Renfield and The Oscar Envelope Mix-up Fiasco
Renfield R. Renfield the genetically created shapeshifting hamster/human who was Chief of Security and Intelligence Gathering for Set Enterprises was in the kitchen of the colossal mansion owned by his boss the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
Sitting alongside him in the kitchen was his friend and fellow employee Amadeus Emanon the genetically created personal concert pianist to the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set (Amadeus had been cloned from the DNA from locks of hair of composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, British actor Alan Rickman and California mass murderer Charles Manson).
Amadeus was busy working on his 12th plate of bacon and scrambled eggs and his 11th plate of pancakes smothered in Canadian maple syrup.
Upstairs the vampire Set was complaining to his butler and valet Athelstan about the increasing amount being spent on food in the household budget.
Back downstairs in the kitchen, Renfield still hadn’t finished one plate of bacon and scrambled eggs.
He was still busy reading email messages between Russian President Vladimir Putin and U.S. President Donald Trump having hacked into both countries’ secure national encrypted security systems. (more of a challenge than hacking into former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s private email server that she used when serving in that position but what the heck- challenges made life interesting).
“I noticed,” Amadeus wiped some scrambled eggs and maple syrup off his chin, “that you haven’t been around the house the past few days. Where were you?”.
“I was in Los Angeles,” Renfield took his sunglasses off and put them on the table.
“What were you doing in Los Angeles?” Amadeus asked while crunching on a slice of bacon, “Visiting the porn studios you own there?”.
“No,” Renfield put aside his autographed photos of actresses Akira Lane and Nicole Oring, “I was at the Academy Awards.”
Amadeus sat with his mouth open, “How did you manage to get in there? Were you with that bus tour group that Jimmy Kimmel brought in?”.
“Well,” Renfield started putting some pet hamster food and some ketchup atop his scrambled eggs, “if you recall, I was created with the genetic ability to be able to shapeshift into a hamster. So I just shapeshifted into a hamster and wandered all over the auditorium. On stage, backstage, in the audience,accidentally wound up in Matt Damon’s underwear (horror of horrors!) where I discovered he has a Jimmy Kimmel Loves Matt Damon and Vice-Versa heartshaped tattoo on his ass. I also managed to get into Salma Hayek’s underwear which I thoroughly enjoyed.”
“You filthy disgusting pervert,” Amadeus was shocked.
“Funny those words you just used happen to match the 10,000 most favourite sentences that other people seem to post on my Facebook timeline,” Renfield was reflective.
“Did you do anything else during the Oscars?” Amadeus asked.
“Well, while the PriceWaterhouse Coopers accountant was busy playing with a certain part of his anatomy while photographing actress Emma Stone backstage with his smart phone, I ran up and switched two red envelopes on him,” Renfield grinned broadly.
“You didn’t?” Amadeus looked horrified.
“I did,” Renfield stuck his chest out proudly, “ever since Dr. Cadbury Rocher told me at last year’s Set Enterprises’ Christmas party that part of my genetic make-up contains the DNA of Loki the Norse trickster god in Norse mythology, I am now endeavouring to become the greatest practical joker of the 21st Century.”
Amadeus lost his appetite (a rare occasion for him).
He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window.
He thought to himself that living with a kook like Renfield was like living in La La Land.
He opened the drapes of the kitchen window, noticed it was now nighttime and moonlight was starting to shine through.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday February 28th
2017.
Kwan Yin: A Poem
In her hand she carries the lotus flower
The one who hears the cries of the world
gentle Immortal revered by Taoists
venerated as Goddess of Mercy
by Asian Buddhists
Kwan Yin also spelled Kuan Yin
or Guan Yin
The name Kuan Yin is short for
Kuan Shih Yin (Guan Shi Yin)
which means Observing The Sounds of The World
in other words she who listens to prayers
Kuan Yin or Guan Yin in China
sometimes spelled Kwan Yin in the West
In Japan, she is called Kannon
or more formally Kanzeon
also spelled Kwannon
In Korean, she is called Kwan-um
or Kwan-se-um
In Vietnamese she is called Quan Am
or Quan-The-Am-Bo-That
Years ago this writer in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia
looked at statues of Kwan Yin in a West Kelowna store
said the proprietor, “A person doesn’t choose a Kwan Yin but
rather the Kwan Yin chooses a person”.
None of the statues called to me
Tuesday night February 21st
stumbling in the cold frozen wind
homeless and without a place to stay
passing a Vietnamese Buddhist monastery
outside was a statue of Kwan Yin
or Quan Am (as she would have been called by the monks inside)
Staring at the statue
the most powerful feeling hit me
Kwan Yin was the Blessed Virgin Mary
in her Asian incarnation
how she appeared to the peoples of the Far East
This Kwan Yin was choosing me
I went up to her
and touched her hand
That night I slept outside on a park bench
in the freezing cold
but the next night I had found a place to stay
Kwan Yin- she who carries the lotus in her hand
has an Immaculate Heart.
-A poem written by Christopher
Monday February 27th
2017.
Gorbachev: From The Berlin Wall to The Mexico Wall
On November 9th, 1989, the Berlin Wall fell heralding the start of a new era for Central and Eastern Europe.
It looked like peace would finally break out over the world.
The nations of Central and Eastern Europe formerly under Communist rule became democracies.
The Soviet Union itself was undergoing a process of democratization under its President and Soviet Communist Party General-Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev.
Gorbachev won the Nobel Peace Prize for his achievements in 1990.
Then in August 1991, tragedy struck.
Hardliners in the Soviet Red Army and the Politburo staged a coup against Gorbachev.
Gorbachev was on holidays at his Black Sea dachau in the Crimea at the time.
Meanwhile in Moscow, Russian Federation President Boris Yeltsin climbed on to a tank, raised his fist in the air and shouted his defiance against the hardliners.
The coup eventually collapsed.
Two days after the coup attempt, Gorbachev returned to Moscow but a diminished figure.
The feisty Russian Federation President Boris Yeltsin was now the man of the hour.
By December of 1991, Yeltsin had met with the Presidents of the other Republics of the U.S.S.R. and they had signed a new Treaty forming what was called the Commonwealth of Independent States.
The Soviet Union was now finished in practical reality.
Its legal and formal dissolution occurred on Western Gregorian Calendar Christmas Day- December 25th, 1991 with the stroke of a pen signed by Mikhail Gorbachev’s hand.
Nationalism instead of Communism would emerge as the new driving force in the former Republics of the U.S.S.R.
Such intense nationalism would lead to conflict between Georgia and Russia in 2008 and then between Russia and Ukraine from 2014 until the present day.
And now intense nationalism had come to the world’s other nuclear power- the United States.
Its proponent- a man named Donald Trump.
Within a period of 28 years, the world had gone from the tearing down of a wall that divided the great German city of Berlin to a proposed wall that would be built along the Mexico-U.S. border..
Then in the South China Sea- intense nationalism had likewise taken hold.
China, Japan, the Philippines, Indonesia, Vietnam and Malaysia all laid claim to islands in the South China Sea.
In the Middle East, it looked like a two-state solution for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was slowly being buried under a policy change in the Trump Administration in Washington DC.
And then there was North Korea with its peculiar extremely isolationist and extremely paranoid form of nationalism
The killing of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un’s brother Kim Jong-nam by lethal use of a poisoned facecloth at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia had shown the bizarre turn the world had now taken.
James Bond movies had met with the Apocalypse of the Book of Revelation.
Gorbachev sighed.
He felt in his heart World War III was coming.
Russian and NATO troops were now facing one another on the Polish-Russian border and the Latvian-Russian border.
World War I had begun with the assassination of the ArchDuke Franz Ferdinand the nephew of the Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria.
Perhaps in some twisted sick way, the developing scenario for World War III had begun with the assassination of Kim Jong-nam the half-brother of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un.
Perhaps the mysterious disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 en route from Malaysia to China and the shooting down of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17 over Eastern Ukraine was Divine Providence’s way of letting the world know of how the bullet that would start World War III would occur.
It would occur in the form of a poisoned facecloth thrown in Kuala Lumpur Airport.
American reporter Lincoln Steffens had once said “I have seen the future and it works” when he visited the U.S.S.R.
Gorbachev felt within, “I have seen the future and it is dark.”
Steffens turned out to be wrong.
Gorbachev prayed that he was.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday February 24th
2017.
The Royal Albert Club London- 1927
Henry Armstrong and Thomas Tennyson were both with British Intelligence. They were meeting with a British politician Winston Churchill at the Royal Albert Club in London.
All three men were members of the Royal Albert Club. The meeting was unofficial. What brought all 3 men together were their concerns about a rising political movement in Germany- Nazism.
The year was 1927. Most members of the British political establishment and most members of the British Intelligence community were not worried about Nazism.
The concerns these men had were dismissed by their compatriots as a very odd and eccentric form of obsession. It would only be after 1945 that these men would be regarded as visionaries.
“So this wealthy Egyptian who lives in Berlin and calls himself Mr. Sol Invictus Set is not a racist,” Churchill chewed the end of his cigar.
“No, he seemed to very much enjoy the company of Miss Josephine Baker in Paris,” Thomas Tennyson showed Churchill the pictures that British Intelligence had taken of the evening.
“Yes, he is very much enjoying himself indeed,” Churchill took a sip of brandy, “What a very beautiful and lovely woman this Miss Josephine Baker is. Set has excellent taste in women.”
Churchill continued to gaze at one picture in particular.
“Ahem,” Thomas Tennyson cleared his throat, “I think your darling Clementine would clearly have some concerns about the amount of time you’re spending looking at that photo of Miss Baker.”
“Yes, well,” Churchill handed the photos back to Tennyson, “I’m the sort of person who doesn’t like to forget a face.”
Henry Armstrong had to work overtime in controlling himself not to break into a huge fit of laughter over the Churchillian remark.
“So if Set isn’t racist,” Churchill sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigar, “why is he using his earnings off Chicago mobster Al Capone’s bootleg booze to donate such huge sums of money to Corporal Hitler’s German National Socialist Workers’ Party?”.
“Set seems to have an obsession with power,” Henry Armstrong explained.
“So Set will back any individual capable of arousing the masses to attain power and Set will be the power behind the throne?” Churchill said.
“Exactly,” Armstrong nodded.
“And he owns vast amounts of property here in Britain?” Churchill raised an eyebrow.
“He does,” Armstrong nodded again.
“Hm, this is definitely a matter for His Majesty’s Government to look into,” Churchill bit his cigar again, “we can’t have foreign nationals going around owning huge swathes of Britain.”
“Actually,” Tennyson interjected, “we’ve now found out that Set was granted British citizenship in 1922. He’s a subject of the British Crown.”
Churchill spilled brandy all over his tie after this last remark. He thought of switching from British bulldog mode to Swiss Saint Bernard mode and start licking the brandy off his tie but thought better of it.
“How the Hell did he manage that?” A flabbergasted Churchill asked.
“He’s apparently good friends with the Prince of Wales,” Armstrong explained.
“Really?” Churchill was likewise good friends with the Prince of Wales but was totally unaware of Set’s friendship with the flamboyant Prince Edward, “how is that possible?”.
“Well,” Tennyson blushed, “”Set has acted as what you might call the Prince of Wales’ pimp. He’s lined up women and dates for him.”
“Good God,” Churchill spit the end of his cigar into his now empty glass of brandy, “and is he continuing to act as the Prince of Wales’ pimp?”.
“Probably not from Berlin, no,” Tennyson shook his head.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t return to this country then,” Churchill motioned to the Royal Albert Club waiter for more cigars and brandy, “that’s all we need. This wealthy bootlegger/pimp Set getting the Prince of Wales involved with some woman who might cause a major crisis for this country sometime in the next 10 years.”
Armstrong glanced through a Simpson’s store catalogue that his sister from Canada had sent him.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday February 15th
2017.
Snow Falls Like Raindrops: A Poem
Today a snow fall
The snow fell like raindrops in suspended animation
Not a typical snowfall
but a magical mystery show of snow flakes looking like raindrops
and hitting the ground
much like a film of raindrops falling being put in slow motion mode
Snow flake falls
slow slow
burst of bubbles in the frozen air
dancing up and down to an unseen melody
of joy and laughter
Amidst this snowfall and its silence
one hears the still voice of God
I have found a new place to live
Last week I thought I had become an outcast
Last night I slept outdoors on a park bench
in the cold and the snow and the wind
for the first time in my life
I had become homelessness
in its most feared fashion
Today a meeting with someone
and I’m moving into a new place tomorrow
How quickly life can change within 24 hours
As I told a friend in Germany yesterday via email
“I now have the feeling God wants me to spend a night
in the cold- the damp frozen cold
If it happened to baby Jesus in the stable,
why should I be spared?”
As I told my friend, perhaps after a night in the cold
things will finally change after 7 years of Hell
the cold northern Hell of Niflheim
and the burning hot coals of Hebrew Gehenna
And so snow falls like raindrops in suspended animation
doing a slow motion dance of bursting bubbles
and magic wonderland
heralding that after the darkness
will finally emerge the light
-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday February 22nd
2017.
From The Rooftops You Can See: A Poem
From the rooftops you can see
the skylights of the city
From the streets down below
viewpoints can be hollow
Like Metropolis in that ’20s film of old
many a story can be told
of workers who toil down below
as elites gaze at neon glow
The city has been split into rich and poor
a boiling pot too big to ignore
the elites play and dance and sing
while others feel poverty’s sting
When despots arise, the elites are surprised
because despots arise on populist tides
blame the refugee, blame the foreigner
they’ve taken the country to death’s coroner
To be out of a job or just getting by
weakens your mind to accept a lie
The elites feel self-righteous and proud
yet it is they who let these things be allowed
If they had truly governed for us all
then Tyranny wouldn’t now threaten a wall
Despots must fall we can only say
but elites should know, they caused Hell to pay
-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday February 21st
2017.
Donald Trump: The Shakespearian Tragi-Comedy
Donald Trump (surveying the land); It is an ill wind that blows from yonder lying corrupt media…
(The wind coming through the oval office window blows the Donald’s hair off)
Trump (picking up his hair and looking at it): Alas! Poor Yorick! I knew him well, Horatio.
Mike Pence: The name is Michael, Mr. President.
Trump: Pence or Flynn?
Mike Pence: Pence.
Trump: That’s good. I thought I fired Flynn.
Mike Pence: He has suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Mr. President.
Trump: Yes, but the fault lies not in the stars but in ourselves.
Mike Pence: Look on yonder screen. What evil potion has been thrown at Kim Jung-nam.
Trump: What a towel. What a poison. What a woman. Come, let me clutch thee.
(Trump picks a pussy cat up off the office floor)
Mike Pence: Many a tragedy has befallen the nation of Malaysia these past 3 years.
Trump: Such ill fortune has fallen on that country. Just as good fortune and fair sun now shine on ours. Still, when in Malaysia, do as the North Koreans do.
Mike Pence: Do you still intend to build the wall, Mr. President?
Trump: I do. Even now through this very door comes a man to talk about the wall.
Snout (from A Midsummer Night’s Dream enters Oval Office and bows) :
In this same interlude it doth befall
that I one Snout by name present a wall
and such a wall as I would have you think
that had in it a crannied hole or chink
Through which the lovers Pyramus and Thisbe
Did whisper often very secretly…
Trump: Get out, fool.
(Snout flees Oval Office as does Trump’s reflection from the mirror)
Trump: Oh wherefore art thou, John Wayne?
A horse. A horse. My kingdom for a horse.
(A Dalmatian dog enters the room, lifts his leg and pees on the Donald)
Trump: Out, out, damned Spot.
(Curtain falls on an Oval Office in chaos or so say the Fake News media)
-A neo-Shakespearian tale
written by Christopher
Monday February 20th
2017.
Ernest Hemingway and The Vampiress In Red- A Poem
At his apartment window
he sat at the old typewriter
cigarette in his mouth
a glass of bourbon at his right hand
From his window he could see the Eiffel Tower
and the surrounding lights
Paris the City of Lights they called it
a most apt description
A bat flew in through the window
The hazards of having the window open
Hemingway reflected
He saw the bat heading towards the sofa
land on it
and turn into a beautiful Egyptian woman
in a lovely scarlet red evening dress
“My doctor said this might happen
if I didn’t stop drinking heavily”
Hemingway grabbed the bottle
and put it away in a bottom desk drawer
He was going to throw the contents
of the glass
on to the streets below
then thought better of it,
“It seems a pity to waste such good bourbon
on such unappreciative cobblestone”
He downed the glass’ contents in one quick swoop
“That’s the last drink I’ll ever take”
Hemingway announced to Paris and the world.
A sudden gust of wind entered the room
causing his dresser and mirror to shake
making it appear that his reflection
was laughing at him.
“I am quite real, Mr. Hemingway,”
said the beautiful Egyptian woman
in the red dress.
“I’m happy to hear that,”
Hemingway replied,
“it encourages me to take a second look
at this evening’s vow of abstinence.” .
“Abstinence from what, Mr. Hemingway?’
the vampiress Isis raised her dress
above her thighs
showing lovely pantyhose clad legs.
“Abstinence from drinking,” Hemingway replied,
“I’ve made no other pledge
in the past 24 hours,
past 24 minutes
or past 24 seconds.”
“I’m happy to hear that,”
the woman smiled showing lovely vampiric incisors.
“What big teeth you have, Grandma,” said Hemingway.
Isis laughed, “The better to bite you with, my dear.
I am Grandma times one thousand. I am Isis.”
“The goddess?” Hemingway asked.
“Very much the goddess,” Isis lay back on the sofa.
“Then let me worship at thine altar,”
Hemingway lay down on top of her
and kissed her breasts.
. . .
In a little Parisienne cafe
the vampire Set sat
after an evening spent
with Josephine Baker
Set was busy playing a game of chess
by himself
“I see you’ve got the black queen,”
Isis remarked
as she looked down
at the chess board.
Set looked up
into the eyes
of his sister and sister-in-law Isis.
“But I just took the white knight,”
Isis removed a chess piece off the board.
“How long shall we play this cosmic game
of chess, sister?” Set asked.
“Until there are no pieces left on the board,”
Isis answered.
When the light of dawn filtered through
the windows of the cafe,
no piece remained on the chess board
and all the players had gone home.
-A narrative poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 9th
2017.
Homeless and Suicidal In Calgary
My regular readers will notice that I haven’t updated for a couple of days.
I do not often talk about personal matters in this blog.
I mostly like to concentrate on my vampire novel chapters, my short stories and my poems.
I try to live on a housing and medical benefits income (which amounts to a little over $750 a month) since I was diagnosed by my doctor last summer as being medically unable to work.
I did move into a place of my own last October but unfortunately my landlady/roommate had an OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) when it comes to excessive bathroom cleanliness and I didn’t keep the bathroom clean enough for her liking even though I tried my best.
I was handed an eviction notice this past December 1st which meant I had to be out on New Year’s Day this year.
Since I was unable to find a new place to move into, I had to go into a homeless shelter.
I decided to try a homeless shelter closer to the Church I attend rather than the homeless shelter I lived in from July until October last year (where I wound up after being evicted from my Vancouver apartment last July due to my inability to pay the exorbitant rents that Vancouver landlords now charge).
I entered this particular shelter at 2 PM New Year’s Day and by 9 PM, I had picked up my belongings and ran out of the shelter.and to the house of a woman who attended my Church.
I asked if she would drive me to the homeless shelter I had been in from July until October of last year.
The reason?
This shelter closer to my Church- 95% of its clientele were crackheads I could discern.
The shelter I had been in from July until October last year had maybe 2% crackheads.
This shelter promised on its signs A Safe and Sober Environment.
Although the shelter had changed somewhat since my return this past January.
Now I discovered they had a client population of about 5 to 10% crackhead.
Of course they won’t let you into the shelter if you’re stoned (I didn’t have to worry about that since I neither smoked, drank nor took drugs all my life) but for crackheads of course, the chemicals will stay in their brains long after they’ve been on their trips which makes them the irrational pharmaceutical and chemically created psychopaths that they are.
I discovered how the clientele had changed back on January 3rd when I had only been in the shelter two days and had my iPhone stolen from my left pants pocket while I slept with my pants on on my mat.
There was also a lot more aggressive behaviour among the shelter’s inhabitants as a result of the increase in crackheads at the shelter.
I tried to avoid the crackheads as best as I could.
I did observe their behaviour but at a safe distance.
Then this past Tuesday night- Valentine’s Day- of all nights this crackhead asshole attacked me on my mat claiming that I had stolen his drugs.
I told him, “I don’t do drugs, asshole” as I fought him off
We finally got up in our struggle and I punched him in the face.
He must have been more aware than I am of how the cameras operated at the shelter because he immediately started carrying on like a big sniveling crybaby, “Waaaaugh! Staff, help me! This guy hit me!”.
Because the cameras do not look directly down on the mats, they can only see what people do standing.
So of course since the only punch that showed up on the camera was the one I had thrown while we were standing, I was the one who ended being suspended instead of the crackhead asshole who started it all.
And then the really ironic thing was that while I waited in the waiting room for the staff to bring me my belongings from my locker in a bag, the crackhead asshole’s ex-girlfriend had a drug overdose (I remember when she was his girlfriend, he treated her really badly and she’d always run crying to her father who also stayed in the shelter) and so was also brought down to the shelter entrance waiting room.
When I left the shelter with my plastic bag containing my belongings to walk to the bus stop across the street, I looked back and a fire truck with a respirator unit and an ambulance were pulling up to the shelter.
The whole scene almost struck me as being a metaphor for Western society today. I was the one being forced to leave the shelter while the asshole crackhead who started the whole fracas was allowed to stay- the same asshole crackhead whose abused ex-girlfriend was being rushed to hospital on a drug overdose.
There really doesn’t appear to be any justice in the world.
I had a Hell of a nightmare trying to find a place to stay this past Tuesday night.
I finally had to rent a hotel room (the cheapest turned out to be $97 a night which really isn’t cheap in my opinion) because I didn’t want to go to any other homeless shelter which has a higher percentage of crackheads than the one I had just left.
I’d rather throw myself into the Bow River than do that.
I’ve been suffering with severe clinical depression ever since my dad died from cancer 7 years ago.
I was finally diagnosed with this condition by a doctor in Calgary this past summer.
I have been seeing a mental health counselor the past few months.
I already had an appointment yesterday to see her at 2 PM and I thought this was timely because I’ve been feeling very suicidal ever since I was thrown out of my shelter this past Tuesday night. I’d rather die than wind up in a shelter with even more crackheads.
When I got there at the clinic at 1;45 PM to see my mental health counselor (15 minutes ahead of my 2 PM appointment), I was handed this piece of paper by the receptionist, “Dear friends, I am leaving the clinic. I have found new opportunities elsewhere. Yours truly,Nikki.” She had left the clinic’s employ 3 days earlier.
So with my usual on-going series of bad luck that has been going on continuously in my life ever since my dad died of cancer 7 years ago, my mental health counselor had up and left her job just when I needed her the most.
So I checked out of my motel today.
I can’t really afford to stay there any more nights.
Sadly the people at my Church have lives and big families of their own and they don’t have the ability or means to let me stay at their places for awhile.
I don’t know where I shall spend tonight.
I have no idea.
I don’t really want to go to any other homeless shelter.
I’ve had it up to here with crackheads.
Maybe I will throw myself in the Bow River.
I don’t know.
This is not a work of fiction tonight like my other writings, my dear readers.
This is the grim God’s honest truth.
Although God seems to have walked out of my life at the moment.
And only the Devil remains.
If you’re a praying individual. please pray for me, my dear reader.
-A real-life personal essay
written by Christopher
Friday February 17th
2017.
Dracul Van Helsing 
Haiku About Homelessness
February 26, 2017 at 4:47 pm (Commentary, Culture, Personal essays, Poetry) (haiku, homelessness, poem)
Without home no hope
People view you with contempt
that’s what really hurts
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