Reading and repentance
I must confess that I defend von Daniken out of impure motives: I pillaged one of his numerous tomes for part of a recent sequence of prose poems:
The alien astronauts landed in the clearing their force field had burned out of the jungle. The ape men dropped slowly from their branches, and crept in twos and threes into the shadow of the ship. The astronauts removed their helmets and fell to their knees: from this moment, they would worship the inhabitants of the new world as Gods. Soon they would alter their genes, remaking themselves in the image of the Gods.*
There's not a great deal of forgiveness on display, however, in my latest intervention at the long-suffering spanblather blog: that poor old fascist JRR Tolkien gets a right old raking over. What happened to charity for cranks? Perhaps, though, I'd be less favourably inclined towards von Daniken if he boasted legions of annoying fans and a trilogy of absurdly over-rated film adaptions. A crank isn't so funny when he's taken seriously...
*Richard Taylor vows that he will respond to this piss take with a poem portraying von Daniken as a staunch anti-imperialist. Do your best, mate.