Morgan Le Fay

May 21, 2021 at 10:40 pm (Art, Arts, Ghost Story, History, painting, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Picture of Morgan Le Fay

“So you’re trying to track down the original painting that appears at this website?” British MP Renfield R. Renfield asked Dashwood Forrest the owner and curator of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.

“I am,” Forrest nodded, “I’ve come across sketches of this portrait in various books and they say it’s a portrait of Morgan Le Fay.”

“The Arthurian era enchantress?” Renfield sipped a martini, “But the woman in this portrait looks like a woman of the 1930s judging by her hairstyle and style of dress. I thought Morgan Le Fay died back in the Arthurian era.”

“There were rumours that back in 1930 an archaeologist found her grave on the Isle of Avalon not far from Glastonbury and a spiritist medium friend of the archaeologist used her incredible occultic powers to bring Morgan Le Fay back from the dead,” Forrest explained.

“And someone in the decade of the 1930s painted her picture?” Renfield finished his martini.

“Yes,” Forrest nodded.

“I wonder who?” Renfield looked at the website photograph of the painting as Forrest shrugged.

. . .

The ghost of Winston Churchill and the ghost of Orson Welles were sitting in comfortable armchairs in the living room of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal West London estate.

Both were smoking spectral cigars.

Churchill was sipping a spectral brandy.

And Welles was sipping a spectral glass of spectral red wine.

“Anyways,” Churchill continued with his story to Welles, “In my painting career, I painted in various different painting styles. I once painted what looked to be in style a black and white photo of Morgan Le Fay but it was actually a painting. One I must say I was exceptionally proud of. Sadly, Clementine didn’t like it and gave it away to someone. She wouldn’t say who. She didn’t want me to get it back. I think Clementine was jealous of Morgan Le Fay’s exceptional beauty.”

“Do you mean Morgan Le Fay the Arthurian era enchantress?” Welles almost spilled his spectral glass of spectral red wine all over his ghostly suit, “But I thought she died back in Arthurian times.”

“She was apparently brought back from the dead in 1930,” Churchill explained.

“Is she still alive today?” Welles asked.

. . .

“Is this seat taken?” The beautiful and attractive young woman asked Dracul Van Helsing in the Saint George’s Pub.

“No, it most definitely is not,” Van Helsing answered.

The woman sat down in the pub booth directly across from Dracul Van Helsing.

Her dress, her fur covering, her necklace, her gloves, her hairstyle and appearance seem to have been accurately and prophetically depicted by one Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill many decades ago.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 21st
2021.

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Memories of Selena

March 25, 2021 at 9:53 pm (Arts, Culture, History, Music) (, , , , )

Selena Quintanilla

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell was the CEO of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. in London.

He had become the CEO of the company after buying it (through a loan given to him by the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set) in 2018.

Previously he had been an Executive Vice-President of the Company.

This past year of the pandemic there had not been much recording going on at his studios on Abbey Road- the Wuthering Heights and Glencoe Hospitality Recording Studios.

As most musicians and singers did their performances via podcast and livestream.

So Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell had used the past year to write his memoirs.

He had run for the 2008 Democratic Presidential nomination in the U.S. and had come in an extremely extremely extremely distant third behind Barack Obama and Hillary Rodham Clinton.

He moved to London England in 2010 to become Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. to fulfill a lifelong dream he had of one day becoming a music producer.

Prior to his Presidential run, he had been an Executive Vice-President of Vidal Sassoon Hair Products.

Today he was busy recalling the year 1994.

He was remembering the day that year a friend of his had invited him to a small recording studio that the friend owned in San Antonio, Texas.

He recalled walking through the door of the recording studio and there sitting on a chair was a woman with one of the loveliest smiles he had ever seen in his life.

Selena Quintanilla

Campbell was disappointed in himself for at that time he had never heard of this young and promising young star bound to become a superstar.

She however sang and recorded a song in his friend’s studio that day.

It was a song in Spanish.

It was so beautiful that Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell resolved someday to learn the language.

Sadly he had never done that either up until this point in his life.

He recalled a year later in 1995 the day that he had heard Selena had been shot and killed by the President of her own fan club.

March 31st 1995.

In less than a week, it would be the 26th anniversary of her tragic death.

A young talent taken from the world too soon.

A lovely smile taken from the world too soon.

-written by Christopher
Thursday March 25th
2021.

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Portrait of Tapairu The Tahitian Sleeping Beauty

March 21, 2021 at 10:27 pm (Art, Arts, History, Romance, Short Story, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Portrait of Tapairu the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty

“What an absolutely beautiful painting,” Sherrielock Holmes the (quite literally) immortal twin sister of London consulting detective Sherlock Holmes gazed at the newest acquisition now hanging in the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.

Mr. Truffles her orange tabby cat purred in agreement and looked up affectionately at the painting.

“It was painted in Tahiti back in 1894 by one Sean Seamus O’ Gill an Irish painter and artist who lived on the island of Tahiti around the same time as the French artist Paul Gauguin,” Dashwood Forrest the art gallery owner and curator explained, “sadly Mr. O’ Gill is not as well known as Gauguin.”

As the old grandfather clock chimed in the gallery and the statue of a gnome emerged out of a small drawer to turn over an hourglass whose sands had just run out, images from a past time seemed to filter into the present.

Sean Seamus O’ Gill looked at the vision in front of him.

“What a vision,” Sean Seamus O’ Gill remarked to the French missionary priest Father Jacques La Croix.

“It’s like that old Irish hymn whose lyrics begin “Be thou my vision”, eh, Sean?” Father La Croix smiled.

“I guess you could phrase it that way,” Sean nodded, “She does look divine.”

“That she does,” Father La Croix agreed.

“Are you sure she wouldn’t object to being painted while sleeping?” Sean asked.

“No,” Father La Croix shook his head, “She wants to be painted while sleeping. She wants this portrait to be called the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty. She wants to give it as a gift to the man she’s going to marry.”

“She’s engaged?” A look of disappointment crossed Sean’s face.

“Nothing official yet,” Father La Croix answered, “but she hopes to be.”

And so that was how Sean Seamus O’ Gill came to paint the portrait of Tapairu the Tahitian sleeping beauty.

Over the next few months, Sean would sketch drawings and eventually paint pictures afterwards of Tapairu dancing at night in the village center like a royal dancer.

He would sketch drawings and paint pictures afterwards of Tapairu singing to school children during the day.

One of the village matriarchs took notice of his work.

“I’ve been told that an artist likes to depict a subject he loves,” she smiled.

“Um… Tapairu just makes a good subject,” The artist seemed to blush, “That’s all.”

Sean did wonder though which of the many suitors that seemed to want to attract Tapairu’s attention, Tapairu had given her heart to.

On the night of Sean’s birthday, many of the villagers gave Sean gifts.

Tapairu gave Sean a carefully wrapped and rather large present.

Sean opened it.

This was what he saw.

Sean then remembered the words of Father La Croix that she wanted to give the portrait of the Tahitian Sleeping Beauty as a gift to the man she wanted to marry.

Tapairu smiled happily at him.

Sean smiled happily back.

-A short story and
vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday March 21st 2021.

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Doctors Frasier and Niles Crane Meet The Brides of Dracula

March 13, 2021 at 10:53 pm (Arts, Celebrities, Comedy, Culture, Entertainment, Gothic romance, Humour, Television, TV Shows, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster had been binge watching episodes of the old TV series Frasier.

He then binge watched a Dracula movie marathon.

When that was over, he set his water proof alarm clock moving the time an hour ahead as tomorrow would be the start of Daylight Savings Time.

He then lay back on his water proof pillow and fell asleep.

He had a dream whereby Doctors Frasier and Niles Crane met the Brides of Dracula.

Niles: This is all your fault, Frasier. I don’t really relish the idea of walking around a spooky Transylvanian castle. It doesn’t really cut the mustard in my opinion. Hot doggetty!

Frasier: Niles, I wish you’d stop using those weird euphemisms uttered by that pot smoking hot dog salesman doing those late night infomercials advertising American cuisine recipes you can do in hot tubs. And why is it my fault? You were the one who insisted on giving two rather large glasses of sherry to my BMW’s GPS before we set out on this road trip.

Niles: Yes, well if you had stopped to ask for directions from that transgendered transvestite in the baked potato costume in Boisie, Idaho, we might not be in this mess.

Frasier: No, we might be in a bigger mess.

Niles: What could possibly be a bigger mess than a spooky Transylvanian castle?

Frasier: How about social distancing from a perfect 10 fashion model during a pandemic?

Niles: Frasier, I refuse to believe you dated a perfect 10 fashion model.

Frasier: So does everybody else.

Niles (pointing to a door): Where do you suppose this leads?

Frasier: Oh, I don’t know, Niles. Why don’t you open it and see how many other headwaiters with Hungarian accents lying in coffins we can come across? I haven’t donated so much blood since that multiple radio station personality blood donor challenge in Seattle way back in the day.

Niles (opening door and looking in): It’s the Brides of Dracula.

Frasier (looking in): My God, you’re right, Niles.

Niles: Frasier, I haven’t had so many erotic images and fantasies going through my mind since I first read that scene with the brides of Dracula in Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula as a sophomore back in prep school.

Frasier: That wouldn’t have been the night before the headmaster ordered that major steamcleaning of your mattress?

Niles: Frasier, I wish you hadn’t brought that up.

Frasier: Your mattress probably wished the same thing at the time as well.

Brides of Dracula (calling out): Niles, Frasier!

Niles (rushing in): I regret that I have but one life to give for my fantasy.

Frasier: Niles, quit being such a ham!

(Frasier rushes in)

Frasier: Be a blood sausage like me.

Voice of Count Dracula (singing in the background): I don’t know what to do with that tossed salad and scrambled eggs. They’re calling again.

Voice of Announcer: Good night, Transylvania.

The End.

-A Frasier Meets Brides of Dracula Episode
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 13th
2021.

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Hera and The Gangsters

March 1, 2021 at 11:39 pm (Arts, Culture, Entertainment, Ghost Story, Mythology, Plays, Romance, The Supernatural, theatre, Theatre Arts, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The Greek goddess Hera starring in a 1930s Broadway play about gangsters

It was the decade of the 1930s.

And the Greek goddess Hera was honing her theatrical skills by starring in a Broadway play about gangsters.

It was dress rehearsal night – the evening before the official opening.

Hera was awaiting the arrival of the gangster boss Big Frank Malone.

A man came on stage wearing a fedora hat and gangster suit and carrying a big violin case.

Hera, speaking out of character, said, “You don’t look like John Barrymore to me.”

“I’m afraid John is a bit under the weather tonight,” the understudy replacement for John Barrymore replied.

“How many bottles did he have to drink today?” Hera asked.

“You know the real Barrymore obviously,” Dracul Van Helsing, who had time travelled from the future and was now playing the role of Big Frank Malone in this play about gangsters, replied.

“That’s funny,” the ghost of Orson Welles, who had likewise time travelled from the future, remarked as he sat in the front row, “I don’t ever recall John Barrymore starring in a play about gangsters.”

“He possibly drank before each performance and never made it to the stage,” Van Helsing noted.

“By Jove, I think you’re right,” Welles agreed.

“Please, don’t use one of my husband’s Roman names,” Hera stood up.

“I forgot,” Welles bowed, “I do apologize.”

Hera approached Van Helsing, “Well, Dracul, since you’ve come from the future to step in for the great John Barrymore, perhaps we can do an improvisational performance tonight.”

“And what improvisational performance did you have in mind?” Van Helsing inquired.

“How about making out here on the stage?” Hera smiled.

And Hera and Van Helsing did just that.

“Not again,” Welles’ ghost buried his ghostly head in his ghostly hands.

As Hera and Van Helsing made out, soon thunder and lightning flashed around the stage.

“And furthermore, I just would happen to be in the very theatre on the night the Greek god Zeus decided to attend a Broadway play,” Welles’ ghost sighed.

The next day a hangover stricken John Barrymore was asked what happened to the theatre as it lay in ruins.

“Well, I know people are once again going to say this was a hallucination brought on by too much drink on my part,” Barrymore commented, “but it was an angry and cuckholded Greek god Zeus who destroyed this theatre because his wife the Olympian queen Hera was making out with a mortal.”

The members of the New York press laughed and shook their heads.

And that was the reason history has no record of John Barrymore starring in a Broadway play about gangsters.

The ghost of radio announcer Paul Harvey appeared in front of the lightning produced charred ashes of the theatre and gave his usual radio show sign-off, “And now you know the rest of the story.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday March 1st
2021.

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Valentine’s Day 2021 – 75th Anniversary of Release of Rita Hayworth’s Gilda

February 14, 2021 at 11:33 pm (Arts, Culture, Entertainment, Film, History, Movies, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

It was 75 years ago today that the 1946 film Gilda starring Rita Hayworth was released.

The ghost of Orson Welles was sitting in an armchair in a reflective mood as he sat there sipping a spectral glass of spectral red wine.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said Renfield R. Renfield as he sat in an armchair sipping a brandy.

“He’s probably sitting there thinking it’s Valentine’s Day Night and none of us have a date this evening,” Dr. Marmalade Montague quipped as he sipped a cognac.

In the guest lobster tank in the living room of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s London mansion, Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster held up a sign that asked WHEN SHALL WE FOUR LOSERS MEET AGAIN? IN THUNDER, LIGHTNING OR IN SPAIN?

“I think that’s supposed to be rain not Spain,” Renfield remarked.

In the kitchen, Athelstan the butler could be heard singing the song, “The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain…”

“Remember to remind me never to fly over Spain,” Renfield commented.

“I don’t think it’s that type of plane,” Montague observed,” “I think it’s plain as in flat grassland not the object that flies through the air.”

Welles’ ghost was brought back to the present by the sheer inanity of the current conversation.

“I was just thinking that it was 75 years ago today that the movie Gilda starring my then wife Rita Hayworth was released,” Welles wiped away a spectral tear.

“That was considered her greatest role wasn’t it?” Renfield asked.

“It was,” Welles blew his ghostly nose in his spectral handkerchief as tears continued to fall down his cheeks and beard like Niagara Falls.

Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster pulled his waterproof guitar out of his waterproof suitcase and started playing the song Put The Blame On Mame.

“That song was from the movie Gilda wasn’t it?” Dr. Marmalade Montague asked.

“It was,” Welles’ ghost wiped away another spectral tear from his eyes.

“I don’t want to come across as being insensitive or anything,” Renfield adjusted his t-shirt that said THEY DON’T CALL ME LOUT FOR NOTHING, “but why are you bawling like a baby?”.

“Because less than 2 years after that film came out, Rita and I divorced,” Welles wiped away another tear, “Our marriage always was under somewhat a strain. Because as Rita herself said, “It’s tough being married to a genius’.”

“I’m sure that’s one problem Mrs. Justin Trudeau doesn’t have,” Renfield quipped.

“Anyways,” Welles continued, “After Gilda came out, Rita became a goddess in the public eye. And it’s tough for a mere mortal man to be married to a goddess.”

“I wonder if the reverse is true,” Dr. Marmalade Montague lit a pipe, “If it’s tough for a mere mortal woman to be married to a god.”

“Well there goes the Dan Brown hypothesis about who Mary Magdalene was married to down the drain,” Renfield reflected.

Meanwhile Nefertiti Galore the Estate’s guard cat had pulled the drain on the guest lobster tank much to Michelangelo’s discomfiture.

“Oh Rita, Rita,” Orson sobbed.

Welles’ mind returned to an earlier time.

When Rita played Gilda.

It seemed to be a far happier Valentine’s Day 75 years ago when Gilda was released.

For at that time, neither knew what the future held.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday February 14th
2021.

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When Greek Temples Stood

February 10, 2021 at 11:28 pm (Arts, Culture, Mythology, Poetry) (, )

There was a time
When Greek temples stood
In pristine
And newly built condition

When mighty pillars held up the temple top
And statues at the top
A goddess on either side
Of mighty Atlas who holds up the roof
In the same way he carried
The weight of the world
On his shoulders

There was a time
When statues
Of nymphs, imps and swans
Were fountains
Spraying forth
Warm blue water
Into warm pools of blue
Mediterranean blue
And one could bathe
In warm blue pool waters
And turning skyward
From the pool
One could see Astraeus
The god of dusk
Painting a golden farewell
To day
In the sky

There was a time
When Greek temples stood
In pristine
And newly built condition

Now is not that time

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday February 10th 2021.

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Hera At Versailles

January 26, 2021 at 11:58 pm (Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, magic, Mythology, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )


The Greek goddess Hera at the Palace of Versailles during the reign of the Sun King

“So,” Set Enterprises’ eccentric scientist Dr. Marmalade Montague asked Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing, “I hear you’re able to travel back in time using the Pantages-Houdini-Tesla-Welles-Lamarr Magic Lantern?”.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Van Helsing answered.

In his aquarium in the background, Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster held up a sign that read CONFIRMED.

“So,” Marmalade read the sign, “When I fell into a time warp when I was Chief Scientist and Head Alchemist To The Court of Louis Quatorze and wound up here in the decade of the 2020s, I left an important alchemical formula on my desk in my laboratory at the Palace of Versailles. I was wondering if you could go back in time and get it for me?”.

“Why can’t you go back in time and get it yourself?” Van Helsing inquired.

“Because the Hindu god Shiva informed me while I was standing in line once at an Indian buffet restaurant in London last year that if I ever engaged in time travel again, I’d disintegrate into a pod of peas hanging from a lotus flower,” Dr. Marmalade Montague replied.

“One wouldn’t want that unless one were a vegan vegetarian Transhumanist,” Van Helsing agreed.

“I don’t know if it was because I helped myself to the last 2 dozen pieces of butter chicken from a buffet tray before the chef brought some more as I was standing in line in front of Shiva or if Shiva really meant it,” Marmalade reflected.

“Well, as J. Robert Oppenheimer might say while putting on a trojan, it’s best to be on the safe side,” Van Helsing acknowledged.

And so Van Helsing went back in time to the Palace of Versailles during the reign of Louis XIV the Sun King.

He found the laboratory but as he entered the room a cat had knocked a piece of paper off the table which seemed to have elaborate drawings and formulae on it.

The paper was then eaten by a poodle.

“I hope that wasn’t the formula for turning lead into gold,” Van Helsing mused aloud.

He then found his way to the main dining room of Versailles where he encountered the Greek goddess Hera.

The Greek goddess Hera and Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing had made out on a couple of occasions.

Unbeknownst to the Greek god Zeus of course.

Otherwise Van Helsing might have disintegrated into ash as a result of having an Olympian thunder bolt thrown at him.

“Dracul,” Hera smiled at him.

“You must have time traveled from the 21st Century as well,” Van Helsing made a Holmes Sherlockian deduction, “because I never knew you during the Reign of the Sun King Louis Quatorze.”

“I did,” Hera nodded, “I time traveled from January 2021.”

“Same here,” Van Helsing stated.

“Did you know that a year ago Zeus asked Hades to release the spirit of Alexander the Great from the Underworld?” Hera inquired.

“It seems to me I heard something to that effect from the ghost of Orson Welles,” Van Helsing reflected.

“And now this January he’s asked Hades to release the spirit of the Syrian Greek King Antiochus Epiphanes (whose official title was King Antiochus IV ) from the Underworld,” Hera noted.

“Maybe Zeus is planning a major Abomination of Desolation with Pope Francis and they want Antiochus Epiphanes’ input into the matter,” Van Helsing said as a group of waiters walked by carrying trays loaded with roast pork.

“I’m so horny and frustrated by Zeus constantly ignoring me,” Hera sighed.

“Maybe I could help you with that,” Van Helsing took off his formal dinner jacket.

Soon Hera and Van Helsing were making out on top of the Royal Banquet table.

“Ah, I see they’re still setting up in here,” Louis XIV remarked to one of his mistresses as he poked his head in through the dining hall door, “Perhaps you’d like to come to my bedroom and I’ll show you my ceiling etchings of Zeus and Leto.”

At that moment the ghost of Orson Welles was bicyling backwards through time in the CERN Large Hadron Collidor Time Tunnel.

As he bicycled backwards in time through the time tunnel, the voice of Engelbert Humperdinck could be heard singing Les Bicyclettes de Belsize.

Welles’ ghost was eating a large spectral bagel as he cycled backwards through time.

Welles hoped that no one would mistake him for Hunter Biden son of Joe Biden as he was returning from Mass in the Presidential motorcade when he ordered the motorcade stopped so he could buy a bagel as he had come down with the munchies after having smoked a pipe of crack cocaine in the confessional booth.

Welles’ ghost arrived just in time to see Dracul and Hera making out on the Royal Banquet table.

“Woe is me,” Welles remarked as he drove his bicyle through the dining room window and on to the Versailles palace grounds.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday January 26th
2021.

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Selena

December 1, 2020 at 11:31 pm (Arts, Culture, Entertainment, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Life, love, Plays, Poetry, Romance, theatre) (, , , , )

The old playhouse was closing
It had a successful run throughout its long life
As a playhouse theatre
For 25 years
From comedies to tragedies
Romance to dramas
Several hits
And a few flops

It was a victim of its own success
For so many people
Were wanting to subscribe to its season
Of plays
This old playhouse
Could not seat all those who wanted to attend
What its company of performers and directors
Stage hands and lighting technicians
Had to offer.

So last night was the last performance
In the old playhouse
And now this 1st of December 1945
The new playhouse with new seats
And a much larger seating capacity
For a much larger audience
Would be opening its run
Of Dickens’ classic tale
For Christmas
A Christmas Carol

A Christmas Carol
With Ebenezer Scrooge
And his longsuffering clerk
Bob Cratchit
And Tiny Tim
And the ghost of Scrooge’s
7-years dead partner
Jacob Marley
With chains upon his feet
And the Ghosts of Christmas Past
Present
and Yet To Come

Selena was an actress

She wasn’t appearing in A Christmas Carol
But she had appeared in the last play
Ever performed in this old playhouse
The play that had finished its run last night
Wuthering Heights
Emily Bronte’s classic tale
of tragic doomed love
Of lovers who went far beyond star-crossed
Trying to reach the heavens
And end up
Falling
Into the abyss.
Of ghosts
And knocking outside the window
And howling winds
And desolate moors
And souls that are damned
And what happens when compassion is lacking
And revenge is always served
Hot or cold.

Selena had played Cathy
The love of Heathcliff’s life
And the woman who loved Heathcliff
Hot love
Passionate love
Forbidden love
The love only hinted at by Emily Bronte
As if Orestes and Electra
Had come from tragic Mycenae of old
To perform unfinished business
On the early 19th Century
Yorkshire Moors

Selena sat on coverings
On the sofa
Where she as Cathy
Had sat with the man
Who was Cathy’s husband
But not Cathy’s love or lover
Edgar Linton
In Bronte’s classic tale

And then
As if in one magic moment
A lighting technician
Suddenly shone the spotlight
On Selena
(Who was dressed to attend
The new theatre playhouse
Christmas Carol
Opening night party)
As she sat on that sofa

And that spotlight
Shone on one promising young actress
Who had performed many great performances
In that old playhouse
And soon would perform many more
In a new playhouse theatre

The spotlight would soon fade
And the lights would come down
For good
on the old playhouse
It may not have been Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre of London
But it had been the town’s old playhouse
Bringing joy and sadness
Heartache and hearbreak
To so many spectators
And audiences over the years

Like many old buildings
This old playhouse
Had character
And thus would be missed
And its old plays
And many performances
Would only be played again
In the memories
of the theatre
Of the mind

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday December 1st
2020.

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Faustina

November 19, 2020 at 11:40 pm (Arts, Culture, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )


Faustina with her cat Lenore Belle Noir in front of the fireplace in her room in Vienna

Flames in the fireplace
Flames that burn
Like thousands of tiny suns
Sending out a cosmic glow
Across the universe
Sending out heat
And ripple effects

Those flames so like her memories
That burn and scorch her mind
In the neverending passages of time
When will her memories become
Like the blackened embers
That sit below the base
of the fire
Becoming galactic black holes
That never emit any light
And become darkness
And a huge void of nothingness
That brings relief
To neverending pain.

Faustina had dressed like she was going to a ball
A cascading symphony of Strauss Waltzes
Dancing in a joyous celebration
Of the Blue Danube
and the Vienna Woods
But there were no Viennese waltzes
And grand balls happening
In this time of Covid

For the Covid virus did decree
like Kubla Khan
At those now forgotten gates of Xanadu
But its decree differered
From that cultured Emperor
For it decreed
And health and political authorities assented
That henceforth
Humans must only exist
And not live

They must no longer interact
No song, dinner or dance
They must cover half their face
With a mask
For if the image of God
Could not be erased from humanity
Then it must at least be distorted
Or cut in half

It is for your own good they tell us,
Faustina thought,
But did not despots throughout history
Always say the same?

On this night
Faustina wore a beautiful white silvery
Evening dress
And necklace
Imagining she’d meet a handsome prince
Or duke or count
But instead her only true friend
Her cat
Lenore Belle Noire
Sat on the train
Of her dress
As the pair
Listened to Strauss waltzes
On the old Gramophone

Lenore Belle Noir
Looked at her mistress
Trying to emit the power of healing
Through her kind and compassionate eyes
To heal her mistress’ tortured soul

For Faustina was the daughter
Of Johann Georg Faust (1480-1541)
Known to history as Faust
If one liked Goethe
Or Doctor Faustus
If one preferred
Christopher Marlowe

Her mother was Hecate
Greek goddess of witchcraft
Who had fallen hopelessly
In love
With that dark tortured soul
Faust
He who had sold his soul
To Mephistopheles

They had made love in the 1580s
And at midnight on the evening of
August 7th to 8th 1588
The night Francis Drake
Defeated the Spanish Armada
Faustina had been born

Born to Hecate
Born to Faust
Born to immortality
For that had been the curse
Inherited from her parents
For immortality for her
Had been a curse
And not a blessing

So many memories
So many painful memories
How long would they burn
In her mind
Like the flames in the fireplace?
How long before they finally
Turn into glowing embers
And at last mercifully into darkened ash?

The sound of the clock
Ticking on the wall
Provided no answer
Would that it did
Would that it did
Tick tock! Tick tock!

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 19th
2020.

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