It’s been a year and I’m still working on my Edgar Allan Poe bibliography. I’m not really too concerned about how long it’s taking because a lot of stuff isn’t available in Miami and I’ve had to wait to get stuff sent in from all over the country. Some things are completely unavailable and I’ve had to wait for bootlegs to pop up. Thank god for the internet.

Some people ask me and the truth is I’m not sure why I focused on Poe. Sure it’s a goth child’s right of passage to be reading Poe, but I could have gone other ways… HP Lovecraft, Aleister Crowley, a dissertation on Morrissey. But there was always something special about Poe. Even though Poe was abhor to sub-par literature, it doesn’t mean he never published anything a little less to his standard in order for a meal. But there’s no mistaking the utter genius of what he started in both the horror genre and the mystery genre. He’s also one of the few poets I enjoy.

I’ve been feeling a bit Poeish lately. Is that an adjective? It should be. I feel Poeish. It means I feel a melancholy mixed with a bit of doomed. I wander in darkness hoping to find the light but fearing I never will.

I think I need to lay off the Poe for awhile.

I also want to add a piece from Poe’s poem “Alone”. It seems to be the number one choice for authors and screenwriters to use as an example of Poe’s inner thoughts.

from my favorite Poe poem