“All truth is relative.”
This comment was posted on a message board I frequent, in a conversation in which I was a part, and the person who wrote it apparently expected it to go unchallenged—as if lobbing a hand grenade into a room might go unchallenged.
I disagree with this statement and here explain why in detail, which I could not do there.
Truth is relative in many circumstances. Two longtime spouses quarreling over who should clean the garage is a hard situation to untangle, and the truthful answer to the question: Who should clean it? very relative. Perhaps the man agreed at one point to handle all outdoor work, the wife indoor, and the garage is some liminal space that could be either. Perhaps the wife is (understandably) angry with the man because she has done all the cleaning and he has not held up his end of the social contract.
The world is full of countless, similar examples where both sides seem right, or at least share a version of the truth that point to a conclusion that all truth is relative. These range from small and domestic to the largest scale, i.e., wars between great powers.
However, there comes a point where truth is no longer relative. And when disagreement on what is true is dangerous, even hideous, and cannot go unchallenged. Particularly when applied to morality, which I believe at certain levels passes into an objective truth. At least, objective enough that we must all embrace it.
For example, take the following statement: Dashing an infant’s head against a wall is bad.
Is this only relatively true, based on the circumstances? Is bashing an infant to death permissible, even good, in some circumstances?
Or, It’s acceptable not to rescue a someone drowning in a pool. Is it OK to watch someone drown if the suit you're wearing is of sufficient high quality? When you’re perfectly capable, because you don’t want to get your nice clothes wet?
Of course, we can get absurd here on some theoretical, abstract plane that will never occur in real life (“what if you knew the baby would grow up to be Hitler?”) (“what if you thought your suit would weigh you down and you might drown?”) etc.? You might as well just say, “well I think we’re all living in a simulation and so nothing is real, and nothing matters!”
The fact is, we cannot know these things, and everyone with a healthy mind should recoil from these assertions. And that truth is truth.
On a philosophical/logical level, the statement “all truth is relative” is untenable, because it would mean truth can never be known—which is a statement of absolute truth. It's not a coherent statement, but a self-contradiction.
If you argue that "all truth is relative" because truth can only be understood through the subjective lens of an individual, that has a kernel of truth... but if everyone else sees the facts differently you are very likely, objectively wrong, and have misapprehended the truth. Which exists independent of you.
But the more important Truth of the matter is, having a coherent and broad set of rules about ethics and social mores that values human life is entirely necessary for a functioning culture. For example, if we can’t say, “hard work and discipline is a virtue,” but equally value sloth, then things will fall apart, very quickly. And life will become a hellscape. And I think even the postmodernists would agree that an ordered life is better than anarchy and apocalyptic disintegration.
“Truth is relative” allows you to absolve yourself of adult responsibilities. It might make you popular at parties of high culture. But it doesn’t do well when it meets reality.
We need responsible people to avoid the descent into barbarism. Which, despite my love of sword-and-sorcery, is not an outcome I find acceptable.
Objective mortality exists, regardless of culture or upbringing, faith, creed, or race.
If you lack the capacity to understand this, a few things are at play that are worth looking into.
However, if you refuse to recognize and differentiate good behavior from bad, and actively seek to tear down the social fabrics that allow us to enjoy some measure of order and security, I’m quite comfortable calling you a psychopath. If you desire to burn down the courts and our system of law and order, please read Grendel and start over at Go. Do not collect $200. You have embraced the Dragon, have arrived at the point where naked Power is the only arbiter of truth, hoarded gold the only value, and revealed yourself as the monster.
The good news is, there is always a path back to the truth for those willing to seek it. This too, is true.
Gordon Lightfoot is probably—nay, definitely—not metal. Not even metal-adjacent.
Yet he is the subject of this Metal Friday. For obvious reasons.
I mourn the passing of this great man. He had a hell of a career and a hell of a life. 84 years is a pretty good run.
But it was still tough news to hear that he passed on Monday.
I listen to Gordon Lightfoot on vinyl every summer up our family’s lakehouse. His music takes me straight to our pontoon boat, circling the lake in the early evening with a cocktail. Not quite so hazardous as Lake Superior when the gales of November come early.
Lately I had found myself listening to Gordon more often. Perhaps because I’m getting a little more mellow as I age. Metal is still my go-to but his stuff is timeless, beautiful.
Last year I got to see Gordon with my old man and brother and am so glad I did. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed.
I’m not going to waste any words explaining why Gordon Lightfoot is great, and worth listening to. He’s been extolled by Bob Dylan, Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson, Billy Joel, countless other iconic musicians. He's probably the greatest Canadian musician ever, this coming from a raging RUSH fan. Hell, if Geddy Lee says it, good enough for me.
If you want more of that here’s a tribute from one of my favorite YouTubers, Rick Beato, who gives him a proper sendoff.
I’ll just say: He’s way better than you think. Every song on Gord’s Gold is gold. He has more good songs on one album side than most artists will record in a lifetime.
Instead I’ll just offer a song.
I was thinking of going with “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” or “If You Could Read My Mind” or “Sundown” as evidence (all awesome, and deservedly remembered) but here’s “Early Morning Rain.”
Joining me were Jason Waltz (publisher, Rogue Blades Entertainment) and Jason Ray Carney (publisher, Whetstone) a pair of fellow attendees whom I met for the first time last week in Cross Plains.
The show as always was a blast. Give it a listen, if for no other reason than to hear host Matt John deliver "Cimmeria" in his dead-on Arnold imitation. This had me in stitches. Dude should take this act on the road.
In addition to Howard Days recaps we also talked about the ongoing sword-and-sorcery revival. Jason Waltz and I served on the S&S panel organized by Deuce Richardson at 2023 Howard Days, while Jason Ray Carney was one of our avid front-row listeners. We get into some of the same territory here on the podcast, covering recent S&S history as well as current venues, authors, and trends. Good stuff.
 |
| Somewhere under here is a bar... |
Many amusing escapades and scrapes unfolded during Howard Days 2023, not the least of which was my complete and utter lack of restraint around anything vaguely book shaped. I was like a Grateful Dead fan in a pot shop or a PETA member in a rescue shelter, unhinged and helpless, grasping and wanting everything at once.
Someone should have taken my wallet from me.
I came home with 20 “books.” In my defense 9 of these were free, 11 were purchases. But the count is actually higher.
Two of those “books” were bundles of Fantastic magazine won in the silent auction, basically the entire run of issues published in 1961 and 1962. So that is technically an additional 23 digest sized "books" (May 1963 is missing). I also purchased a calendar. So technically I came home with 41 separate items, loosely classified as books.
And a Robert E. Howard Museum t-shirt. With Conan on it, of course. Not pictured.
I think I need help.
Worse, I packed lightly with just a carry-on suitcase and a separate carry-on leather bag. The latter is something resembling a leather briefcase, with some extra pouches on the side. I was warned to bring an oversized suitcase for the spoils and promptly ignored those warnings.
Come Sunday I found myself in deep shit. After carefully packing up all my books first (of course! they're the most important items) I was nearly full and hadn’t touched my clothes yet. That left me shoving items for which no room remained into every conceivable pocket. I wound up stuffing dirty underwear into my computer bag to make room.
Not proud of this, just stating the facts.
Anyway, somehow I made it home with a 60 pound carry on that was a beast to lug, even with wheels, and threatened to burst its zippers. I'm a pretty strong dude but I felt like Vasily Alexseyev on a max clean and jerk getting that thing into the overhead bin.
Following is a complete list of my gross take:
Good thing my wife doesn’t read the blog.
 |
| Ken Lizzi, me, and Deuce, on sacred ground. |
The moment I became spellbound with the worlds of Robert E. Howard.
SSOC spoke to me on a level my then-favorite Avengers or Captain America could not. It was dangerous, barbaric, sexy, violent. Adult, with articles and photography to accompany the gorgeous black and white interior art, welcoming 10- or 11-year-old me to the savage Hyborian Age.
This wonderful, fortuitous find set me on a lifelong love of Howard and the subgenre of fantasy he founded, sword-and-sorcery. Little did I know that 40 years later it would also lead to an unforgettable trip to his hometown.
This past weekend I traveled to Cross Plains for 2023 Robert E. Howard Days. This was not a lightly-made decision. I live in Massachusetts, some 1600 miles from the small town in West Texas that Howard called home. With a wife and family, domestic obligations, and a busy professional career to manage, there is never a good time to do something like this, even though Howard Days had been on my bucket list for years.
 |
| Part of the whole wide world of Cross Plains. |
The time had finally come to head to the mecca of all things Howard and sword-and-sorcery.
Last Thursday I flew into Dallas Fort Worth and picked up a rental car. Shortly after 5 p.m. Ken, Deuce and I arrived in Cross Plains. The Howard House had closed for the day but two and a half days of non-stop celebrations were about to begin.
Thinking this could be a once in a lifetime trip, I wanted to see it all—the town, the house, the gravesite, the panel sessions. I also wanted to give myself adequate time to hang out and talk to the throng of Howard fans and Howard Days volunteers that make this event so special.
Deuce had wise words for navigating this dilemma: “Balance the living and the dead.”
So, I gave it my best go to honor the man and explore the town while also spending time with as many attendees as I could. I feel pretty good about the balance I struck.
 |
| With Jeff Shanks (left) and Mark Finn. |
Far too few know the name Robert E. Howard and the opportunity to talk shop and swap REH nerdity comes very infrequently. At Howard Days its endless. “What’s your Howard origin story?” “What’s your favorite Conan tale?” “Have you read his westerns?” These spontaneous conversations happen in line to get your barbecue, perusing the tables at the silent auction, and especially in the evenings at the pavilion. It’s glorious.
 |
| The pavilion. |
I offered up “In a far country: The Frontier Fantasy of Robert E. Howard,” making the case for Howard as a writer experiencing the absence of a recently closed frontier, unlike his literary hero Jack London who experienced the gold rush of the Klondike first-hand. This absence caused Howard to turn to fantasy and frontiers within. I indulged the audience and myself with a few passages from Jack London and REH, which I greatly enjoyed reading aloud. It seemed well received and I expect it and the other panels to eventually appear on YouTube, courtesy of videographer Ben Friberg.
 |
| The atmosphere at the pavilion made it extra sword-and-sorcery |
Among the more unexpected experiences was feeling like a quasi-celebrity. I must have signed at least 20-25 copies of Flame and Crimson, Hither Came Conan, New Edge #0, and other odds and ends. Watching former Weird Tales editor John Bettancourt select Flame and Crimson as his raffle prize at the S&S panel and note that he had been looking forward to reading it was a strange, rewarding feeling.
So, a lot of socializing and hanging out. But it’s also important to honor the dead.
 |
| Thank you Project Pride! |
We also folded in a visit to Brownwood to visit the family gravesite. We timed our trip just right, pulling into the sprawling cemetery in the golden sunlight of the late afternoon and paid our respects to Howard and his parents, laid side-by-side. Someone had left behind a book and figurine; I wish I had thought to do something similar.
I left with a more detailed depiction of Howard’s environs. All the tours including a bus tour of greater Cross Plains were absolutely worth doing. I found it to be a charming little community that feels a little like a relic of a lost age, with a few modern updates (a Dollar Store and the like).
Other highlights:
• Witnessing the incredible dedication of the volunteers that makes Howard Days possible. The Cross Plains community rallies together to do wonderful things, and preserve Howard’s legacy is a year-round effort.
• Buying enough books to break the back of a camel and strain the uttermost capacity of my suitcase. As I shoved volumes in every pocket and cavity I was advised my clothes were expendable. My haul included a pair of winning bids for two large stacks of Fantastic magazine (including the first appearance of Fritz Leiber’s “Bizaar of the Bizarre”) and a couple new hardcovers from the Foundation, the collected letters and poetry. Perhaps my favorite find was a 1979 calendar illustrated by the late great Ken Kelly. I'll share a pic of my hoard later.
• Drinking beer at Red Gap Brewing on a gorgeous day while listening how Foundation board member John Bullard assembled the collected letters of REH for the second edition. Monster effort worthy of an award.
• Attending the Robert E. Howard Foundation awards. Clapping for many deserving winners including John Bullard and Bill Cavalier, Willard Oliver, and Jason Ray Carney. I have not read Dennis McHaney’s Robert E. Howard in the Pulps (winner: The Atlantean), but was very impressed thumbing through Deuce’s copy. That definitely earned its award, too.
• Listening to experts like Bobby Derie, Finn, Shanks, Louinet, guest of honor John Betancourt, and others at the panel sessions. The theme this year was “100 Years of Weird Tales” (founded 1923, still publishing) and the panelists were deeply informed experts and a pleasure to listen to. Derie in particular struck me as a walking encyclopedia of the Weird.
• Taking a break from Howard to visit Woody’s, a classic car and baseball memorabilia museum just across from the Howard house. This contained an immaculately maintained collection of stunning automobiles once owned by a wealthy private donor.
 |
| What's best in life? This. |
• Working up the courage to read a poem myself, “The Rhyme of the Viking Path.” I gave the last few verses some appropriate barbaric emphasis and was pleased with the outcome and the crowd reaction.
• Talking heavy metal with a fellow fan as we waited for the poetry readings to commence (I need to check out Dimmu Borgir).
• Walking across the same scenic iron bridge that Howard once traversed, which later inspired a scene from “The Whole Wide World.”
• Chatting about Red Nails and Margaret Brundage with the great Fred Blosser—a dude I was reading FORTY YEARS ago in the pages of SSOC—in the Cross Plains public library as I scanned through REH manuscripts and a beautiful collection of Weird Tales magazines. Surreal.
• Watching Master and Commander with Deuce and Ken while drinking Shiner Bock, a Texas classic.
• Conversing with a great group about all things Howard and S&S during our final evening at the pavilion. I learned that Will Oliver is working on a Howard biography and is as passionate about the works of Karl Edward Wagner as I am. In short, finding my tribe.
So, there you have it. Robert E. Howard Days 2023 proved to be a quirky, fun, charming, welcoming, and utterly unique event that every Robert E. Howard fan ought to attend at least once in their lifetime.
I wish I could have done more, but 2 ½ days pass quickly. And I suppose that’s what return trips are for. Many prophesized that if I came once to Howard Days it would be forever in my blood, and I’d be back again.
I suspect one day I will.
 |
| Here's to Howard Days. |
