A Personal Essay from T. Fox Dunham
Author of Destroying the Tangible Illusion of Reality; or, Searching for Andy Kaufman
Published by Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing.
This is how I celebrate Yule. Many of you have myriad names and traditions for the holidays—and even more of you hate this time of year, feeling dread and despair. You don’t have to, and I’ll tell you why. I’ll start with the story of the Long Island Messiah, Andy Kaufman.
ANDY KAUFMAN’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL
Andy Kaufman as Santa on the Johnny Cash Show
Andy Kaufman always wanted to do a Christmas special with Santa and milk & cookies and the Rockettes. He also wanted to bring someone back from the dead. Death bummed Andy out, so he refused to accept it. If anyone could summon the power of ancient shamans and messiahs, it was Andy Kaufman. He burned with the fire that he ripped from the hand of Prometheus—and this fire burned him to ash. They referred to this show in Milos Forman’s Man on the Moon, though it was the wrong year in his life and not on Christmas. In the movie, Andy’s show becomes about balancing the negativity he’d created in the dark periods of his career. He fills the show with all things good and positive, and this is the way he’ll survive cancer. It’s all lies and deception, but the fun kind, the deception magic that grows good things in this world.
It didn’t happen this way, but what the hell? Why do we care? Andy Kaufman understood as I understand that history is tangible. So is life. We derive our personal narrative, our identities from our memories—and memory exists as a subjective element. We all possess selective recollections, and we craft our future actions based on previous experiences.
We create our souls from our memories. A soul is not given to us. It is a debt from God that we must fill. Take away our memories, and we become blank slates, empty vessels. History is re-written again and again. Most Christians in the west believe that Christ was born on December 25th. They feel so sure of this. Try to explain to them that the bible gives no birthday for Jesus and that December 25th was selected for its propaganda value in Rome, and they’ll probably want to burn you as a heretic. Yet, it’s true. And what does it matter? If people believe it, then it affects the world as if it was true.
So Andy created a Christmas special to fight cancer—and he was Jesus Christ.
ANDY KILLS AN OLD LADY
Andy’s dancing on stage, wearing his classic Hawaiian shirt. He invites his Grandmother to watch from a chair he’d placed on the side of the show. Dear old Grandma! Who was really Robin Williams in a wig. He’s performing shows for his sister again just like he did as a little boy. Andy owns the stage. It merges into his skinny his legs. He’s only alive when he’s in front of an audience all so wet and hard to watch him sing and dance and play all the funny people. He does his Foreign Man. Tony Clifton appears. He brings Eleanor Cody Gould on stage, dancing on her pantomime horse just like from the old western movie. Andy’s conducting an orchestra—faster, faster and faster, driving her to exhaustion. She can’t keep up. The old woman collapses. She’s dead! Heart attack.
But Andy doesn’t like death. Death isn’t fun. There’s no audience beyond death, no one to watch him. He wants to keep performing, playing his bongos, being other people and fucking as many women as he can. He loves the stage and will never give it up. No. Death is an asshole, and he’s going to deal with it. Not on his stage. Not for Christmas!
FOX DUNHAM GETS PNEUMONIA. HE CAN NEVER CATCH A BREAK
I pushed my ass too far in October, supporting my horror writing and show, What Are You Afraid Of? Halloween is our busiest time, and I setup reading events in Philadelphia for authors, plus do my D&D games and write articles. I put on an incredible reading event at Fort Mifflin in Philadelphia, inviting several Pennsylvania authors including Todd Keisling, Kenneth W. Cain, Pete Molnar, Phil Thomas, Michael Garrett—and we brought Nick Cato down. The brilliant author PD Cacek read from her work. We shared an amazing event together.
But I nearly killed myself. Cancer crippled me when I was 18, eating away my strength, and I don’t always know my limits. I pushed myself too hard. In November, I ran a high fever and suffered lung congestion. After 12 days, I went into hospital, and the doctors diagnosed me with pneumonia. For many my age, pneumonia would be an annoying but survivable issue. I’m a cancer survivor. I suffered through intense chemotherapy and radiation for a rare Lymphoma. Only nine other people in the world have had this cell type of blood cancer—and lymphoma is usually the end-disease, the last before death. I survived it, but I would suffer severe side effects from the treatment. They burned my body, but I wasn’t supposed to survive beyond 40. Well, shit. I did. It’s Allison Ledbetter’s fault. She convinced me to keep fighting then married me. I guess she had her own selfish motivations. I married such a jerk! But I love her so much. So a year ago, I developed an infection in my jaw and neck, nearly went septic. Now they must rebuild my jaw. I didn’t see this pneumonia as a possibility. And it’s dangerous for someone with burned lungs and a weak immune system.
Why am I complaining like this? Because it’s reminded me of something: a feeling that dimmed over the years. I’m far from healthy, but I can at least enjoy something of this holiday season. I’m not delirious in bed with a high fever or in the hospital, and I can spend this holiday with my wife. Most people would be pissed off, but I feel grateful again to even be here.
ANDY KAUFMAN RESURRECTS THE DEAD
Eleanor Cody Gould falls dead on stage at Carnegie Hall. Andy Kaufman keeps pushing the orchestra. Finally, someone alerts him that she’s died. The audience freaks. The show is ruined. Andy’s killed someone. But Andy doesn’t do death. He vanishes off stage as a ‘doctor’ puts his jacket over her face, giving her a last bit of dignity. But then Andy returns wearing a Native American headdress. He shakes a rattle and dances over her body. People are horrified but soon figure out that more is afoot. He raises her up, and her heart beats again! She’s alive! Andy has raised the dead. He is the new messiah—and he will fuck many women that night.
NATIVE AMERICAN’S CONCEPT OF DEATH
People of the original tribes of North America didn’t believe in real death. Unlike the Christians of Europe who would come to assimilate these wanderers of the natural world, the tribal shamans and people believed that all life turned a cycle. Nothing ever stopped. The concept of going to a final resting place felt like the worst fate. I understand that. I wrote about this terrifying idea of stasis in my novella, Doctor Kevorkian Goes to Heaven for Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing—back when we believed in our dreams. Max, do you ever wish we were still naïve? I do. For the tribal natives, life and death spun a cycle.
Sioux writer Charles Eastman reports:
“Many of the Indians believed that one may be born more than once, and there were some who claimed to have full knowledge of a former incarnation.”
Shirley Muldon of the Midwest wrote:
“We believe in reincarnation of people and animals. We believe that the dead can visit this world and that the living can enter the past. We believe that memory survives from generation to generation. Our elders remember the past because they have lived it.”
Communication between the living and the dead was possible. Among the Narragansett, the souls of the dead were able to pass back and forth between the world of the dead and that of the living. The dead could carry messages and warnings to the living.
So Andy tapped into this ancient power and brought this woman back to life. Was it real or just a fiction? Does it matter? If people believed it, if she believed it, then she came back from the dead. Truth is a concept that we’ll never really possess as humans because we perceive the universe. Thus, it becomes tangible.
That night after the show was finished, Andy Kaufman surprised the audience by carrying them on twenty-four rented school buses to a cafeteria where he served them milk and cookies. The audience delighted in such a simple and pure joy from childhood. Magic milk and cookies. It didn’t cure cancer, but for a time, they all found their innocence. The world steals our innocent spirit.
THERE IS NO TRUE HISTORY OF CHRISTMAS
Yule is actually celebrated on December 21st or 22nd, considered the first day of winter. It comes from Scandinavia. The Norse celebrated it through January in recognition of the return of the sun. They would bring home large logs which they set on fire and would feast until the log burned out, which might take two weeks or a fortnight. Each spark thrown from the Yule log represented a new animal born in the spring for livestock.d
The Romans celebrated Saturnalia. Winters weren’t so harsh in Italy, and as the name denotes, the holiday honored the god Saturn. The holiday started during the week leading up to the winter solstice then went the entire month. The upper-class observed the birthday of Mithra—the deity of the undefeated sun. This holiday was on the 25th, and Mithra was an infant god, a baby. This was the holiday that Christianity assimilated into its own traditions, replacing one infant for another. Pope Julius I chose December 25.
First called the Feast of the Nativity, the custom spread to England by the sixth century. Eventually, Christmas took over Europe. It was the new thing! In the Greek and Russian orthodox churches, Christmas is celebrated 13 days after the 25th. This is called the Epiphany or Three Kings Day, the day it is believed that the three wise men finally found Jesus in the manger. (These were all pagans by the way, getting along with a different faith.)
But Christmas didn’t stay religious. People got drunk, ate too much and indulged in mischief. A custom celebrated was the Lord of Misrule. Keep in mind these people lived under tyrants and a government kept in power by keeping them poor. Each year, a beggar or student would be crowned the Lord of Misrule, and he would captain the poor to the houses of the wealthy, demanding food and drink. If they didn’t receive these gifts, they played pranks and annoyed the wealthy occupants. For the wealthy, this holiday became the time when they could reset their karma and pay their debt back to society.
Over time, Christmas was outlawed! Oliver Cromwell, lord protector of England banned Christmas because of its pagan traditions. He led Puritan forces and eventually took over England for 18 years in 1645. When he died and Charles II of the family Stuart was invited to renew royal rule, he re-instated Christmas and made it a beautiful time of celebration and light. Those pesky Puritans didn’t give up though. They came to America in 1620 and canceled Christmas. From 1659 to 1681, Boston banned Christmas. Anyone showing Christmas spirit was fined five shillings. Then, the colonists kicked off the rule of George III of Hanover. Christmas was considered an English holiday, so they didn’t really celebrate it as a national tradition; however, many people came to America and brought their traditions with them. Finally, Christmas was declared a federal holiday in 1870. Americans either absorbed the traditions of the immigrants such as the Germans who brought Tannenbaums into their homes, and it was the writings of Washing Irving who changed it from a party holiday into a day about family and peace. Dickens did the same with A Christmas Carol.
As a pagan, I celebrate Yule, the solstice, the birth of the year after the death at Samhain. This is the darkest day of the year but the light begins to return. It is about the sun. I decorate my altar with yellow candles, pomanders made of dried oranges studded with cloves and cuttings of the season: holly, mistletoe, juniper and pine. As a living soul, I enjoy the traditions of many cultures. We are a celebration of many races and cultures in America, and we reflect this in our holiday.
This is my altar, well a shrine for now. I am in the process of decorating it for Yule. I’ll be creating garland from dried orange slices and making natural displays from yew, juniper, holly and pine. I have also made pomanders—an ancient practice before we had Febreeze. You take an orange, insert cloves in different patterns then dry out the orange naturally over months or use an oven on a low setting. Then you roll it in mix of cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger and decorate it with ribbon. You can hang them from decorations, your tree, and the orange symbolizes the sun—the icon of Yule.
HOW DEATH TAUGHT ME HOW TO BE INNOCENT AGAIN AT CHRISTMAS
I realize today is December 16th. I nearly forgot—my sacred and second birthday. On this day in 1996, my radiation-oncologist at The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, Doctor Giles McKenna examined several pre-ordered scans and officially declared me in remission from composite lymphoma. At the time, we never really believed I’d last to that point. (People often use such terms as ‘fighting cancer’ when really you just wait out the horrific symptoms as the chemo and radiation kill fast growing cancer cells. You don’t fight cancer. You endure the treatment and let the doctors do things to you.) But there I was on December 16th. I was going to live. I knew I’d always be a patient and that the treatment had done severe damage. Everything I have suffered over the last few years has been a direct result of the radiation: thyroid cancer, jaw infection nearly causing me to go septic, potential skin cancer—that’s part of Tuesday’s fun trip to Philly—and most recently this tenacious pneumonia that rooted in the scar tissue in my lungs. But I’ll never forget the euphoria that burned through me when the oncologist declared my war won. My words still fail me. It felt like I had been blessed with a miracle. I can only describe the feeling by saying that it felt like a spirit had ignited a hundred candles within me, a bon fire that burned in the dark night, warming and invigorating me. The sun. The sun rose in me, and I worship this gold disk as we do on Yule. I burn the yellow candle, and it burns in me. The sun. The sun of God. It burns fulgent in the dark time. I’ve often compared the elation to Ebenezer Scrooge waking up on Christmas morning after an uncertain and nearly fatal encounter with the spirit of Christmas Future. From that moment, the way I viewed the season transformed. I felt so ecstatic and lucky to be alive. Stray and previously banal moments of beauty suddenly burned radiant. I noticed every second, cherishing frissons of light. Previously, going to the mall at the holidays felt like a trip through hell; however, now I could only see the colorful decorations, listen to the live choir singing holiday songs and loving the stressed crowds shopping for gifts. If only they could have seen what I saw.
We went to Holly Night at Pennsbury Manor. (I was too sick this year to go.) They decorate the colonial home of William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania, with greens and candles, bringing the site to life with cooks in period clothing, bon fires and apple ciders. The burning of the woes! Little did I know that one day I’d be helping make the natural decorations and would contribute myself to that wonderful event. We visited my paternal Grandmother on a night when she had many relatives over at the house. And Christmas was lovely with my family. I changed so much. And the best part is that this feeling and perception never dulled or evaporated. I still feel this passion and excitement every December, as I did today.
The beautiful Pennsbury Manor, colonial home of William Penn, at Holly Night.
Even in the angry crowds, the violent traffic, the commercialism and insipid versions of the holiday today, I enjoyed the same feeling of wonder and excitement. It is something I wish others could see. I try to share it with my wife, her family, friends but they never quite get it. Christmas, Yule, Mid-winter—whatever you celebrate—shouldn’t be dictated to you. To appreciate the experience and ceremony, you must create the holiday for yourself. Go back to basics. Why do we celebrate this time of year? Many cultures do so, even though the customs and rituals can be vastly different. But what are the sames? Light. It’s all about light. This is the darkest, bleakest time of year for the northern hemisphere. In Australia, they switch the winter and summer solstice. Early astronomers and sky-watchers counting the hours realized that the day of the solstice is the shortest day of the year. After the day of mid-winter, we start moving to light again.
This was the end of the year, as the pagan cycle of days is based on the life cycle of a human. Samhain is death. Technically, the winter solstice marks the final day of death and then rebirth, leading to the day of birth or Imbolc. I was born on Imbolc, which is probably why I felt compelled to follow Bardic traditions. So think about this time of year from the point of view of a farmer in a mostly agrarian society. They didn’t have trucks or trains to transport fruit and vegetables from southern climates now any means of preservation. When winter began, you had to live off of what you managed to store from your autumn harvest. This was the last of the feasts, eating all the food that would soon go bad. You drank the last of your beer and wine, having recently fermented. Farmers slaughtered their cattle because they couldn’t feed them during the winter months and eat as much of the meat as they could, trying to preserve the rest. Then the desolate months came when you couldn’t grow food. Without a fire, you’d freeze to death and sickness killed many. This was a truly desolate and terrible time.
So why do we celebrate the longest night of the year?
Because we need to.
The significance of the solstice comes from the human need to find motivation and inspiration at the most depressing and barren time of the year. We do it because we need some help to keep going. I don’t have to tell you about winter depression. Everything’s dead or asleep. Snow and low temperatures freeze the land. We just saw everything die in autumn. Many cultures assimilated this need into holidays that then gained religious significance. We bring evergreen trees and branches into our homes to draw some of that undying energy from nature at this dead time. Then we decorate the tree and our homes to create more beauty and light, inspiring us. We give gifts, spend time with loved ones, enjoy our traditions and create delicious food and drink to essentially make us feel better, less depressed and motivated again.
THIS PNEUMONIA COULD KILL ME
The pneumonia has rooted itself into the lower left lobe of my lung and along the right lung. The intense radiation burned these areas, leaving heavy scar tissue, making my lungs more vulnerable to infection. As a lymphoma patient, I also suffer a weaker immune response. Pneumonia presented a worst-case scenario for me. I’ve often been warned to monitor for it because not only could it do me great injury, but it could prove to be too strong for antibiotics to cure entirely. It put me in the hospital, dropping my blood-oxygen levels to 90 (and falling) and my pulse to a dangerous frequency. Basically, I was in the early stages of pulmonary failure, and if they couldn’t get it under control, my lungs would have shutdown. After weeks of antibiotics and treatment (which are not proving the most effective) it still endangers me. If the pneumonia relapses a fourth time, then there will probably be very little we can do to cure it. Eventually, it will kill me. This is how I could really go, and we’re worried. I’m waiting right now, and we’ll do another chest x-ray. I’m showing some symptoms again, though they could just be residual. We don’t know.
We’ve had to cancel many of our plans including a weekend stay in Philadelphia to enjoy the holiday features—a trip that’s become a beloved tradition for us. I was unable to celebrate my wife’s birthday, and my life ceased. After 16 days of heavy antibiotics, I have improved, become mobile and able to function better, but I am still quite sick. Low-grade fevers have popped up, and my lungs feel full of gunk. It comes and goes, and I’m the rope in a tug-of-war between my immune system and the infection. We don’t know what is going to win, so we have to watch it. I require much rest. I cannot push myself at all or weaken my already weakened state.
But it’s Yule, and the light heals me. It is part of my strategy for survival.
I felt it today—that inspiration, the energy, the love and light that I felt all those years ago. I really didn’t know if I’d be stuck in the hospital on a respirator. But instead, I was shopping with my beloved wife. I am not in hospital, and my chances of recovering have improved, and I will have a better holiday than if I ran a 103 fever.
ANDY GETS CANCER
While attending Thanksgiving with family in 1983, Andy discovered a strange lump.
In May 1984, after fighting cancer through archaic traditional means, psychic surgery and holistic medicine, Andy Kaufman dies. (Of course, his death has been the source of controversies with people claiming it was a hoax. I don’t believe this at all. Every good magician knows that when you make a rabbit disappear the audience won’t be satisfied until it re-appears. Andy never appeared to take his bow and to call the world a bunch of idiots. After researching Andy for years to write Destroying the Tangible Illusion of Reality, or Searching for Andy Kaufman, I’ve come to understand how desperate Andy was for attention and compliments to his massive self-centered ego. I doubt he could have gone a year without declaring himself undead and then rolling around in the attention like a hog in shit. That was just Andy. If he did survive, he’d be dead by now. There was no hoax. Andy was not immortal. He didn’t beat death. None of us can.
Happy holidays! (While you still can.)
But what people don’t consider is that death and loss compels Christmas. This was a dark time. Consider this. Winter is the harshest season to fragile human life. In the past before technology, people couldn’t grow anymore food this time of year. They had to burn fuel to stay warm and stay alive. Disease killed many without effective medicine. Christmas isn’t really the time of birth. It’s a day of death.
FOX SURVIVED CANCER
I love my wife. Allison has given me the best part of my life, and for the first time, I am glad I survived. Pain tortures me every moment. The oncologist destroyed my spine and burned me into agony. They are amazed I can still walk. I can only endure because of heavy opiates that patches and pills infuse into my system every moment of every hour of every day for the rest of my fucking life. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to think from the agony. That is my life. That is the cost. I see neurologists and pain management doctors every month, and I surprise them with what I can actually endure. If you think we should abolish opiates and make it harder for doctors to prescribe them, then you don’t understand what this feels like. I don’t recall what it’s like to not feel pain.
Yet I endure and strive to perform customs and traditions, even though most of the time I suffer through them. Why?
Because life is about what we create.
I garden. I fish. I bake. I cook. I write. I decorate. I play Dungeons and Dragons. I laugh. I read. I learn. This makes me feel alive. It connected me to the world and others. I need this. I’d die without it.
MY MESSAGE (FINALLY GODS DAMN IT)
I don’t want to be the wise man. I don’t need to be a priest. And please don’t call me a mentor. You’ll probably hate me one day for opening your eyes to the light and your soul to agony. That’s what I do. I share what I know, and I’ve learned how to listen.
If you’re listening properly to others, then you just might learn a lesson from their mistakes without having to make your own.
Don’t dismiss the holidays. Don’t just call them a lot of commercial bullshit and ignore them. You wound yourself by doing this. It’s depriving you of vitality, of nutrition, of spiritual renewal. Before all the religious dogma and commercial demands, people understood. The world spins on suffering. This is a brutal life that tortures you until you break—then you die. But beauty exists. So does love. We can ascend beyond our finite states. Christmas, mid-winter, Yule, the holidays exist to bring us light. They help us through the darkest coldest time of the year and give us hope. Look. You don’t have to do the commercial part of it, hanging up plastic reindeer and putting up gaudy lights. Make it what you feel. Find your own traditions. Know your own beauty. Sure. I love gifts—more getting then giving—but I love making Allison happy too. I like to bake cookies and create seasonal D&D adventures for my friends. This year, I take such joy seeing the tree we got together and put up. It lightens my soul every time I walk down the stairs—and I suffer so terribly right now. I need this. In a few weeks, I could be in hospital with my lungs filling with water. Last week, I went down to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania so they could check for skin cancer. Today, I have to figure out an x-ray. I didn’t sleep last night. I hurt. I ache.
This is the season of finding hope, but don’t expect it to be handed to you. Create it. Find the light. Ignite a sun in your heart. If you have trouble, just ask, and I will share a bit of my fire.
Bill. Jon. Cindy. Megan. Tom. Rose. Max. Lori. Michael. Marjorie. Jeff. Jay. Val. Nieces. Nephews. Amber. Debs “BESTIE” and so many more: I love you.
Allison, thank you. I love you. You reminded me that love is about making someone else more important than yourself even when you have cancer. We’ll have our home soon and our children. I have faith.
I didn’t have faith before, so I made it. I ignited my own Yule sun. So should you. When they offer no cure, create one.
DESTROYING THE TANGIBLE ILLUSION OF REALITY; OR, SEARCHING FOR ANDY KAUFMAN
In this surreal road novel, Anthony searches for the father he’s never met: Andy Kaufman, the legendary song-and-dance man from the ’70s. There’s a few problems here, of course. Andy Kaufman died in 1984, and thanks to a recent cancer diagnosis, Anthony doesn’t have much longer to live, either. However, new evidence has come to light that questions whether or not Kaufman is actually dead. Could he be in hiding, after all these years? Anthony is determined to discover the truth before his own clock runs out. During his travels, he will encounter shameless medicine men, grifters, Walmart shoppers, the ghosts of Elvis and Warhol, and the Devil himself.
How to purchase:
Directly through the publisher
Your local indie bookstore
Barnes & Noble
[PUBLISHER’S NOTE: GOING FORWARD, 100% OF PROCEEDS FROM FOX’S NOVEL WILL GO DIRECTLY TO HIM AND HIS FAMILY. AS THE PUBLISHER, WE WILL NO LONGER BE TAKING A PERCENTAGE OF THE ROYALTIES.]
WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? HORROR & PARANORMAL SHOW
EPISODE 105: CHRISTMAS HAS A DARKSIDE –
WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? HORROR & PARANORMAL SHOW
Christmas has a dark side.
During the holidays in the days before television, people gathered to share food, drink, and a glowing fire, and to entertain themselves by competing through storytelling. Ghost stories won the night. Consider this. When winter came, food ran low, the cold threatened and disease killed many, often taking your loved ones. You missed them at Christmas, so the holidays used to be a mournful time. Eerie tales were popular, and if Halloween was the start of ghost story season then it peaked at Christmas. So what a perfect time for a new episode of What Are You Afraid Of? To celebrate mid-winter, horror authors T. Fox Dunham & Phil Thomas celebrate tales of monsters and the supernatural. Fox has researched several Philadelphia haunted houses and has written an account of a notoriously spooky mansion in Chestnut Hill: The Baleroy Mansion. English folksinger David Walton narrates part one of these stories about the myriad spirits who inhabit this beautiful home including a ghost boy who appears to workers and a mother who refuses to stop giving advice even from the afterlife. Then, the hosts talk about the many horror movies set during Christmas including the classic story of holiday mayhem, Gremlins! Little green monsters torment a small American town, and they burn most of it down on Christmas Eve. This movie is considered a Christmas classic, watched by many. They pay homage by discussing the history and trivia of Gremlins. Remember the three rules? The hosts also play some funny holiday songs including the ballad of a frustrated neighbor forced to look at a hideous blow-up Santa. Then, Fox shares some of the rich history of the mid-winter holidays from the ancient holiday of Yule to the evolution of Christmas in the United States. So, we wish you happy holidays and remind you to indulge this dark and cold season. Christmas has a dark side—or the lights wouldn’t be so bright.
T. Fox Dunham lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Allison. He’s a lymphoma survivor, cancer patient, modern bard and historian. His first book, The Street Martyr, was published by Gutter Books. A major motion picture based on the book is being produced by Throughline Films. Destroying the Tangible Illusion of Reality or Searching for Andy Kaufman, a book about what it’s like to be dying of cancer, was recently released from Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing and Fox has a story in the Stargate Anthology Points of Origin from MGM and Fandemonium Books. Fox is an active member of the Horror Writers Association, and he’s had published hundreds of short stories and articles. He’s host and creator of What Are You Afraid Of? Horror & Paranormal Show, a popular horror program on PARA-X RADIO. His motto is wrecking civilization one story at a time. http://www.facebook.com/tfoxdunham & Twitter: @TFoxDunham