If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

June 18, 2021 at 10:43 pm (Commentary, Culture, Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )


“I’ll take that last slice of pizza if you don’t mind, Mr. Farrow.”

“Cut!” Orson Welles shouted, “That’s a take!”.

“I’ll say it is,” said the actress as she grabbed and ate the last slice of pizza.

The day’s production was over.

Welles took his hat and coat and went to a nearby lounge where he ordered a glass of red wine.

After a few sips, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, he was a ghost in a pub in London called The Ghosts’ Inn and he was sipping a spectral glass of spectral red wine.

Welles wasn’t sure whether he was a mortal man dreaming that he was a ghost or whether he was a ghost dreaming about his days as a mortal man.

It was like that myth he had once heard about the man who fell asleep and dreamed that he was a caterpillar and then when he woke up again, he wasn’t sure whether he was a man who dreamed he was a caterpillar or whether he’s a caterpillar who’s now dreaming that he’s a man.

“Such intense thoughts on the cusp of the summer solstice,” British MP Renfield R. Renfield remarked over a gin and tonic.

“I wasn’t aware that I was thinking such thoughts aloud,” Welles’ ghost sighed.

“You were,” Renfield dug into his fish and chips with his knife and fork.

A butterfly flew in through the window of the pub.

“I wonder what the butterfly dreams,” Renfield mused aloud.

“Not sure,” Welles admitted, “But he’s got both man and caterpillar beat.”

“Of course there are some idiots,” Renfield pointed out, “let’s call them in Seinfeldian fashion Klaus Schwab, the World Economic Forum, Joe Biden, Justin Trudeau and Boris Johnson who probably figure that when it comes to butterflies, they can still Build Back Better.”

A British engineering student (who had spent the Covid lockdown studying Schwab’s book on The Fourth Industrial Revolution) was in another booth operating his robotic butterfly (that he called the Transbutterfly).

The Transbutterfly was trying to take nectar from the petal of an artificial flower.

The butterfly who had flown past Renfield and Welles flew out the door while the Transbutterfly flew into another customer’s pint of ale where it burst a gasket and disintegrated.

Dashwood Forrest the noted London art gallery dealer walked past Renfield and Welles carrying a godawful painting.

“What’s that hideous monstrosity?” Both Welles and Renfield asked at the same time.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to give this painting away,” Forrest admitted, “Bill Gates gave it to me on commission to sell. It’s a painting that he himself painted. He calls it Painting of A Build Back Better Sunset.”

“That’s a sunset?” Welles and Renfield both asked increduously at the same time.

Renfield put on his spectacles and Welles put on a ghostly spectral monocle.

Both man and ghost reacted with horror.

Renfield vomitted all over the painting while Welles spewed forth ghostly ectoplasm.

“I have to say that’s a very significant improvement,” Forrest declared after the vomit and ectoplasm now found their way on to Bill Gates’ Build Back Better Sunset.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday June 18th
2021.

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Tanaka and The Unfinished Orson Welles Film Noir

June 9, 2021 at 10:39 pm (Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Movies, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

The immortal Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka: As she appeared in a scene in Orson Welles’ unknown and unfinished Film Noir movie The Feather Casts A Giant Shadow

British MP Renfield R. Renfield was sitting in the living room of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal London mansion and enjoying a fine single malt Scotch whisky as he engaged in conversation with the ghost of Orson Welles.

Renfield was telling Welles how he had run into the immortal Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka yesterday in a London park and how she had played the most beautiful melody on a beautiful vintage classical lyre.

“Tanaka had once visited Los Angeles in 1946 and she appeared as the heroine in a Film Noir movie I was directing at the time The Feather Casts A Giant Shadow,” Welles reflected over a good spectral glass of spectral red wine, “A film I was sadly unable to finish because it was shut down on orders of the studio heads.”

“How did Tanaka become immortal anyways?” Renfield inquired.

“She had apparently ridden a rare legendary ghost white buffalo back in the late 1870s and it is said that whoever rides a ghost white buffalo becomes immortal,” Welles explained, “And in Tanaka’s case, that turned out to be true.”

“What was the plot of this unfinished Film Noir movie starring Tanaka?” Renfield asked.

“It was about a prestigious Ivy League university secret society,” Welles answered, “one that counts several influential politicians and judges among its membership. And one that specializes in stealing important Native American artifacts.”

“I wonder which Ivy League university secret society you would have based that on,” Renfield remarked sarcastically.

Welles laughed.

For both knew that the secret society in the film was obviously based on Yale University’s Skull and Bones Society.

“And what was the plot of the film?” Renfield wanted to know.

“That the giant Phoenix bird of ancient legend had once flown over the Black Hills of South Dakota and one of its giant feathers had fallen on a hill top,” Welles replied, “where it was found by members of the Lakota Sioux nation. It was kept in a sacred lodge in the Black Hills known only to certain elders and certain members of their families. A member of this Ivy League University secret society accidentally crashed his plane near the lodge and found the lodge with the sacred Phoenix feather present. Being the thorough scoundrel that he was (a future U.S. Presidential candidate if there ever was one), he stole it.
He placed the feather in a room in a Philosophical Research Library and Museum in Los Angeles that was associated with a grand global occultic fraternity of which the Ivy League University Secret Society was just a branch.”

“How did Tanaka’s character fit into the film?” Renfield asked.

“Tanaka played the granddaughter of a Lakota Sioux elder who was one of the Guardians of The Feather,” Welles explained, “She was sent to Los Angeles to bring the Feather back to its original owners.”

“So Tanaka was the heroine,” Renfield nodded, “Who was the femme fatale in the film?”.

“That would have been the secret society member’s girlfriend,” Welles noted, “She was a female Nazi Intelligence officer who had been brought to the United States by the OSS (forerunner of the CIA) in order to help set up America’s post-war Intelligence, National Security and Espionage apparatus.”

“I see,” Renfield finished his glass of whisky and poured himself another, “And so why did the studio heads stop and shut down production of the film?”.

“Because I guess it was hitting a little too close to the truth of what was actually happening in the U.S. at the time,” Welles answered, “Apparently FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover himself showed up in the offices of the studio head ordering that the film’s production be immediately halted. And to add insult to injury, Hoover apparently showed up wearing one of the dresses that Vivien Leigh wore as Scarlett O’ Hara in the movie Gone With The Wind. The production ceased with a single phone call within 5 minutes of Hoover’s arrival.”

“How very sad,” Renfield sipped his second glass of Scotch, “It sounds like the film would have been a great classic.”

Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka appearing in a scene in Orson Welles’ unfinished Film Noir classic The Feather Casts A Giant Shadow.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday June 9th
2021.

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Orson Welles On The Orient Express

May 25, 2021 at 10:38 pm (Espionage, Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Movies, Spy Tales, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles sat in a comfortable arm chair in the living room of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal London mansion.

He was sipping a spectral glass of spectral red wine.

He was reflecting on a dream he had as a young mortal man where he was contemplating directing a spy film set on the Orient Express.

Agatha Christie had published a Hercule Poirot novel called Murder On The Orient Express back in 1934.

The spy film set aboard the Orient Express that Welles was planning to make would have been done 20 years before Sean Connery’s 1963 James Bond film From Russia With Love part of which was set aboard the Orient Express.

However Welles’ idea for the film was rejected by film studio heads.

When Welles had the dream that became the basis for the proposed film, he dreamed he was back in the mid-1930s.

Soviet Stalinist agents had stolen the Spear of Longinus (the spear said to have pierced the side of Christ as recorded in the New Testament) from the Hofburg Palace Museum in Vienna, Austria.

They were now riding the Orient Express to Istanbul where they would then board a ship from Istanbul to Odessa.

And then from Odessa the Soviet Stalinist agents would head to Moscow and then to Stalin.

However Nazi spies were also on the trail of the Soviet agents as Hitler too desired to possess the Spear of Longinus for world conquest.

Britain and France had likewise sent their best agents to recapture the Spear of Longinus.

Welles played the British agent Sir Cyril Bellerophon.

He was to rendezvous with France’s top agent aboard the Orient Express.

All Welles’ Bellerophon knew was that the French agent’s initials were ML.

As Welles’ character of Sir Cyril Bellerophon sat in the empty dining car (as it was currently neither breakfast, lunch or dinnertime aboard the train), a beautiful woman entered the Orient Express dining car and approached him.

She walked up to Welles’ Bellerophon and said, “Bonjour Monsieur. Je suis Monique Labelle.”

Welles bowed and said, “Bonjour Mademoiselle. Je suis Sir Cyril Bellerophon.”

It had occurred to Welles that Monique LaBelle (whose intials were ML) was the French agent.

That turned out to be the case.

Welles thought it was a shame he woke up from the dream and had no idea how the whole scenario would end.

Still he had a chance to kiss Monique Labelle before he woke up.

And that Welles’ ghost reflected as he lit himself a spectral cigar was the important thing.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 25th
2021

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Orson Welles, Faust, Marilyn Monroe and The Asphalt Jungle

April 22, 2021 at 10:55 pm (Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Movies, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles sat in an armchair in the living room of the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

He had been imbibing several spectral glasses of spectral red wine from a large bottle of spectral red wine and reminiscing to Renfield about his mortal life.

“I’m not quite sure how it happened,” Welles’ nose was starting to look as red as that of his favourite Shakespearian character Falstaff, “but I somehow managed one day to find myself on the set of the 1950 film noir movie The Asphalt Jungle in which Marilyn Monroe starred.”

“Did you?” Renfield was intrigued.

“Yes,” Welles nodded, “and what was even more intriguing is that the Renaissance German alchemist Dr. Johann Georg Faust (who was born in 1480 and supposedly died in an alchemical experiment explosion at the Hotel zum Lowen in the German town of Staufen im Breisgau in 1540 but he did not) was also on the set of that film.”

“That’s right,” Renfield nodded, “Faust didn’t die until 2011 when I hired an Irish arsonist to bump him off.”

“That’s interesting,” Welles poured himself another glass of spectral red wine, “anyways I wasn’t sure what Faust was doing there.”

“My friend the vampiress Mei-ling Manchu who used to be a Communist but isn’t anymore (as she and I have conceived a plot to bump off Xi Jinping) was doing some research and discovered that Faust was doing biological warfare research for the Nazis in the 1930s and 1940s. Apparently that research involved working with bats in Mexico. Somehow that bat research wound up in the hands of Soong Mei-ling (Madame Chiang Kai-shek). Soong Mei-ling’s Kuomintang operatives who had his research papers later defected to the Communist forces of Mao Tse-tung,” Renfield noted, “Later that research wound up in the hands of the Wuhan Institute of Virology.”

“That is interesting,” Welles acknowledged.

“What was Faust doing on the set of The Asphalt Jungle?” Renfield inquired.

“I think he was brought in as some sort of last minute technical advisor,” Welles recalled.

Renfield googled images of the film.

“Well, would you look at that,” Renfield was shocked.

“What is it?” Welles asked.

Renfield showed him the photo.

“It’s Marilyn Monroe with the image of the Coronavirus behind her,” Renfield noted.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday April 22nd
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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Orson Welles Tells A Story About An Ox On Chinese New Year’s Eve

February 11, 2021 at 10:41 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , )

British MP Renfield R. Renfield and the ghost of Orson Welles were celebrating Chinese New Year’s Eve via Skype with Mei-ling Manchu (who was Renfield’s ally in seeking to topple the Communist despot Xi Jinping from power in China).

Mei-ling Manchu was sampling a most delectable variety of rice wine.

Renfield was sipping from a rather large glass of sherry.

Orson Welles’ ghost was sipping from a rather large spectral glass of spectral sherry.

“Well, Happy Year of the Ox,” Welles raised his glass in a toast.

“Happy Year of the Ox,” Renfield and Mei-ling joined in.

They drank to the New Year.

Hoping it would be better than the Year of the Rat which saw various plagues descend upon the world.

“Do you know there’s a little known Arthurian tale about Merlin being turned into an ox by the enchantress Morgan le Fay?” Welles’ ghost asked.

“It must be little known,” Renfield admitted, “because I don’t know it.”

Mei-ling laughed.

“Yes,” Welles’ ghostly cheeks were turning from ghostly white to cherry red after imbibing much sherry, “I’ll tell it to you now.”

And this is the story Welles’ ghost told:

It had come to the attention of Morgan le Fay that Merlin was urging Arthur to exile her from Camelot for making illegal moonshine.

The moon was apparently shining on nights when there wasn’t a full moon.

Angry, Morgan took a walk into the woods.

There she stumbled upon an inn The Wild Boar Inn.

Morgan entered the inn, ordered a glass of mead and sat down by the fireplace.

While there she noticed the rather corpulent Baron Grimwald of Grease sitting at a table demanding a large pot sized bowl of boiled ox soup.

“But there’s no ox in the vicinity,” the innkeeper protested.

“Bullocks,” Baron Grimwald cursed.

Morgan left a coin on the table after finishing her glass of mead and left the inn.

While traversing a path through the woods, she stumbled upon Merlin.

Morgan recalled a spell for turning a person into an ox and so she did that to Merlin.

She hastened back to the inn.

“Oh, innkeeper,” she laughed, “There’s an ox walking along that path through the woods. You can now give Baron Grimwald his large pot sized bowl of boiled ox soup.”

“Great,” the innkeeper grabbed all his butcher knives and headed out with his servants to slay and cut up the ox.

Merlin’s owl realized his master was in trouble so headed back to Camelot Castle for help.

Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table were at the time at a jousting tournament in another part of the realm.

Queen Guenevere was there however and she could even speak owl even though no one else in King Arthur’s court gave a hoot.

So Queen Guenevere got on her grayish white horse and rode to the rescue.

She arrived at the Wild Boar Inn just as the innkeeper and his servants were about to butcher the poor ox.

“Wait,” Guenevere got off her high horse.

“Your Majesty,” the innkeeper and his servants bowed to her.

Guenevere happened to know the spell for turning an ox back into a man and therefore used it.

The ox turned back into Merlin.

“Bullocks,” said Morgan when she saw what happened.

“”Bullocks,” said Baron Grimwald when he saw that his dinner was no more.

“And so that’s how Guenevere rescued Merlin from becoming a broiled ox soup,” Welles’ ghost smiled.

“No, I’ve definitely never heard that story before,” Renfield admitted.

“Nor I,” said Mei-ling.

“Here’s to the Year of the Ox,” Welles raised his glass again.

“Happy New Year,” Renfield and Mei-ling joined in the toast.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 11th
2021.

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Renfield: George Soros Gets His “Useful Idiots” To Pull Out The Race Card To Deflect From His World Government Plans

August 31, 2020 at 10:32 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Politics, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

British MP Renfield R. Renfield was doing a Monday night podcast:

Defense lawyer Robert Shapiro, who was a member of the so-called legal Dream Team of high-priced expensive defense lawyers who successfully defended former NFL football star O.J. Simpson from the charge of murder in the deaths of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman back in 1994 and 1995, once told a TV interviewer that when the Dream Team first met to discuss Simpson’s defense, they agreed not to play the “race card” for the defense which was that Simpson had been deliberately framed for the murders because he was black.
Then, as Shapiro put it, in the midst of the trial Simpson Dream Team lead counsel Johnnie Cochrane “not only played the race card, he pulled it out from the bottom of the deck.”

Likewise today globalist Marxist billionaire George Soros has noted that many people are starting to rise up and take notice of the many manipulative actions that Soros has conducted over the years dating back to the collapse of the British pound currency in the autumn of 1992 (which Soros was responsible for and through which Soros made a huge financial killing) and particularly over the past 5 years in which he has teamed up with his globalist bum buddies Pope Francis and Bill Gates to finally bring about a One World Government.
The brainless Marxist mainstream media has tried to protect Soros by saying “he’s just a bogeyman for the far right” ignoring the fact that Donald Trump has equally become a bogeyman for “everyone from the moderate left to the far left”.
Soros to protect himself has now, like Johnnie Cochrane in the O.J. Simpson trial, pulled out the “race card” to protect himself and is claiming and whining and snivelling that people are picking on him because he’s Jewish (although it’s probably been a good 50 years since this atheistic Marxist rat has graced himself through the doors of a synagogue).
Several so called anti-hate and anti-discrimination groups have been peeling onions and pouring out the crocodile tears claiming that poor innocent George Soros is just the latest victim in a long drawn out history of Jewish conspiracy theories.
Well neither Pope Francis nor the geeky nerd Bill “he didn’t lose his virginity and wasn’t laid until he earned his first million dollars” Gates are Jewish.
Soros may be Jewish because of his ancestral lineage but he certainly doesn’t act Jewish.
He acts like an atheist who rather ironically worships the demons Baal and Baphomet at the same time.
Edgar Allan Poe once wrote a short story called The Purloined Letter in which the subject letter of the title and the story that the Paris police so valiantly searched for was hidden within plain sight on a table in the room all the time.
Likewise Soros has been an open in plain sight global conspirator all the time as anybody who has ever bothered to watch his open speeches to each year’s Davos Summit Conference in Switzerland can surely attest to.
Today’s mainstream Marxist news media and so called anti-hate and anti-discrimination organizations are even more clueless and out to lunch than the Paris Police Force of amateur detective C. Auguste Dupin’s day and therefore are incapable of noticing the open global conspirator in their midst.

. . .

Last night, senility prone Joe Biden had been down in his basement talking to his pot smoking desert cactus plant Sweet Dementia when suddenly the demons Baal and Baphomet appeared to him.

“Joe,” said Baal, “We need you to go to Pittsburgh Pennsylvania tomorrow and make a speech. We’ve promised to do the fallen angel Mephistopheles a favour and in return, he’s going to possess your body temporarily and deliver the speech through you for you so you don’t come across as being a senile old fool. Is that all right with you, Joe?”.

“Sure man, why not?” Biden said before falling asleep in his Alphabets cereal.

Today the fallen angel Mephistopheles speaking through Biden in Pittsburgh asked, “Do I look like a radical socialist?”.

Biden trying to take back control of his body reached for the plastic bag with the Leon Trotsky beard, moustache and glasses inside to try to put them on.

Mephistopheles slapped his hand.

Mephistopheles as Biden then tried to blame Trump for all the violence now raging in American cities.

Leaving out the fact that it was Democratic Party Mayors of those cities who were allowing the anarcho-Marxist thugs and hooligans and Neo-Bolshevik insurrectionists free rein which was responsible for all the violence.

. . .

The ghost of Orson Welles was sitting inside the living room of the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s estate.

He was deciding whether or not he should go to his birthplace of Kenosha Wisconsin tomorrow when Donald Trump was visiting there.

Grabbing a bottle of spectral red wine, Welles’ ghost wandered through the Set Mansion.

He came to a door at the back end of the house when he suddenly saw this vision:

Smoking a cigarette, the vision turned back and looked at him and said, “Don’t go to Kenosha, Mr. Welles.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday August 31st
2020.

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Huchuysisa At Luxor

August 12, 2020 at 11:10 pm (Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )


The Inca Vampiress Huchuysisa standing in front of one of the pillars of the Temple of Luxor

The Inca vampiress Huchuysisa stood alongside one of the pillars of the Temple of Luxor.

Approaching her was the ghost of Orson Welles who was walking with the ghost of a man who looked to be dressed in the garb of a classical Greek warrior.

Welles’ ghost was wearing spectral dark sunglasses and appeared to have lost weight the past week by a steady diet of spectral vegan plant based camelburgers.

“Look who I’ve found,” Welles’ ghost flashed a wide smile as he took off his spectral sunglasses.

“Who?” Huchuysisa asked.

“The ghost of Alexander the Great,” Welles introduced the ancient Greek king and conquerer, “Apparently the Greek god Zeus asked his brother Hades to release Alex from the realm of Hades back in January. Hades consented and Alex had gone on a Mediterranean cruise to see what the modern Mediterranean looked like. And wouldn’t you know it, this wretched CCP virus (which WHO has mandated everyone should call the Covid-19 virus so that’s why I’m not doing it) struck. Poor Alex’s ship was sailing aimlessly for months. It was finally allowed to dock in Alexandria after Alexander had to bribe a whole bunch of officials with a bunch of rare and valuable ancient Greek drachma coins that Charon the Styx river ferryman had neglected to remove from Alex’s mouth when he was crossing the Rivers Styx and Acheron after kicking the bucket centuries ago.”

“What is Alexander doing here at Luxor?” Huchuysisa asked.

“He’s come to see the Temple of Luxor where he had himself crowned Pharaoh of Egypt centuries ago,” Welles replied as he lit a spectral Cuban cigar.

“But some scholars claim he was never actually crowned Pharaoh of Egypt here,” Huchuysisa pointed out, “That he never got south of Memphis. That he was only crowned conceptually and not in person here. He got himself crowned conceptually at Luxor since being crowned Pharaoh at Luxor was the Egyptian Pharaohonic thing to do. And Alexander wanted to do it.”

“Is that true, Alex?” Welles’ ghost pulled a large spectral bottle of red wine out of his coat pocket.

“I don’t know,” Alexander’s ghost shrugged, “I can’t remember. I drank a little from the River Lethe (the river of forgetfulness in the Underworld). Not as much as my fellow spectral travellers who were with me did. I do remember much but there’s quite a bit I have forgotten.”

“I wonder,” Welles’ ghost poured himself a spectral glass of spectral red wine, “if Joe Biden ever stumbled and bumbled his way down to the River Lethe in the Underworld and mistaking it for the Pierian Spring, he drank deeply from it.”

The winged horse Pegasus flew by the vampiress and the ghostly duo.

Meanwhile down in his basement, Joe Biden mistaking his pot smoking cactus plant (which was a gift to him from some crazy Australian named Uncle Ernie who had taken way too many cuttings off his adopted nephew’s pet pot cactus plants) for his wife asked the plant, “Dear, who was it I named my Vice-Presidential running mate again? I’ve forgotten.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday August 12th
2020.

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Atargatis In Alexandria

June 27, 2020 at 10:28 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

In the courtyard of the Royal Alexandria Hotel
she sat
the Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis
on a late June evening in 1939

Although the sands of time
In various hourglasses
kept turning over
This way and that

The Egyptian god Thoth passed by
holding keys of Time
She saw a man named Quentin Talbot
encounter Thessalonike of Macedon
The half-sister of Alexander the Great
a couple of nights ago in the hotel ballroom

Then the scene shifted to a beach at Dunwich in Suffolk
where Thessalonike was about to sacrifice Quentin
to the old Celtic gods
on a June evening in 2020.

Dracul Van Helsing arrived to save Quentin
from being sacrificed
The next thing Atargatis knew
was she saw Van Helsing
making out with her own daughter Semiramis
In the upper bedroom
Of a Dunwich pub and inn.

Seated in an armchair and holding a spectral glass of spectral red wine
And watching the mortal-immortal sexual encounter on the bed
Was the ghost of Orson Welles
Who said,
Being a peep and watching this makes me feel like King Leer
A voyeur of some importance.

The scene vanished again
And she saw Adolf Hitler encountering Josef Stalin
In an Egyptian tomb
that had been transferred to the dungeon of Castle Dracula
in Transylvania

Hitler and Stalin were playing a chess game
For controlling America in the year 2020
The young Chinese Communist revolutionary Mao Tse-tung
dropped by
And told Hitler to use his white knight to crush a black pawn

Der Fuhrer like all racists
thought all Asians looked the same
And mistaking Mao for one of his Japanese allies
followed the future Chairman Mao’s advice

Stalin moved in for the kill
As Mao applauded
General Robert E. Lee’s battle flag of Northern Virginia
went up in flames across a map of the American south
Followed by the Stars and Stripes going up in flames
Across a map of the entire United States of America
Soon to be replaced by the Hammer and Sickle.

Atargatis leaned back on her chaise lounge as the combined scorpion and Phoenix fan above her kept her cool

A shadow fell across her.
She opened her eyes.
“Van Helsing, I presume?”
She said to the man standing alongside the chaise lounge.

Orson Welles’ ghost found himself in the Royal Alexandria Hotel courtyard
“Once again, I’m a witness… I’m a witness…”
He rang the bell alongside his chaise lounge
to summon the hotel porter to bring him a glass of red wine.

-A narrative poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday June 27th
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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