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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Renfield Comes Across 1950s Sherrielock Shakespearian Erotic Film

November 11, 2020 at 11:58 pm (Arts, Entertainment, Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Movies, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )


World famous London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes: Good with an axe as well as a paddle and a whip

British MP Renfield R. Renfield decided to take a break from fighting George Soros, Bill and Melinda Gates, World Economic Forum Chairman Karl Schwab, Pope Francis and the ongoing Neo-Bolshevik Revolution in the United States.

He fired off an email to British Prime Minister Boris Johnson who had just recognized Joe Biden as President-elect of the United States.

Solely on the basis that the AP Associated Press had declared so this past Saturday November 7th and numerous mainstream Marxist media outlets had followed suit.

Renfield’s email asked Boris Johnson, “How does it feel to be an idiot?”.

He then read an email from a friend of his who had sent him a link to a YouTube video.

The video was of a 1950s erotic film that had apparently starred world famous London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes.

Sherrielock Holmes was the twin sister of world-famous London consulting detective Sherlock Holmes.

In the 1890s, she had become immortal after eating a particularly powerful Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom.

Not looking a day over 30 (even though she was in her 40s when she ate the mushroom), she had married French scientist Dr. Louis Rocher (who it was later dscovered was in fact the illegitimate son of Prof. James Moriarty who was her brother Sherlock’s mortal enemy).

She and Louis Rocher had several children.

Louis Rocher, who served in the RAF during World War I, was shot down and killed by the Red Baron just the day before the Red Baron himself was shot down and killed by a couple of Canadian pilots.

One of Sherrielock’s descendants was her great-grandson Dr. Cadbury Rocher who was Set Enterprises’ chief scientist.

Having both Holmes and Moriarty blood in his veins, Dr. Cadbury Rocher often alternated between good and evil during his distinguished career as a mad scientist.

The film was called Shakespearian Sherrielock and was shot in black and white as of course were many movies back in the 1950s.

The film began with this scene:

Sherrielock was busy examining an axe as the estate’s chief servant Hemlock the Dwarf stood on the house stairs looking at her.

Hemlock the Dwarf: Thou lookest like thou art about to choppeth off someone’s head.

Sherrielock: Aye, Hemlock, I am.

Hemlock the Dwarf: I hear the Lady Anne Boleyn, late Queen of England, lost her fair head on this May fair morning.

Sherrielock: Aye, that she did. Her blood now soaketh the pavement of the Tower of London where no fair flowers bloometh.

Hemlock: Who art thou thinking of beheading this morning?

(The dwarf did ask as he approached her)

Sherrielock (raising her axe above the dwarf): The one who gave the hemlock to my favourite horse Socrates.

Hemlock (terrified): Mistress, thou knowest? Let me explain. It was only because thou didst love that horse more than me.

But Hemlock had run out of explanations for his head became separated from his neck by the cutting edge of Sherrielock’s axe and it did roll on to the floor.

Sherrielock (ringing a bell): Maid, come cleaneth up this mess.

Later that night, Sherrielock sat on her bed and waited for Hans Falstaffson the Courier to show up.

Hans Falstaffson the Courier (played by actor Orson Welles) shows up.

Renfield, enjoying the movie so far as he ate his popcorn, said, “Wow, I never knew Welles ever appeared in a 1950s erotic soft porn film.”

“Hans, thou art late,” Sherrielock admonished him.

“My lady, I do apologize,” Hans Falstaffson bowed.

Sherrielock: For thy errant tardiness, I must spank thee on the bare bottom with this sturdy paddle.

Falstaffson (bowing): Very well, my lady.

(Orson as Hans Falstaffson takes off all his clothes)

“Oh God,” Renfield shields his eyes, “I’ll never be able to get that image out of my mind.”

Sherrielock sits on the bed and straightens and smooths the skirt of her dress as Welles’ Falstaffson approaches and lies across her lap waiting to receive his punishment.

Welles who had chosen to use the Stanislavski method in the making of this film would undergo the same gruelling paddling on his backside as that of his character Hans Falstaffson the Courier.

Thus Welles’ and Falstaffson’s screams merged and echoed as one as the character/actor’s buttocks turned as crimson red as a lobster flambe or the ripest of all tomatoes while Sherrielock vigourously administered the spanking.

100 of the best.

100 of the worst.

It was the best of times.

It was the worst of times.

When the spanking was over, Sherrielock held Welles/Falstaffson’s head against her most ample and delightful bosom and comforted him.

Sherrielock (gently stroking his hair): Art thou happy that I spanked thee?

Welles/Falstaffson (nodding): Aye, my lady. My bottom stingeth like the scorpion in the noonday sun.

And as everybody knows who was on YouTube today, the system crashed at 7:13 PM U.S. Eastern Standard Time Wednesday November 11th 2020.

“Shit,” Renfield exclaimed as the video konked out at this most dramatic moment.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 11th
2020.

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Carson Cody Albion En Route To The Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera

October 7, 2020 at 11:00 pm (Arts, Entertainment, Film, Short Story) (, , , , , )

The year was 1948.

And Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion had earned himself two tickets to the Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera.

The newly formed company would be mounting its first production – a performance of Verdi’s Rigoletto in a church hall in Beverly Hills.

The two tickets Albion had received were payment for a case in which Albion had tracked down a valuable stolen piece of furniture made by Hollywood furniture maker Francesco Pace.

Pace was the man who started the company and was its first director.

Albion accepted the tickets because he realized Pace was putting all his money into getting the opera company up and running.

It was fortunate for Pace that Albion was an opera lover.

Albion asked an up-and-coming young Hollywood actress Eva Roman if she would be his date for the evening.

Eva agreed.

They went for drinks before the opera at The Tropical Nights Lounge in Beverley Hills .

Actor Orson Welles came strolling through the door and strolled up to the couple.

“Carson, Eva,” Welles asked, “How are you doing?”.

“We’re off to see Verdi’s Rigoletto being performed by the new Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera Company,” Eva answered.

“Well,” Welles smiled, “Do beware of licentious Dukes of Mantua and hunch-backed court jesters when you’re attending the performance.”

“Will do,” Albion sipped his bourbon, “How about court jester’s daughters named Gilda?”.

Welles winced.

“I’m sorry, Orson,” Albion apologized, “I forgot Rita’s most popular performance was as Gilda.”

The Rita to whom Albion was referring was Rita Hayworth who was Orson’s ex-wife whom Welles had recently divorced.

Rita Hayworth had played Gilda in the 1946 film titled Gilda.

Gilda was also the name of the court jester’s daughter who gave up her life to save the Duke of Mantua (whom she loved) when she protected him from the assassin that her father Rigoletto had hired to kill him.

“It’s all right, Carson,” Welles took his usual glass of red wine from the Tropical Nights bartender, “I was an ass for spending more time in my thoughts and ideas for new movies than I was in giving my wife the attention she deserved. It was as my barber once said to me, genius can have its draw backs.”

Welles took his glass of wine and went and sat in a booth by himself.

“You know,” the bartender wiped the bar, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

Albion did not smile or laugh.

It was a remark often said in Hollywood about Welles.

“The path of genius can be lonely at times,” Eva remarked.

“It can, indeed,” Albion looked over at Welles.

Albion looked at his watch as Eva put her stole over her shoulders.

The pair headed out to the performance of Rigoletto.

Welles continued to sit in the booth alone with his thoughts.

The bartender made a Shanghai Sling for a customer.

Welles watching could not help notice the irony of the drink being made.

“The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Welles thought.

He finished his wine, left his money on the table and left.

He walked past a movie theatre showing a poster of the film he and his ex-wife Rita had made together before their divorce The Lady From Shanghai.

The theatre ticket cashier looked at Welles as he walked by.

She thought to herself what others had thought, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

-A short story written by Christopher
Wednesday October 7th 2020.

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Dorian Gray and The Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka

May 19, 2020 at 10:57 pm (Art, Arts, Gothic, Gothic romance, Horror, Literature, Mystery, Mystery/horror, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Dorian Gray and The Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka

The Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka was walking through the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.

It was a private visit as the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery still hadn’t been granted permission by the UK government to publicly open during lockdown.

As Dashwood Forrest hurried back to his office because his office phone was ringing, the Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka continued to walk down the halls of the gallery.

She entered a room marked PRIVATE as Forrest told her to treat the gallery as if it were her own home.

She noticed nothing in the room except for a pair of purple velvet curtains.

She opened the curtains and behind them were two portrait oil paintings. 

One was a portrait of a young man.

And the other was a portrait of a teddy bear.

She recognized the young man in the portrait.

His name was Dorian Gray.

For the Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka was an immortal.

In the summer of 1878, she had ridden a rare creature- a white buffalo- and as a result of that experience she became immortal.

That autumn, she had gone to London, England where she had lived ever since.

Also that autumn, she had met a dashing young man by the name of Dorian Gray.

After a whirlwind tour of sights and spots throughout England with Dorian, Tanaka thought that she was in love.

Dorian had invited her down to the seaside holiday spot of Brighton with him.

The Lakota Sioux Princess was sure that Dorian was going to ask her to marry him.

Dorian proposes marriage to the Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka on the seashore at Brighton.

Tanaka said yes.

Later in Dorian’s hotel room, she went into his bedroom as he was out in the hall chatting to the bell boy.

She was shocked to discover a bunch of female human heads – all of them beautiful (for Dorian Gray did not have the exceptionally high IQ of a Pan Goatee) and perfectly preserved stored in jars of formaldehyde.

“Dorian!” She exclaimed when he walked back into the room, “What are these?”.

Dorian looked shocked and bit his lip, “Er… Um… You know how some people like collecting beautiful butterflies or beautiful seashells or beautiful autumn leaves or beautiful pressed flowers, I… um… like collecting heads of beautiful women.”

“But that’s sick!” Tanaka was shocked.

“But I’ve been invited to the Rothschild’s masked ball dinner party every year for the past 18 years!” Dorian protested, “How can you call someone who’s been invited to the Rothschild masked ball dinner party for that long sick?”.

Tanaka left slamming the door behind her.

“Does this mean the engagement is off?” Dorian called out from the balcony of his hotel room as she entered a horse carriage and the carriage drove away.

Dorian and Tanaka never saw one another again.

Later she heard the body of an unknown old man stabbed in the heart was found in Dorian Gray’s house in London.

Dorian himself was never seen again.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 19th
2020.

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The Inspector and The Baker’s Daughter

May 6, 2020 at 11:23 pm (Arts, Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic, International Intrigue, Literature, Mystery, News, Poetry, Spy Tales, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The Inspector and The Baker’s Daughter


“Are you looking for something, Inspector?” The girl asked him.

A day began like any other for the Inspector
Yet no ordinary day 
These are no ordinary times
Covid-19 pandemic in world.

2 days ago police in Beijing
arrested a professor 
Chen Zhaozhi 
Former professor at the Beijing University of Science and Technology 
for calling Covid-19 
The Chinese Communist Party Virus

But Beijing’s arrest did not concern the French police detective 
What concerned the Paris police detective was a matter that concerned
The Paris Grand Orient Lodge
For British MP Renfield R. Renfield
had sent a confidential report today 
to a French and European politician
The Kraken who called himself Napoleon VI
The leader of the French Aquarian Age Bonapartist Party 

French President Macron had ordered surveillance of the Kraken’s
emails and text messages
And today Renfield had sent the Kraken 
a confidential report 
which was said to be from Five Eyes
The joint intelligence service of the U.S., Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United Kingdom
The report claimed that the Covid-19 virus
Was indeed a virus that had accidentally escaped from the Wuhan Institute of Virology

At an emergency meeting of the Grand Orient Lodge
Isis, Osiris and Horus 
demanded to know 
whether the Renfield report 
was an actual copy of a Five Eyes 
Intelligence Report 
or whether the whole report was a 
piece of Renfieldian disinformation
designed to prevent Emmanuel Macron 
from ordering take out deliveries of Chinese food in Paris

A person that the Paris Police Inspector 
thought might know
was Marmalade Montague
a baker and a man 
from whom the Kraken bought 
his croissant rolls and Chinese hot steamed buns 

The Paris inspector himself used to buy his cinnamon buns from Marmalade Montague
Montague had recently been thrown out of his bakery 
for lack of payment of rent
due to decline in business 
during the Paris Covid-19 lockdown 
However the inspector decided to visit Montague’s apartment 
Perhaps the baker still lived there
As the building’s landlord had died 
from the Covid-19 virus and his estate was still up in the air

The Inspector entered the apartment
As he passed by the kitchen, he noticed hot cinnamon buns lying on the counter
So the inspector stopped and ate one
He ended up eating all 6 dozen.

The Inspector received a text message on his smart phone 
saying that Marmalade Montague kept poison in his bathroom medicine cabinet.
He went to check out the medicine cabinet 
The bathroom door was still open 
And that’s when the Inspector noticed Marmalade Montague’s lovely daughter Irene
sitting in a chair 
in a corner of the living room 

“Are you looking for something, Inspector?” The girl asked him.

“I was told your father kept poison in his medicine cabinet,” the inspector replied.
“He did but it’s no longer there,” Irene told him.
“Where is it?” The inspector asked.
“I added it to my dad’s recipe for his famous cinnamon buns that I left on the kitchen counter,” Irene answered.

The Inspector never did show up to that evening’s non-social distancing meeting of the Grand Orient Lodge.
A copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story Murders In The Rue Morgue was sent to the meeting
with a notation on the page 
before the title page 
that this was where the Inspector was to be found.

-A narrative poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday May 6th
2020.

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Is Kim Jong-un On His Death Bed?

April 25, 2020 at 10:04 pm (Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, News, Poetry, Short play, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Is Kim Jong-un On His Death Bed?

“The most compelling empirical evidence to date that North Korea’s Kim Jong-un might indeed be lying on his deathbed is Donald Trump’s recent statement that reports of Kim having a serious illness are “gross exaggerations” and “fake news”.

-Renfield R. Renfield MP

Kim Jong-un was lying on top of his bed in his best suit (he didn’t want to be caught wearing clothes that he wouldn’t want to be found dead in).

“Egg foo yung,” Kim whispered in a somewhat audible voice, “Egg foo yung.”

“He really should have better scriptwriters in my opinion,” commented the ghost of Orson Welles who had Charles Foster Kane saying the word “Rosebud” on his death bed.

Orson’s ghost had somehow managed to evade the spirits of Kim’s ancestors to enter the North Korean Presidential Palace and Kim’s Presidential suite bedroom.

A group of beautiful young North Korean women wearing lovely colourful dresses knelt at the bottom of the portly young Kim’s bed and wailed like a Greek chorus mourning the death of Adonis in a Classical Greek tragedy.

A gong sounded and the beautiful North Korean women’s chorus immediately stopped wailing.

“Our shift is over, girls,” said the leader of the women.

They departed giggling and laughing and talked about what they might have for supper and who’d they be dating next weekend.

A new group of beautiful young North Korean women wearing lovely colourful dresses took positions at the bottom of the portly young Kim’s bed and resumed wailing.

. . .

Kim Yo-jong (the younger sister of Kim Jong-un) stood in front of her mirror holding a bottle of Corona beer in one hand and a diamond, emerald, sapphire and jade laced golden crown in the other.

Kim Yo-jong (speaking) :

Does the hand of Fate bequeath a new crown?
As Thanatos smiles behind a silent frown?
Has a golden corona struck down a King so a Queen may reign?
An Olympic garland wreath comes to me via a crown spoken in Spain?
I call upon the spirits of my ancestors to bless me 
as a new journey I may undertake.
America’s trump has sounded from one whose golden crown is densely fake.
Yet will a disinfectant injection into my brother’s lungs will he take?

-A vampire novel chapter
and neo-Shakespearean soliloquy
written by Christopher
Saturday April 25th
2020 

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