Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

September 3, 2019 at 11:01 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Horror, International Intrigue, magic, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Philosophy, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

Dashwood Forrest sat in his office in his art gallery in London and quietly sipped a drink of absinthe.

The Green Fairy as it was called was one of the favourite drinks of his idol the writer, novelist, poet and playwright Oscar Wilde.

Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie (who had been brought back from the dead many years ago by South African witch doctor Dr. Sterling Makabo) was out for the evening.

Mulligan had been hired for the evening by British MP Renfield R. Renfield to haunt the residence of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn and stand outside the back entrance of Corbyn’s lodgings and say in a spookily haunting zombie voice (with an Irish lilt to it), “The Irish backstop ends at your back door, Mr. Corbyn. The Irish backstop ends at your backdoor.”

As Jeremy Corbyn began to suffer the worst nightmares of his life, Forrest finished his glass of absinthe, left his office and locked it.

He walked down to the end of the gallery where he entered a room marked PRIVATE.

No one (not even Mulligan the Irish zombie) ever entered that room.

Only he Dashwood Forrest art historian, art gallery curator and extraordinary gentleman of many talents ever entered that room.

For that room contained a portrait behind purple velvet curtains.

A portrait of a man.

A portrait of a man painted in the year 1860.

A portrait that was first mentioned in a book published in July 1890.

A book that most people (and even Dashwood Forrest himself for most of his life) had considered a work of fiction.

Until Forrest came across the painting in an estate sale back in October of 2012.

The picture was of a man named… Dorian Gray.

And the artist who signed the picture was named Basil Hallward.

The painting was of an extremely handsome young man in his early 20s.

Exactly as described in Oscar Wilde’s famous Gothic Philosophical novel of the 19th Century- The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest drew back the purple velvet curtains that covered the painting and hid it from view.

Forrest got the shock of his life when he saw the portrait was empty.

There was no subject in the painting.

Dorian Gray was gone.

. . .

Forrest stared blankly at the blank canvas and blinked.

His smart phone went off.

It was a text message from his friend Amadeus Emanon.

A Set Enterprises satellite over the Bahamas had photographed the eye of the storm of Hurricane Dorian.

And a giant mysterious almost human figure seemed to be standing and moving with the eye of the storm in the hurricane.

Forrest again blinked.

For the figure was the spitting image of Dorian Gray.

The figure now missing from the painting.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday September 3rd
2019.


Sibyl: She loved Dorian in vain.

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Harvey Tallbanger and The Artist

April 28, 2019 at 10:54 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Inspiration, International Intrigue, Life, love, News, painting, Romance, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The night was somewhat cool as if February had crept in to steal a backwards glance in the midst of a late April evening.

And Liam Van Stope carried his work with him as he walked from place to place.

For Liam Van Stope was an artist and the work he carried was a huge white sketchpad along with a box of pastel crayons.

There he would walk from cafe to cafe sketching and colouring the patrons and customers.

For Liam Van Stope wished that the Paris of Toulouse-Lautrec and Vincent Van Gogh would never go away.

Oblivious to the idea that the Paris of Van Gogh and Lautrec was separate from the Paris of 2019 by more than a century.

And soon the Paris of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway would likewise be separated from the contemporary Paris by a century.

And as far as the thinking of Emmanuel Macron and some of the world’s so-called leading architects goes, the Notre Dame of the ages would soon be separated by a new Notre Dame by vast millenia.

Liam Van Stope walked into Quasimodo’s Cafe an establishment named after Victor Hugo’s famous character who had carried a hunted gypsy girl across the threshold of the Notre Dame of the ages and cried “Sanctuary”.

Liam recognized Esmeralda the gypsy girl who like her namesake in Victor Hugo’s novel danced the eternal dance of the gypsies though unlike her namesake danced in this cafe on weekends and not on the streets in front of Notre Dame at night unintentionally arousing the lust of a Notre Dame archdeacon who would endeavour to bring Hell on earth instead of absolution when his lust went unrequited.

Liam ordered a cognac and looked around the cafe on this quiet Sunday evening wondering whom he could sketch.

When he first entered the cafe, he had noticed Esmeralda talking animatedly to the empty seat next to her.

Ah, Liam thought to himself, when he had seen this, that will soon be all of us one day. All of us talking to ghosts. Talking to ghosts of a Paris that will soon be found only in the history books.

Esmeralda noticed Liam sitting in the corner booth with his sketch pad open at a blank page and his sketching pencil in hand waiting to draw when the inspiration hit.

She motioned to the maitre’d and pointed in Liam’s direction.

Within minutes, the maitre’d arrived at Liam’s table with a drink in hand that looked to be partially made from orange juice.

‘Excuse me, sir,” the maitre’d said, “but Miss Esmeralda thinks you might like to drink this for inspiration.”

“What is it?” Liam asked.

“It’s called a Harvey Wallbanger, sir,” the British maitre’d working with stiff upper lip in a Parisienne cafe replied.

The maitre’d bowed and left.

Liam took a sip of the drink.

Then another.

And then another.

It was good, Liam had to admit.

The artist then noticed that sitting next to Esmeralda at the bar was a bunny rabbit.

A very tall bunny rabbit.

Probably about 6 foot 8 in height, Liam estimated.

The bunny rabbit was white in colour with big pink floppety ears and a big pink floppety tail.

He was wearing a pair of denim blue colour overalls as well as a tall black bowler hat that his big pink floppety ears were sticking through.

Liam began sketching and began applying the pastel crayons to his subject.

He had soon completed the picture.

“Excuse me, sir,” Liam walked up to the bunny rabbit, “but what is your name?”.

“Harvey Tallbanger,” the rabbit replied.

“A name that must be recorded for posterity,” Liam said as he wrote down the name.

The artist then bowed to Esmeralda and said, “Thank you for the drink.”

When he returned to his studio apartment, Liam had been doing some reflecting on his subject of Harvey Tallbanger.

There was something quixotic about that bunny rabbit, Liam thought to himself.

He went over to his palette and canvas.

He decided he would paint Harvey Wallbanger as Don Quixote.

Minus the knightly armour.

He would have Harvey wearing his denim blue coloured overalls and his bowler hat (through which his big pink floppety ears would stick through) but he’d be riding Don Quixote’s horse Rocinante and he’d have a lance in his hand and he’d be charging at the windmill atop the Moulin Rouge cabaret in the Montmartre district of Paris.

As he painted, Liam sang the theme song from the musical Man of La Mancha:

“To dream the impossible dream
to fight the unbeatable foe

To run where the brave dare not go

To reach the unreachable star…”

And with that, Liam Van Stope a dreamer painted his quixotic picture of the 6 foot 8 invisible Welsh pooka bunny rabbit Harvey Tallbanger now visible in his blue denim coloured overalls and black bowler hat (through which his big pink floppety ears stuck through) as Don Quixote riding his horse and battling the windmill atop the Moulin Rouge cabaret.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday April 28th
2019.


Esmeralda the gypsy: Inspiring bunny rabbits like Harvey Tallbanger
and artists like Liam Van Stope.

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Atargatis, Dracul and The A. Y. Jackson Painting

March 29, 2019 at 10:18 pm (Art, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic romance, International Intrigue, love, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

The year was 1955.

Winston Churchill had recently stepped down as Prime Minister of Britain.

And an exhibit of paintings of Canadian artist A. Y. Jackson was opening in London.

The Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis had gone back in time from the current year of 2019 to 1955 to purchase an A.Y. Jackson painting that would become quite valuable.

Atargatis at a London art exhibit in the spring of 1955.

The name of the painting was Painting Of A Buffalo From The Rearend As Painted From The Rearend of A Train.

The buffalo had been painted by Jackson while he was sitting at the back of a caboose at a train stopped in the Red Deer River Badlands near Drumheller, Alberta, Canada.

A buffalo had stoppped and turned around and showed Jackson his rearend so the artist had painted a picture of the spectacle.

“A most remarkable portrait of the late Fuhrer of Germany,” Sir Winston Churchill remarked as he gazed at the painting through his spectacles.

Atargatis controlled a laugh.

Then she caught sight of Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.

“Are you here to bid on the painting, Van Helsing?” She asked.

“No, just here to take a look,” Van Helsing replied, “my dad often talked about this painting. That very same buffalo later went and took a crap on the shoes of my dad’s school principal. My dad always wanted to say thanks to that buffalo but never got around to it. So I’m here to do it on his behalf.”

“You’re an unusual man, Van Helsing,” Atargatis took a martini off a passing tray.

“And you’re a ravishingly beautiful goddess,” Van Helsing likewise grabbed a martini.

“We really should stop meeting like this,” Atargatis smiled, “it gives a whole new meaning to that expression “blast from the past”. Although I must say, I wouldn’t mind doing it in a DeLorean.”

“Neither would I,” Van Helsing smiled in return, “seeing as how time traveling DeLorean drivers were right in their prognostications about who would become U.S. President in a certain time period- be it Reagan or be it Trump- I’m sure the DeLorean back seat windows could use a little steaming up.”

“Did the DeLorean have a back seat?” Atargatis asked.

“If it didn’t, we could always make one,” the vampire hunter helped himself to a raw oyster.

“I hear a couple of nights ago, you were in Havana, Cuba in 1956,” Atargatis helped herself to a Cuban cigar.

“I was,” Van Helsing offered her a light, “where I heard from a Los Angeles private eye that drinking milk from your lactating breasts makes one immortal.”

“And would you like to be immortal, Mr. Van Helsing?” She approached him.

“England expects every man to do his duty,” Dracul quoted Lord Horatio Nelson and looked down the front of her dress.

The remaining drops of the Syro-Phoenician goddess’ martini wound up in the vampire hunter’s face.

Atargatis walked outside.

After grabbing a towel from the waiter and wiping his face, Van Helsing followed her.

“Well, how about this for a coincidence?” Dracul Van Helsing quoted a line that Dustin Hoffman spoke to Katharine Ross at the back of a bus and pointed towards a car parked in front of the art gallery steps, “A DeLorean.”

Atargatis looked at the car and smiled.

She turned to Van Helsing with a twinkle in her eye and said, “Well, a girl really can’t say no to a DeLorean can she?”.

“They shall look back and say, this was their finest hour,” Churchill quipped as he exited the art gallery.

“And will I get the chance to play with your gearshift, Mr. Van Helsing?” Atargatis asked as the vampire hunter opened the door for her.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” was the vampire hunter’s reply.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 29th
2019.

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The Siren of The Sea Plays A Sweet Melody: A Poem

March 13, 2019 at 10:16 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Literature, love, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural) (, , )


A Sea Spell 1877 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

A great beauty was she
The Siren of the Sea
who played sweet melody

Her fingers played softly each tender string
And with melodious voice she did sing
Birds of the sea flew to hear her
Sailors landed on rocks just to be near her
So tenderly tenderly she played the cords of the lute
while caught in her long flowing hair was forbidden fruit
A garland of flowers adorned her head like a sacred crown
Luminosity shone like the sun off her golden gown

Oh divine beauty, how can it be?
I’m here with you, you’re here with me
when music plays like golden rays
And with tender eyes you gaze
Then on your lap, I’d gladly lie
as the sea waves dance to the seagull’s cry.

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday March 13th 2019.

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Between The Moon and Sixpence: A Poem

March 2, 2019 at 10:29 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Film, Life, love, Movie Reviews, Movies, Poetry, Romance, Theology) (, )

What lies between the moon and sixpence?
A pair of broken hearts?
A man who no longer loves his job selling in the City
A man who sacrifices all for art
His wife, children and comfortable home
Leaves London for the Bohemian haunts of Paris

But the biggest thing he left behind is his soul and his humanity
He is not kind, he is not cruel
He is indifferent
Which is the cruelest cruelty of all

But he is called a genius by a fellow artist
The same man whose wife he steals
And then abandons like yesterday’s canvas
Leaving behind a broken heart that takes its own life
How can he who paints such beauty be capable of such cruelty?

That is the eternal question
A man once thought that a watch left on the beach must have a creator
The same man applied it to the cosmos
This cosmos must have a creator
But for that watch on the beach
what was its maker like?
Was he cruel?
Was he kind?
We know not.
The same applies for the cosmos.
If a maker the cosmos has
Is he cruel? Is he kind?
Iago in Verdi’s Otello says he serves a cruel god
The explanation (that Shakespeare never offered)
As to why Iago told such lies about Desdemona to his friend Othello

That is the ultimate horror
If the cosmos a creator has
is ultimately a cruel being
Rather than face that horror
that’s why many atheism and agnosticism embrace
Though ironically in Transhumanism modern
The theory is posed,
We all live in a computer generated matrix
But then who created that matrix?

To substitute God for ultimate Virtual Reality designer
The question of kindness and cruelty remains unanswered

Lucifer was an artist
That ultimate rebel
For only an artist can seduce
The Satan of the Book of Job was the fallen Archangel Samael
An angelic lawyer who fell
like lawyers are prone to do
He takes away and scatters
But he cannot seduce
like Lucifer the Devil did to Eve
He promises beauty and godhood
But cannot deliver
for he is ultimately not the source of both

Between the moon and sixpence
our artist anti-hero decides Paris is not
and goes to Tahiti
that South Pacific paradise
And will he finally find Paradise there?

There he finds Ata a South Seas woman
and there he says words he’d never thought he’d speak, “Love”
And there the man paints Eden
on the walls of his hut
Towards the end of his life he becomes kind
Not cruel
Not indifferent
For genius on its own can never find Paradise
It needs to hold the hand of Love

Angst ridden artists, poets and musicians history has seen many
Some have seduced and left broken hearts by the thousands
Others were kind and compassionate
The ability to create is a form of beauty
It is alluring
And with its allure
comes the ability to seduce

Creating beauty is only true when mixed with love and kindness
And leaves the perturbing question
Was the Creator of the Cosmos one with love?

To create a cosmos so vast and all encompassing
We mortal beings cannot comprehend such a Creator
Surely a giant?
Or maybe a phony hiding behind a curtain like that wizard of Oz?

The instances of love we can comprehend
Such as a child in its mother’s arms
The smile of the child towards mother
And the smile of the mother towards child

And that is why Oscar Wilde
whose Dorian Gray showed so shockingly how art and beauty could be used for evil
embraced as Creator the Babe who was born in Bethlehem
In whose humanity and divinity, Love and Intellect are one.

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday March 2nd
2019
inspired by watching
the 1942 movie
The Moon and Sixpence

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The Clock of Thoth: A Poem

January 14, 2019 at 11:53 pm (Art, Arts, Film, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, History, International Intrigue, love, Movies, Mythology, News, Philosophy, Poetry, Romance, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )


Tefna listening to the sound of the Clock of Thoth tick.

The young woman called Tefna
was in her apartment bedroom
listening to the sound of
the Clock of Thoth tick

A clock designed by her father
A master clock maker
At the stroke and bong of each hour
Two figures would come out
The first was Thoth
The ibis headed ancient Egyptian god
Of the moon, magic and writing
And of course the Egyptian god who
was the recorder of time

The other figure was an Egyptian Pharaoh
who bore the likeness of the young
Actor/Director Orson Welles
The year was 1945
The date was August 6th
Feast of the Transfiguration
On the Church calendar
When Christ showed his Divine Deity
To his Apostles Peter, James and John

Tefna awaited news on what would become of her fiance
a sailor in the U.S. Navy still involved in the War In The Pacific
against Japan
Thor’s lightning bolt insigna warriors in Germany
had surrendered months earlier
but no word yet on those who fought for the ancient gods of Japan

A young American scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer
was seeking to become the Hindu god Shiva
The destroyer and transformer of worlds
But Tefna was unaware of him and his plans
And what they could possibly mean for her
As she listened to the ticking of the Clock of Thoth
On the wall
Tick-tock! Tick-tock!
As she always did at this same time every night
Before she went to bed

In the apartment next door
Hera the divine goddess queen of the Olympians
awaited the report of an immortal private eye
Carson Cody Albion

The Greek goddess Hera- that’s Juno to the ancient Romans!

She had suspected her husband Zeus
was getting it on with the modern goddesses
of the silver screen in Hollywood
The fact that she had heard him talking on the phone
seeking to borrow swan and bull costumes
from studio costume departments
only added to her suspicions.

In the apartment on the other side of Tefna
sat Hestia the Greek goddess of hearth and home

Hestia suspected that hearth and home would come to be neglected in America following the war
As both men and women followed Mammon
the ancient Babylonian god of banking and commerce
Who had helped America defeat Thor’s modern worshippers

All these things were unfolding in the building around Tefna
As she listened to the sound of the Clock of Thoth
tick on the wall

Tick-tock! Tick-tock! went the Clock of Thoth on the wall
As Tefna listened.

The Greek goddess Athena was there in black and white

on the silver screen
in the old repertory movie theatre
in West Hollywood
on January 14th
when Dracul Van Helsing
entered the theatre
and entered the screen
and then entered Athena
to sample hidden portals of wisdom

In the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London
Dashwood Forrest looked at the painting
of Demeter
The Greek goddess of fields, crops and agriculture
looking down on a field of 19th Century French peasant women
Bringing in the sheaves for harvest

Looking at the painting
Dashwood Forrest was shocked to see and hear
Demeter speak to the French women,
What sort of powerful magician could seduce my Persephone
away from her husband

As Athena found tantric sex to be a tantalizing experience
On the silver screen in a West Hollywood repertory theatre
actress Akira Lane was showing a robotics maker
fresh from a technology show in Las Vegas
what wonders old technology could do
when blended with ancient magic
As an Irish Jewish science-fiction writer
George Finneganburg
hastily took notes

Meanwhile in a London casino
Former British Labour MP
The Welsh werewolf Magog Rhys Petley
(whose seat was now held by
British Transhumanist MP
Welsh vampiress Morgana)
walked in on an unexpected orgy
taking place on a casino table

The casino’s kinky quartet looked at him, smiled
and advised him not to miss Lord L’s
Super Wolf Blood Moon Party
in Washington DC
next Sunday night

with the brunette in short skirt and black silk fishnet pantyhose
Sitting atop the casino table
telling him not to miss it for the world

Renfield R. Renfield MP
had just finished writing his speech to move
a motion of non-confidence in Theresa May’s government
following the Brexit vote in the Westminster Parliament tomorrow
When suddenly he walked out into his Parliamentary office
waiting room
Where the Vietnamese vampiress Ho Babylon Minh

was waiting for him

Causing Renfield to burst the zipper on his trousers
When he saw her
He would have to buy himself a new suit
to deliver the speech in Parliament tomorrow

It was a moonlit night in Port Elizabeth South Africa
As the great South African artist SAREJESS
sat in the middle of the street with his easel and canvas
and paintbrush and paints
(praying that no motorists would be driving down the street this late at night to abruptly and undoubtedly painfully put an end to his lunar nocturnal painting expedition)
and painted what he saw

He would paint this quiet tranquil scene
before the ghost of a brontosaurus showed up
and walked across the street
And before the ghost ship of THE ghost ship
The Flying Dutchman
appeared on the surface of the water
on the horizon in the distance
As he sat there painting the canvas,
he wondered whether his wife and family were right
to think he was crazy

And there at one moment in time
somewhere in time
sat Tefna
always anxiously sitting on the bed
always anxiously awaiting for the phone to ring
to bring her news of her love
Same place
Same time
Night after night

but no sound of a phone ringing
Only the sound of the Clock of Thoth ticking
Tick-tock! Tick-tock!

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday January 14th
2019.

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Pan Goatee Slays More Repulsive Ugly Women and Their Moronic Low IQ Boyfriends

December 18, 2018 at 11:56 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Vampire novel) (, , )

Pan Goatee had spent the night tracking down people who leave their chewed chewing gum on seats of transit trains and transit buses.

Goatee had worn a nice pair of pants to a Christmas dinner put on for a local charity last night.

The charity organizers were obviously big on aesthetics (no doubt they had read the works of Oscar Wilde and Friedrich Nietzsche on the subject) because in addition to having the tables and the room beautifully decorated, the vast majority of women at the event were beautiful (a major accomplishment in a city where the vast majority of women were quite mind numbingly ugly- the city where the person who coined the phrase “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” when he visited the place immediately gouged out both his eyes with the paintbrush Vincent Van Gogh held in his hands when he cut his ear off).

Unfortunately for Pan Goatee, when he rode the train back to the closest train station to his home bus route, he must have sat on a seat where some total moron (the sort of person who would probably be one of the few to land a permanently employed position in the Trump White House) had placed a ton sized wad of chewing gum on the seat which stuck to Goatee’s pants and thoroughly ruined thrm.

The nice set of pants had been given to him as a gift for his birthday a few weeks earlier and now thanks to some total moron with the manners of an orc born at the bottom of a prairie farm outhouse, those pants were thoroughly ruined and could not be saved.

Goatee went down to the Transit Security Video Observation Room and caught the offending perpetrator on tape.

Goatee showed the tape to a 3-headed dog (who was possessed by the ghost of the Hound of the Baskervilles and two demons) who was currently visiting Canada from England.

The 3-headed dog tracked the boorish moron down to his home and Goatee had spent the night cutting up the bad mannered outhouse bottom dwelling orc into tiny pieces all the while making sure that he was alive the entire time to enjoy the sensation of his total bodily dismemberment.

Sadly for the orc, he didn’t really enjoy the sensation of his total bodily dismemberment but then Goatee didn’t really give a fuck.

And considering the aesthetically facially challenged appearance of most of the women in this town, not giving a fuck was something Goatee was definitely used to.

When all that was left of the ill-mannered outhouse bottom dwelling orc was his still living and pain sensation feeling head, Goatee put the head in a metallic vise loaded with chewed chewing gum and quite literally put the squeeze on it.

He recorded the screams of the orc as his head was squeezed to death in the chewed chewing gum filled vise.

He then text messaged the screams to a producer of death heavy metal band music as a demo.

3 minutes later, the death heavy metal music producer text messaged Goatee right back saying that it was the greatest musical sound that he had ever heard in his life and he wanted to sign the band right away.

Goatee replied that the song would have to be a one hit wonder like some early ’80s (or was it late ’70s) female singer who used only her first name and sang about how “I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me” and then went into the obscurity she so richly deserved after releasing the song.

Goatee thought the singer’s single one hit wonder name might have been Charlene and his mind’s eye could picture Olivia de Havilland singing to Bette Davis, “Hush, hush, sour Charlene, I’ll hate your song until the day you die…”

“Hush, hush, sour Charlene…”

When the producer asked why the song would have to be a one hit wonder on the part of the death heavy metal band, Goatee replied that it was because the band’s lead singer and sole instrumentalist was now dead and resting in pieces.

. . .

Goatee decided to catch the bus to the McDonalds at the nearby shopping center rather than walk as he had twisted his ankle earlier in the day.

Usually the bus going west at this time of evening wasn’t crowded.

But as the bad luck poor Pan Goatee had been having ever since the late ungreat El Stupido had put bubble gum on transit train seats ruining his dress pants, some stupid inconsiderate ugly woman would naturally be riding the bus at this time along with her two low IQ boyfriends.

“Great god of beauty and aesthetics Apollo,” Pan Goatee moaned aloud, “Two of them. Fauning and fondling her and her wish is their every command. Well, Donald Trump is probably grateful for the existence of IQ challenged Calgary white males because they make him look like Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, Rembrandt, Beethoven, Shakespeare and Dostoevsky all rolled into one by comparison.”

Pan Goatee went up and beheaded the obnoxious trio before they ruined anyone else of the joy of the Christmas season.

When he got off the bus, another ugly white woman and her low IQ white boyfriend were crossing the street.

Goatee then beheaded the scourge of humanity couple but not before the damage had already been done.

Some drivers blinded by the sight or overtaken by the paroxymsm of massive vomiting and regurgitation had already smashed their vehicles into light poles.

Goatee entered the McDonald’s and after buying himself a Coke went and sat down.

Goatee turned to his left where he was once again sickened by the sight of a fat ugly white blimp and her stupid low IQ white boyfriend.

Contrast that with the two beautiful African Muslim women who were sitting there at another table in their elegant stylish looking long skirts as opposed to the baggy trousers and great grandma style moo-moos the fat ugly blimps of the city wore.

Pan Goatee was reminded of the words that Canada’s greatest research librarian and historical archivist Jack Morrow had spoken many years ago, “Thank God for liberalized immigration laws.”

Goatee uttered a quick “Amen” and then crossed himself with the Sign of the Cross before going over and beheading the fat ugly blimp and her low IQ boyfriend.

“To Hell with the both of you,” Goatee shouted.

A homeless man outside the McDonalds who was using a copy of Pope Francis’ most recent statement against capital punishment as a roll of toilet paper to wipe his crappy ass smiled approvingly and gave the thumbs up.

. . .

As Goatee then walked up to the grocery store some blocks away, he reflected on a statement that Rush Limbaugh had made some years ago,

“In North America,” Limbaugh had astutely observed, “Feminism is a movement designed to help ugly physically unattractive women enter the mainstream of society.”

And in the City of Calgary, North American feminism had triumphed to “Infinity and beyond” as Buzz Lightyear might put it before puking his guts out.

A male supporter of feminism at the start of the early 20th Century who had visited Calgary in the year 2018 and then returned to his own time would have said, “I have seen the future and it is a NIGHTMARE.”

While at the grocery store, Goatee noticed a fat ugly blimp who was busy buying 20 bags of groceries.

“I imagine all that food would probably serve as appetizers before your main course,” Goatee remarked before beheading her.

. . .

Meanwhile over in Sweden outside a Swedish church lay the dismembered bodies of two more of Goatee’s victims – the bodies of ghost rider Muerte Noir and his horse Equus Beelzebar who had made the mistake of trying to kill a beautiful woman who was playing the role of Santa Lucia in a Santa Lucia Night church service this past December 13th 2018.


Muerte Noir and Equus Beelzebar as they looked in life.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday December 18th
2018.

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The Original New Testament Femme Fatale or Lust and Decapitation: A Brief History of Salome

October 4, 2018 at 10:33 pm (Art, Culture, History, Personal essays) (, , )

An excellent blog post written by Miyako Yunagi on how Salome the original femme fatale of New Testament biblical history has inspired great works of art throughout the ages:

cestmiyako

I prefer artists who don’t belong to any genre, Morandi, Giacometti, San Yu.

Gustave Moreau is also considered one of them

Gustave Moreau likes to paint the enchantress.

The word enchantress was born in the French word “Femme Fatale”, which is used to describe a woman who is beautiful and charming ,but will bring disaster to men.

Salome is one of the most famous.

Salome was originally a princess with have no name in the Bible.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Herod smashed his brother, Helotti, and John the Baptist publicly condemned this unethical act.

Heroetti was particularly angry and resentful. One day, at Herod’s birthday party, Heroetti asked her daughter, Salome to dance for Herod.

The girl is so beautiful. Herod was very happy, and he promised that he would satisfy any of Salome’s wishes, even if she wanted half of the country.

But under the instruction of the…

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Pan Goatee Dishes Out Yet Another Pummeling In The Name of Global Aesthetics

July 3, 2018 at 10:57 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Pan Goatee Dishes Out Yet Another Pummeling In The Name of Global Aesthetics

Pan Goatee was once again on a mission.

Recently he had been hired to steal a Leonardo Da Vinci painting from the private art collection of a Western Canadian rancher and cattle baron.

Now he was back to steal yet another work of art from the cattle rancher’s private art collection.

This one was a small statue done of the Greek satyr god Pan.

The statue had been done by the famous Renaissance sculptor and painter Michelangelo (who was of course no relation to Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster at London’s Set Enterprises laboratory).

Dr. Faustus Imhotep the acting head of DARPA had been doing some research earlier this year at the Vatican Archives in Rome and had discovered reference to the statue Michelangelo had sculpted of Pan the Greek satyr god of the wild, forests, mountains, rustic music, shepherds and flocks.

Apparently Michelangelo had based the sculpture on the actual perfectly preserved body of Pan he had seen hidden deep in a catacomb beneath the Vatican.

And as such it was the most accurate sculpture of Pan ever depicted in the last 2000 years.

According to the document Dr. Faustus Imhotep had read, underneath the base of the small statue were hieroglyphs that Michelangelo had carved into the base that revealed the whereabouts of what catacomb beneath the Vatican contained Pan’s body.

The highest levels of the U.S. government were anxious to get their hands on Pan’s perfectly preserved body.

A CIA search had determined that the Michelangelo statue of Pan was in the Western Canadian cattle rancher’s private collection of which Pan Goatee had recently stolen a Da Vinci painting.

So Goatee was sent to steal the Michelangelo statue now.

Goatee was riding a bus that would take him by the rancher’s maternal grandmother’s house where the late cattle baron (that Goatee had assassinated on DARPA’s orders) kept his private art collection.

Suddenly a really repulsive fat ugly woman got on the bus.

Goatee had his hands on his astral laser machete because he felt driven to decapitate the fat ugly cow.

But Dr. Faustus Imhotep had told the satyr serial killer and DARPA contract assassin not to call attention to himself.

So it took every once of strength on Goatee’s part to resist the urge.

However when the fat ugly blimp was going to get off the stop just before he got off, Goatee went up and started pummeling the fat ugly cow in her fat ugly face with his fists.

He punched her in the face 1001 times for good measure.

He then took his astral laser machete and cut her up into 100,001 pieces.

The display amazed a statistician for Statistics Canada who was sitting on the bus and counted.

“Wow, nice numbers,” the statistician was impressed.

Pan Goatee then left the bus, approached the house, tortured the cattle rancher’s grandmother until she revealed the statue’s location and then stole the Michelangelo statue of Greek nature god Pan.

He then gave the statue to American CIA agent Bob Belfor.

He then caught another bus to return him to his hotel.

As he got off, he noticed an ugly looking woman and her boyfriend get off behind him.

“What, what a loser!” Goatee thought as he looked at the creep dating an ugly woman, “I better prevent this couple from mating and passing ugly genes into the world.”

He beheaded both the ugly woman and her loser boyfriend.

Just then he got a call on his smart phone.

It was from Dr. Faustus Imhotep the acting head of DARPA.

Apparently a person at the top of the highest levels of the U.S. government had put in a call to Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau telling him that he had 24 hours to immediately remove the July 1st 2018 tariffs he had slapped on U.S. products or else.

This person at the highest levels did not tell Mr. Trudeau what the “or else” was.

The “or else” was going to be that Pan Goatee would decapitate Justin Trudeau’s head with his astral laser machete and then put the head on top of a giant marijuana plant that was growing on Ottawa’s Parliament Hill and then alert the news media to come and take pictures of Justin’s severed head on the pot plant.

Pan Goatee after getting off the phone with Dr. Faustus Imhotep then phoned the airlines and booked a flight to Ottawa first thing in the morning.

A photo montage music video about the Greek god Pan I made and posted at YouTube 10 years ago:

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday July 3rd
2018.

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The Tower of Song By David Redpath

July 2, 2018 at 10:04 pm (Art, Arts, Literature, Poetry) (, , )

An excellent poem written by an outstanding poet.

David Redpath

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To find truth without faith,
love and hope,
like trying to climb
Mt. Everest
naked, without oxygen,
or even a rope.
Not saying it can’t be done,
but man,
sounding like a clang!
Or have I found
that love thang?
Try as you might
to sight the heavens,
like pointing a microscope
to the skies
from the dire
mire basement
in which your standing.
Far better, in the light,
seeing the world
through heaven’s eyes.
Holy Mindfulness
is the place
where we all belong.
As Leonard Cohen,
he’s moving on
to the Tower of Song.

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