Friday The 13th Harvest Moon
Friday the 13th Harvest Moon
Try not to think of this as your death,
The vampiress approached,
It’s just another harvest moon,
She glimmered in the full light of the moon,
Her hair, her gown,
She was luminous,
An angel of light….
“Bat out of Hell…” Meatloaf sang on the radio…
“Could be one and the same thing,”
The vampiress laughed as she approached,
“But it is just another harvest moon…”
“A Friday the 13th Harvest Moon,” said the man tied up in the chair,
“A black cat crossed my path today,
I walked under a ladder,
I crossed knives,
I looked a Greek tycoon’s gift horse in the mouth today at the racetrack
And I ran a hockey goalie named Jason over with my car today
getting my tires slashed in the process.”
“I understand there’s a werewolf howling in the rainforests of the Amazon tonight,” the vampiress smiled,
“On this harvest moon,”
She continued to sing.
“The werewolf would be Magog Rhys Petley,”
said the man,
“A London based Welsh private eye bitten by a snake’s head named Rahu during a lunar eclipse many years ago,
Turned the poor fellow into a werewolf for some reason,
Lev Tomi hired him to find out who’s setting fire to the Amazon rainforests
And now he’s howling away under a harvest moon.”
“On this harvest moon,” the vampiress sang.
“I wonder if Neil Young would like your cover,” the man said.
The vampiress’ gown fell off her shoulders on to the floor.
“I guess he would,” smiled the man,
“he’d probably like you under cover as well.”
“And what about you, Inspector Depp?” The vampiress asked the Scotland Yard detective, “Would you like me under cover?”.
“It’s a Friday the 13th Harvest Moon,” Depp answered, “Why not?”.
The vampiress bit his neck, drained all his blood and left him for dead.
“Like Britain after Halloween,” the vampiress laughed.
She walked out into the night where she was followed by a black jaguar with silver eyes.
The vampiress walked to the clock tower of Big Ben.
She turned and faced the Jaguar.
She once again dropped her gown.
The Black Jaguar turned into a man who made love to her.
And the bells of Big Ben, which were supposed to be silent while being repaired, started playing the tune,
“On this Harvest Moon…”
-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday September 13th
2019.
Dracul Van Helsing, The Goddess Sophia, Yaldabaoth and The Irish Backstop
Dracul Van Helsing, The Goddess Sophia, Yaldabaoth and The Irish Backstop
Sophia the Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom was worried.
What would happen to her son Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun if a hard border was once again built on the Republic of Ireland-UK Northern Ireland border?
Her son Yaldabaoth was a leprechaun with a serious drinking problem.
He was the only being in all recorded history to be officially banned by court injunction from attending AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meetings as any meeting he attended invariably ended up with all those present at the meetings falling off the wagon.
Yaldabaoth had the irritating habit of always falling asleep right on the line of the Republic of Ireland/UK Northern Ireland border.
This was fine as long as the border was an open (rather than a closed) border as it had been ever since the Good Friday Agreement was signed back in 1998.
But Good Friday 1998 might come to an end at Halloween 2019 if there was a no-deal Brexit.
Of course the House of Commons and the House of Lords had just passed a bill brought forth by the anti-Semitic Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn to stop a no-deal Brexit from happening this coming Halloween (ironically in this regard Corbyn was fulfilling the agenda of the pro-globalist, pro-EU and New World Order One World Government oriented Rothschilds).
However the trouble was British MP Renfield R. Renfield was backing Boris Johnson in his quest to have Brexit by Halloween 2019.
And Sophia the Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom being wise knew that one should never underestimate Renfield R. Renfield even though the pro-EU segments of the British Parliament and much of the British and American news media were doing just that.
Boris Johnson may have run out of tricks up his sleeve but Renfield hadn’t.
Already Sophia could visualize a Brexit firecracker exploding in Jeremy Corbyn’s rear end as the clock hit 11:59 PM on October 31st 2019 and Renfield shouted “Trick or Treat” from the window of his room in a Soho whore house.
And if a no-deal Brexit occurred and there was once again a hard Irish border, her son Yaldabaoth could end up buried underneath a concrete wall.
Unlike the American authorities and the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa, she’d know where the body is buried.
But this would be of small comfort to her.
After all, she had told people through the centuries that her son Yaldabaoth was the Demi-Urge who created the material physical universe.
And if it came out that her son was actually an Irish leprechaun with a serious drinking problem who now lay buried under concrete on the Irish border, well, she’d positively die of embarrassment.
Of course Sophia knew that the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing was a friend of Renfield R. Renfield.
She figured that if she whipped him up her famous Greco-Egyptian-Irish-Italian-Norse-Greenlander omelette for breakfast and gave him a great tantric sex piece of tail as a midnight offering, he might put in a good word for her with Renfield.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday September 6th
2019.
Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian
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.
Sherrielock Holmes and The Raven
Sherrielock Holmes and The Raven
The year was 1899.
And Sherrielock Holmes (the dominatrix lesser known twin sister of world famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes) was walking in the park with her scientist husband Dr. Louis Rocher (who, unbeknownst to both, was in fact the illegitimate son of the evil Prof. James Moriarty).
Dr. Rocher was demonstrating his latest invention – a camera capable of taking colour photos.
He took a picture of Sherrielock with a boastful talking raven who claimed to be the inspiration behind Edgar Allan Poe’s 1845 poem The Raven (a claim which if true the raven looked very good for his age).
He then took a picture of Sherrielock with a guinea pig.
Sherrielock was told by the raven that a close friend of the guinea pig- a red fox (who was a vegetarian- rare for his species) was in mortal danger.
The next day Sherrielock and Louis went to nearby woods and parkland to foil the fox hunt led by the notorious British fox hunter Lord Plumelington of Nausea in an effort to save the life of the guinea pig’s friend.
Lord Plumelington who was a practitioner of the dark arts had invoked Njord the Norse god of the winds to stop anyone from opposing his fox hunt.
Winds and water encircled Sherrielock like a typhoon.
A moment that Dr. Louis Rocher managed to capture on film.
And Sherrielock who was a skilled dominatrix became the first person in history to whip the wind.
She then jumped on a white horse and rode like the wind to upset Lord Plumelington of Nausea’s fox hunt sending his hounds scattering in every direction.
Sherrielock was indeed a true heroine and the fox was saved.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday August 25th
2019.
The House On The Hill: A Poem
The house on the hill was haunted they say
That common belief helped keep people away
Only the brave ventured to play
At the house overlooking Appleton Way
What happened that night many years ago
whispered by people who claimed to know
was loud shots in the night
a desperate search for a light
A woman’s screams
Lace curtains falling at the seams
And then silence fell
No more would dwell
in that house on the hill
Tenancy rate fell to nil
Those who ventured inside that place above Appleton Way
would always return with their hair white or gray
even though their hair colour did not start out that way
when they ventured forth at the break of the day
Their mistake was not in returning before the sun set
Nightfall should have told them, this was no place to let
Visiting the place subject of many a bet
while dark mystery remains at the heart of the Net
It was with this in mind that young Rousseau set out
On a night when the wind was howling about
Dark clouds rolled in
The night blacker than sin
Lightning flashed
Thunder crashed
And of course the door of the house would naturally be opened wide
And Rousseau stepped across the threshold to where the unseen did abide
And Rousseau came face to face with the ghostly vision there
While rainy lightning in the window flashed glowing white glare
Rousseau’s thought then was different from what he had at the start of the day
With this supernatural life and supernatural sight he felt inclined to stay
So now he too inhabits the house above Appleton Way.
-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 21st 2019.
Theodora and Varying Manners of Byzantine Intrigue
After lighting a candle to the Baphomet and the statue of Baal, Pennsylvania Democratic representative Brian Sims of Philadelphia went to bed.
After falling asleep, the Byzantine vampiress Theodora appeared in his bedroom and sprinkled him with Byzantine angel dust.
Sims then dreamed that he was a homosexual bishop back in the days of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian.
Justinian’s method of dealing with homosexual bishops was vastly different from that of Pope Francis.
His method was to castrate the bishops and then to have them paraded nude through the streets of Constantinople.
Instead of a “coming out” parade, it was a “coming off” parade.
Sims screamed as he slept.
He was not enjoying his dream.
Theodora smiled and laughed.
She was.
. . .
French President Emmanuel Macron was unhappy that Britain was going to be participating in European Parliament elections later this month since the Brits had failed yet another deadline to achieve Brexit.
He ate smoked oysters and downed champagne.
He then got on his iPhone and went to FaceTime.
British Prime Minister Theresa May was unhappy that Britain was going to be participating in European Parliament elections later this month since the Brits had failed yet another deadline to achieve Brexit.
She ate hot buttered biscuits and downed gin.
She then got on her iPhone and went to FaceTime.
May shrieked when she looked at her screen.
Emmanuel Macron was only wearing brief undershorts that were decorated with pink coloured daisies and that was it.
Macron shrieked when he looked at his screen.
Theresa May was only wearing hair curlers and that was it.
May gasped, “Emmanuel, we’ve got to stop FaceTiming like this.”
. . .
Miranda the mermaid had shapeshifted into full human form and was lying on the beach at Tel Aviv.
The Greek god Poseidon stepped up out of the ocean.
He had a large seashell to his ear since he was in a teleconferencing call with his brothers Zeus and Hades.
Poseidon ended the call and put the seashell in the back seat of his pants which were made out of seaweed.
“Miranda,” the Greek sea deity called out to the mermaid, “Did you know the ghost of Orson Welles is looking for you?”.
. . .
After filling the Baphomet and Baal worshipping Rep. Brian Sims of Philadelphia with the worst possible nightmares, the Byzantine vampiress Theodora returned to New York City for a nighttime modelling photo shoot.
Where an MI-6 spy operative code named Diablos Nocturna was waiting for her.
They spent a tantalizing evening of tantric sex afterwards.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 7th
2019.
The Byzantine vampiress Theodora: The stuff of nightmares to Baal and Baphomet worshippers.
But pleasant dreams to certain MI-6 operatives.
Vampire Set Addresses Cleopatra’s Needle: A Poem
The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set was walking the Victoria Embankment of the River Thames when he came across Cleopatra’s Needle.
The vampire put his hands on the ancient obelisk which was originally erected in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis on the orders of Pharaoh Thutmose III around 1450 BC.
He addressed the obelisk as he touched it:
You are a relic from the land of my birth
When I first emerged from the sands of the earth
And yet you have no memory of me at all
a silent blind sentinal to all I’ve done great and small
I slew my brother Osiris out of jealousy
because I wanted our sister Isis for me
And threw parts of him up and down the Nile
Which Isis went and retrieved mile by mile
She’d not have done the same for me
That’s when I realized I counted for nothing at all.
So my name is mud in the annals of history
How she restored him to life remains a mystery
And my nephew Horus emerged too
Ensuring my dark reign was through
But this was not always the case
Grandfather Ra thought me the fairest of the race
When I slew the serpent Apophis on the barge of the sun
Then heroism and light was the course I did run
But that is forgotten now
Wiped away like the sweat off my brow
My day in the sun is no more
Dark shadowy ground forever my floor
A creature of the night forevermore
And yet once last century
I was briefly happy
When I met Serena a daughter of time
And love rose like meter to rhyme
I should have known
lasting happiness was not mine
She was killed by an agent of terror
Stalin who ruled his land by trial and error
Trial for those ruled, and error it could not be
In that dark mind of cruel majesty
So Serena is gone
Stalin is gone
And I live on and on
From the night I came
To the night I return
And any sands I walk
Are sands the sun does not burn.
-A poem recited by Set to Cleopatra’s Needle
-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday April 14th
2019.
Serena the mortal human fiancee of Set who was slain by Stalinist agents in London in the autumn of 1924