocks. “Look!” Old Aleck pointed at a packed crowd of a hundred unarmed Normals, surrounded by Diggers with carved sticks savagely pounding anyone within reach, Normals clambering over each other, shoving and trampling, to get away from the edge of the crowd. “Look!” said Old Aleck, pointing to the fire, where bound and struggling Normals, Shallow Ones, and Herax were unceremoniously flung one after another into the flames. Givers and wolves wandered through the depths of the Wargus-Fire, feasting on the charred dead. “Nyarlathotep!” shouted Old Aleck. “This is nothing but a gigantic Rite of Augermath!”

“It’s an Autonomous Zone!” snarled Akaz.

“And you’ve tricked me into summoning a genocidal maniac!” continued Old Aleck.

“You don’t know that,” said Beth. “We don’t know what went wrong, Aleck.”

“Yeah, take it easy,” said Akaz.

Old Aleck turned to Aleck. “Look, you need to understand. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get back here to fix this. I remember this from when I was your age. When I was you. I thought I’d be able to change the course of things, that’s why I wrote the Guidebook.” He grabbed Aleck by the shoulders. “You have to figure out what went wrong, so that when you grow up, when you’re me, this won’t happen. There has to be a more peaceful solution!”

“Aleck, now you stop tampering with him!” said Beth. “Is this conversation exactly how you remember it, from when you were a kid?” snarled Beth. “Because if it isn’t, then you have no idea what else you’re changing!”

“Yes,” said Old Aleck. “Sure it’s the same.” He self-consciously lifted his hands from Aleck’s shoulders. “Basically.”

“To hell with waiting,” said Aleck. “We need to do something right now.”

“What?” said Old Aleck.

“This is fucked!” said Aleck. “Those guys are no better than the Herax! They could turn out to be even worse!”

“Look,” said Akaz, “just let the goddamned dust settle, and clean up details later.”

“Shut up,” said Aleck. “Let’s go find that Cannibal-King. Get him to stop those massacres. If he’s an honorable revolutionary—”

“You’re out of your mind, kid,” said Akaz. “In more ways than one.”

“Is that what you said,” Beth asked Old Aleck, “when you were his age? When you were on his end of this conversation?”

“No,” groaned Old Aleck. “I just agreed to fix it when I grew up and went off with Akaz, and he helped me get back to Earth. And I found myself back at the wreck of Damon’s Camaro.”

“Good plan,” said Akaz. “good plan. Come on, kid, I’ll buy you a beer, then we’ll get you back home the way you came.”

“You hypocrite,” said Aleck. “What happened to ‘Fortune favors the bold’? He has guns. He can stop the killing if he wants to, and we can get him to do it.”

“There’s too much going on in one place, honey,” said Beth. “Too many of us overlapping. Too much Weird Luck. The Cannibal-King and his wife are parallel to me and Aleck; add you and Akaz and their Akaz, it’s just too much. You’ll start a Train Wreck.”

“Or summon the Reality Patrol,” said Old Aleck. “She’s right, man. We’ve been tampering with things, yeah, but not spontaneously! You have to plan it out, and you’re walkin’ a tightrope to not make stray waves!”

“Look, kid,” said Akaz. “My methods look haphazard to you, but A) you don’t know the whole plan, and B) I can see Fate the way you see day and night. You have no concrete basis for judging risk. For me, navigating risk is like driving on a curved road.” He looked at Aleck’s scars. “Bad analogy, maybe. All I’m saying is, if you go maverick with all these pandimensional motherfuckers around, I’m betting on a goddamn Train Wreck, and I won’t have it. You think this is a mess, it’s nothing compared to a Train Wreck….”

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