Cherchez La Femme

June 21, 2018 at 9:52 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Film, Mystery, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Cherchez La Femme

It would take a long time for the sun to set on Sunset Boulevard tonight
Carson Cody Albion thought to himself
in the midst of cigarette smoke and haze of bourbon
in his Los Angeles private eye’s office
It being the Summer Solstice and all that

Long hours of daylight
The riff raff of the city wouldn’t have so many hours to steal, extort and murder
Bummer for them! Albion thought

Albion had been hired to find a woman
Cherchez la Femme
as the French would say

He’d been told that she only seemed to venture forth at night
by the man who had hired him
The man a Hollywood director intended to give la Femme a screen test

Yeah right!
That’s what they call it these days
Albion laughed to himself
The gumshoe had his office door open to try to keep things cool
Between the hallway fan and the office ceiling fan
Maybe a touch of the Norse frost giants
would help cool down the flames 🔥 of Hades
on this Midsummer Night in Los Angeles

Albion’s ice in his glass had melted
The penalty for drinking straight from the bottle
He reflected
Well he should go see the sun set on this solstice night
before he started hitting the night spots and lounges
where la Femme was said to hang out

Albion locked his office door and walked down the four flights of stairs to the office building lobby
He tipped his fedora to the cleaning lady and walked out into the night

The neon lights hadn’t started to shine yet
As he walked through his sector of the city
They wouldn’t really come on until after the sun had set
Maybe that’s why he preferred California winters to California summers
The temperatures were about the same
maybe slightly cooler by inches of degrees in the winter
but what was missing was the glow of neon at night
in the summer
Neon the blood that seemed to make this city feel alive

It pulsed like the beat of a drum 🥁
and summoned all to partake in the wildness of the night
It was there that this urban jungle became a jungle
The women danced and swayed like tropical 🌴 dancers
and the men sharpened their spears for the time it was necessary
to stab both friend and foe in the back

Albion saw the sun set
He whistled
and the nearest neon light
seemed to answer his call
flickering on like a woman stirring towards orgasm

Speaking of women, it was time to Cherchez la Femme
Several gin joints and several nightclubs later,
he found her
in a midnight blue evening dress

Her brunette hair
The touch of a foreign accent as she introduced her next song into the microphone
Romanian I believe the film director said it was
And when she sang, Albion thought that the moonlight had never serenaded the ocean 🌊 so beautifully
The City of Angels had been touched by an angel
Albion stubbed out his cigarette
and approached her
when she had finished singing her numbers

It was a Los Angeles night in the mid-1940s
Midsummer Night
and Orson Welles wanted him
Carson Cody Albion to locate a woman for a screen test

What Midsummer Night’s Dream did Mr. Welles have in mind,
Albion thought cynically to himself,
after all the man was married to Rita Hayworth?
Wasn’t the Love Goddess enough for him?

But enough of reflecting like Chandler’s Philip Marlowe,
Albion started heading in the woman’s direction
for he didn’t have all eternity to make a connection
La Femme flashed Albion a warm smile as she saw him approach
Her sharp incisors that hung from her top front teeth puzzled the private eye
What manner of woman is this? Albion thought
If Albion knew at the time he asked himself this question
he’d have realized that the woman did have all eternity.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Thursday June 21st
2018

Dracul Van Helsing was in Romania.

He was trying to track down Dracula’s daughter the Countess Draculina on behalf of her father.

The Count since his Cadbury Rocher inspired vampiric resurrection had learned how to use the Internet.

He was trying to track down his daughter.

The only thing he managed to find on the World Wide Web was that his daughter had once done a screen test for Orson Welles back in the 1940s

Now Van Helsing had managed to track her to Romania her ancestral homeland.

He had heard that she had dyed her hair blonde.

He walked over to the window of his room in the old inn in which he was staying.

And watched the sun set on the Carpathian Mountains on this summer solstice evening.

He turned on the television to watch the news hoping to find out the weather.

And there he saw… Countess Draculina.

(Notice her vampiric incisors unless of course your eyes are focused elsewhere for some reason 😉)

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Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

May 11, 2018 at 10:59 pm (Detective story, Film, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , )

Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

Carson Albion Private Eye sat in his office with the sideway blinds of his window slightly open
to let in the evening twilight
He loved the evening twilight
just as he loved neon lights
His office window gave him a view of the neon lights of downtown

How beautiful they looked in the evening twilight
They looked even more beautiful in the snow and the rain
One of the few creations of man that did look more beautiful in the snow and the rain

When it snowed or rained
while strolling the city streets
he looked up at the signs of neon advertising the gods Coca-Cola and Miller Beer
and then he looked down at the sidewalk gutters for signs of rhinestone cowboys
but they must have already been washed down to the sewers
dwelling place of nightmares, monsters and vermin
and assassins of character who work for the last Trump
and wait for John McCain to die.

The ceiling fans in his office blew cold air down on his head
offering relief from the heat of the night
The bottle of bourbon stood open on his desk
offering relief from those memories too painful to bear

She… she… her…
He never told her that he loved her
but that was because she was his best friend
How would she react to the news that he wanted to take their relationship up another level
what if she didn’t feel the same way about him?
Then he’d have lost his best friend.

Because such are the ways of male-female friendship
that if one of them loves the other too much
in a way above and beyond what they had previously understood
There’s no going back

It was like what Dermot Mulroney’s character said to Julia Roberts’ character in the film
My Best Friend’s Wedding
when Julia announces she wants the romance over
Dermot weeps, “I’m losing my best friend.”

Somehow though they manage to hold on to the friendship
in the film that is
but that’s Hollywood
and we all know how much Hollywood echoes real life
For real life is not a fairy tale
and they only award Oscars
for dramatic performances
not for actually surviving day to day.

Albion saw the reflection of himself in his glass
Was a reflection still a Selfie by any other name?
and just what was it the liquid showed?
True colours or a distortion of reality?

The liquid went down his throat
well posting on Facebook or Instagram never tasted this good.
He lowered his hat
loosened his tie
opened his shirt
closed his eyes
and let his mind wander
down that lost boulevard of memories.

-A poem written by Christopher
Friday May 11th 2018.

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Reblog of The Moriarty-Rocher Romance: Sherrielock Holmes Off To The Mermaid Art Exhibit

April 26, 2018 at 9:45 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, love, Mystery, painting, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Here’s a vampire novel chapter I wrote back in January 2017.

In it, the romance between Dr. Cadbury Rocher’s great great grandfather Prof. James Moriarty and Dr. Cadbury Rocher’s great great grandmother Isabelle Gabrielle Rocher is talked about:

Dracul Van Helsing

“You look wonderful, great-grandmother,” Dr. Cadbury Rocher kissed Sherrielock Holmes on the cheek.

“Thank you, Cadbury,” Sherrielock smiled at the compliment.

“Have you seen the photos of my genetically created winged horse Pegasus that I have put up on Facebook?” Dr. Cadbury Rocher proudly asked.

“How can I not help but notice when you keep posting pics every two minutes,” Sherrielock sighed, “I finally had to cut off your news feed.”

“You cut off my Facebook news feed?” Dr. Cadbury Rocher looked horrified, “Great-Grandma,how could you do that?”.

“Oh stop pouting, Cadbury,” Sherrielock commanded, “or I’ll have to give you a spanking.”

Dr. Cadbury Rocher stopped pouting.

The resident mad scientist for Set Enterprises did have quite the evil side. Of course that was to be expected working for the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set (whose claim to fame was bodily dismembering his brother Osiris) and for being a co-employee…

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Reblog- Sherrielock Holmes Invited To Mermaid Art Exhibit

April 24, 2018 at 8:59 pm (Art, Culture, Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mystery, painting, Science-Fiction, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Here’s a vampire novel chapter I wrote over a year ago:

Dracul Van Helsing

Sherrielock Holmes was wearing an exquisite turquoise evening dress. She had been invited to an exhibition of paintings of mermaids done by artist Charmaine Olivia at a new London art gallery- The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

Her escort for this evening would be her great-grandson Dr. Cadbury Rocher. Of course she would not be introduced as Cadbury’s great-grandmother at the Exhibit Opening Night Party. People might talk.

For Sherrielock Holmes (who was Sherlock Holmes’ lesser-known twin sister) had turned immortal one fine day back in the 1890s when she had eaten a special blend of Lingzhi Supernatural Mushrooms prepared for her by her boyfriend later husband Dr. Louis Rocher (who was Dr. Cadbury Rocher’s great-grandfather).

Sadly her love Dr. Louis Rocher did not prepare and eat a bunch of Lingzhi Supernatural Mushrooms for himself. For whatever reason, he decided to wait to eat the mushroom elixir of life. When the…

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Jack O’ Hare Solves The Case of The Monkey’s Stolen Fur: A Poem

March 12, 2018 at 9:46 pm (Arts, Detective story, Humour, Poetry) (, , , , , )

Jack O’ Hare Solves The Case of The Monkey’s Stolen Fur: A Poem

In the land of bunny rabbits, there was none so fair
as that female rabbit loved by Jack O’ Hare
And so as Jack hopped and then sat in the village square,
he sang, I love Jeannie, she’s a dark brown hare.

No one loves me, wept a red spider monkey
who sat next to a Russian riding a Democrat donkey

Why ever not? asked Jack O’ Hare
as he made faces at the Russian bear
Because I happen to be bald all over
no one will roll me over in the clover

Jack asked, What happened to your fur?
Someone stole it while I was at Big Sur
Jack queried, Any idea where it went?
The monkey said, No, it was stolen from my tent ⛺️

Do you have a pic of what it looked like?
Jack would be on the lookout for a red spider spike.
The monkey had a photo of himself with fur
It was a clear pic although Hillary was a blur

And later as Jack hopped into a Burger 🍔 King
to order a carrot 🥕 cake special along with onion ring
he saw a sight that made his heart sing
For there was the red spider monkey’s spider fur atop the head of a real ding-a-ling

The toupee wearing Donald Trump was meeting Kim Jong-un
when his hair piece was stolen by the Easter Bun
or so it was reported in the New York Times and Chicago Sun

Oh somewhere in this happy land
The red spider monkey was leading the band
for his fur had been returned- fur worth a lot of grand.

-A Jack O’ Hare poem
written by Christopher
Monday March 12th
2018.

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Renfield Rescued By Norse Valkyrie and Then Discusses Putin With Churchill’s Ghost

March 6, 2018 at 11:50 pm (Detective story, Espionage, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mythology, News, Politics, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Renfield Rescued By Norse Valkyrie and Then Discusses Putin With Churchill’s Ghost

Last night Sir Renfield R. Renfield MP had been saved from drowning in the Thames River by the Norse Valkyrie Svipul who had been flying overhead at the time.

Mr. Renfield had found himself caught up in an avalanche of snow and a wave of rainwater while singing badly performed renditions of old Rod Stewart and Glen Campbell songs.

The combined avalanche/wave pushed Mr. Renfield into the icy Thames River where Mr. Renfield could not extricate himself from such a predicament unless he was wearing a pair of snow flippers which he wasn’t (namely because such an unusual pair of foot apparel – a combination of snow shoes and scuba flippers- hasn’t been invented yet).

Fortunately for Mr. Renfield, the Norse Valkyrie Svipul had been flying overhead at the time.

Also fortunately for Mr. Renfield, the Norse Valkyrie Svipul did not recognize him as the individual who had butchered the lyrics and melody of the Liebestod from Richard Wagner’s opera Tristan und Isolde while performing a filibuster on a Brexit bill in the Westminster House of Commons a couple of months earlier.

Otherwise she’d have probably let the shapeshifting hamster/human British Transhumanist MP drown.

Mr. Renfield was much warmer now having put on a dry pair of clothes and also having received a thorough bottom blistering spanking from the Norse Valkyrie Svipul (who it turns out was a good dominatrix friend of the immortal dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes).

Mr. Renfield was now seated in his parliamentary office on an extra extra extra comfortable cushion on his chair at his desk seated across from the ghost of Sir Winston Churchill.

“So according to the Foreign Secretary Mr. Johnson’s speech in the Commons earlier today,” Churchill sipped on his ghostly brandy, “a certain foreign power may be responsible for the unknown substance attack on former Russian spy Sergei Skripal and his daughter Yulia Skripal in what is now being called the Salisbury Incident.”

“Yes,” Renfield nodded, “the Russians will probably stonewall high enough around Salisbury that they’ll erect a Russian Stonehenge to match the Druidic one.”

“No doubt the invisible hand of Mr. Putin is behind this,” Churchill rubbed his ghostly chin thoughtfully with his ghostly fingers.

“Undoubtedly,” Renfield sipped his non-ghostly and definitely non-ghastly brandy.

“If these ghastly events continue,” Churchill bit his ghostly lip, “Vladimir Putin may have to be bumped off.”

“Yes, I’ll probably have to bump Vladimir Putin off,” Renfield agreed as he accepted the Raymond Red Reddington Award that had been given him by an admiring fellow blogger.

“Well,” Churchill peered at Renfield over his ghostly spectacles 👓, “If any person in the world is capable of bumping off the notorious Mr. Putin, it would be you, Mr. Renfield.”

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t be Donald Trump,” Renfield agreed.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday March 6th
2018.

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The City After Twilight: A Poem

February 25, 2018 at 11:06 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

The City 🌃 After Twilight: A Poem

And so the sun has set
tongue requires something wet
you head downtown to a nightspot
something cool to drink perhaps sex that’s hot

In the lounge cigarette smoke fills the air
the cushion is velvety at the back of the chair

You have martini 🍸 with a slice of lime
you ordered it for neither reason nor rhyme
you are the last of a kind- a private eye
accustomed to neon lights and starlit sky

The nighttime is your working day
clearing thugs and hooligans out of the way
They say the knights of old have come and gone
fairy tales told to child stifling a yawn
But for one such as yourself
a lance and steed might be on the shelf
but you have traded shining armour
for fedora and trench coat
an office with ceiling fan instead of castle with moat

But like those knights of old you walk alone
distress sounds not from blast of trumpets but from ring of phone
Those maidens in distress not in towers with long flowing hair
but walking the streets in heels
and tight skirts for wear

The dragons 🐉 today do not breathe fire
Instead they employ hit men for hire
And rulers turn not to ones like Merlin for advice
but lawyers, accountants and padded pockets on ice

You look at your watch and see that midnight 🕛 calls
your lunch hour is over served as the olive in your hour glass falls

You pick up your coat and head out the door
the streets and alleys call like the wild forests of yore.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Sunday February 25th
2018.

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Happy Birthday, Sherrielock Holmes

January 6, 2018 at 9:18 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, History, Literature, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Happy Birthday, Sherrielock Holmes

The quite literally immortal dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes (who was Sherlock Holmes’ lesser known twin sister) was turning 164 today.

Many years ago, Sherrielock had eaten some Lingzhi Supernatural mushrooms and become immortal.

Sherrielock was being taken out to dinner by her great grandson Dr. Cadbury Rocher.

They arrived at the Avebury Arms Pub to sample their delicious 😋 steak and kidney pies.

Sherrielock was dressed in an elegant turquoise green evening dress.

“Tell me, Aunt Sherrielock, did you ever offer a plate of Lingzhi Supernatural mushrooms to great uncle Sherlock?” Cadbury was anxious to know.

“I did,” Sherrielock nodded, “but he refused. He longed to meet Irene Adler again.”

“So great uncle Sherlock did come to believe in an afterlife?” Cadbury inquired.

“He did,” Sherrielock sampled her steak and kidney pie, “Ummm, heaven.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday January 6th
2018.

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Agathor Christie Meets Vampiress Isis In Paris

January 4, 2018 at 10:06 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Agathor Christie Meets Vampiress Isis In Paris

The London based private eye Agathor Christie was meeting the Egyptian Vampiress Isis in a cafe along the Champs Élysées.

Agathor had been hired by Isis to spy on her brother and brother-in-law the London based ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

Normally Agathor worked on such cases with his private eye partner and associate Magog Rhys Petley but last month Magog had checked himself into a clinic in Switzerland to help him treat a peculiar ailment and malady that the former Labour MP had (he turned into a werewolf during times of the full moon and a few other occasions as well).

Agathor and Magog had opened up their private eye business last summer after both men had lost their respective parliamentary seats to members of the British Transhumanist Techno-Progressive Anti Bio-Conservative Party (Conservative Agathor Christie had lost his Tewkesbury In The Cotswolds seat to Renfield R. Renfield and Labour’s Magog Rhys Petley had been defeated by the Welsh Vampiress Morgana also known as Morgana Fay Lee in the Welsh constituency of Newbridge).

Agathor ordered a cognac while he waited for the Vampiress Isis to show up.

She entered the cafe wearing a gold evening dress.

“Your Divine Majesty,” Agathor stood up and kissed her golden gloved leather hand.

“Mr. Christie, you have news for me?” The Vampiress Isis sat down and ordered a glass of champagne.

“I do,” Agathor nodded.

“Then you’re a good detective,” Isis smiled at him, “But then seeing as how you’re the great nephew of British mystery novelist Agatha Christie, I’m not surprised.”

Agathor Christie was indeed the great nephew of Agatha Christie (albeit she was his great aunt by marriage and not by blood).

Agathor sipped his cognac.

In the meantime, Isis helped herself to some caviar.

“So, what is this news you have to tell me?” Isis asked.

“Set is trying to find the tomb of the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra,” Agathor replied.

“Really?” Isis was quite astounded at this bit of news, “Then I shall have to beat him to it.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday January 4th
2018.

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Carson Albion In Havana

December 9, 2017 at 7:20 pm (Detective story, Mystery, Poetry, Romance) (, , , , , , )

Carson Albion In Havana

It was underneath a clear blue Cuban sky
walked the man Carson Albion Private Eye
He had been hired in a deli that sold salami
by a wealthy Cuban exile in Miami
to find the man’s granddaughter he hadn’t heard from in years
a situation that led to anxiety and tears

Taking with him an old photo
and leaving Kansas minus Toto
he flew to Havana
and arrived at a cabana
where a poolside party was going on
he asked the owner who was stifling a yawn
“Have you seen this girl?”
The man gave the roulette wheel a twirl
“She’s considerably older now!” he said.
Albion was relieved to hear she wasn’t dead.

“Do you know where she can be found?”
Albion dropped cigar ash on the ground
“At the La Luna Club downtown,”
the man gave a slight frown.

Albion raised his fedora in thanks
and made his exit by the lobster tanks
He headed to the La Luna Club
but would he find the girl, aye, there’s the rub
Carlotta was the girl’s name
like Bogey looking for a dame

He entered the club and saw a beautiful young woman in a red dress
by comparison his bourbon decorated trench coat looked a mess
He took off his coat and put it on a chair
while the bartender scratched his underwear

Carlotta was the girl in the red dress
Albion knew it was more than a guess
She was on the dance 💃🏻 floor dancing up a storm
and Albion under his shirt collar was starting to feel warm

He approached her and asked her to dance
She immediately fell into a tango stance
and together they danced the tango across the floor
and soon both were out the nightclub door

They headed back to her apartment
and on her mattress they made a major dent
Their intense lovemaking
was quite earth shaking
After the climax and in each other’s arms
came the phone call from her grandfather’s Florida farms
so Albion took a selfie
texted it to Grandpa wealthy

The angry grandfather told Albion not to bother coming home to America
otherwise he’d find himself dead in a Florida Oranges crate-ia.

So in Havana Albion did remain
so as not to turn Carlotta’s grandfather into Biblical Cain
They would often spend nights dancing the tango
and later in bed roared like Rambo.

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday December 9th
2017

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