Igor

Easily the days heat was dispelled by a mild breeze and Igor woke up in the meadow as the Sun disappeared behind the row of gigantic Ash and Elm that lined the horizon all the way north to the village, and south to the lake. As Igor got to his feet, he realized he wasn’t alone. A woman with her naked breasts softly quivering was lying a few feet over. He now remembered a dream, of what he first thought must have been a dream.

When Igor had his belly round from real good chicken and gravy in the tavern he at an apple to close it off. Cru-cc-ck went the apple as he took a bite. A girl looked back at him about this sound, frowning like hell. He cru-cc-c-kreennstssj -took another bite and another right after it. Then the girl smiled and sullenly looked down while still looking backwards. Then the scene was ended and a barn could be heard creaking from repetitive movement against one of its walls.

Then, lo and behold, what could be seen but one of the most breathtaking sights to me. Five hauntingly, regal-looking palomino horses were escaping out of the barn door.

When they were but a short distance from the barn, they each, in unison, reared up, stretching their exquisite bodies to the hilt, and neighing and neighing to the heavens, a glorious sound which I am sure could be heard across the valley.

Never have I seen Freedom Speak in such a beautiful language without words spoken.

Then before I could even let out a breath, since I did not want to miss a thing, the palominos were gone, sadly lost from sight but never ever to be erased from my memory ~~ A Serendipitous moment to remain forever.

…and where was Igor to be seen? Ah, Igor had been seen clutching at his heart and then fainting. He now laid as a crumbled lump in a pile of dirt semi-conscious, unaware of what had occurred. Sleep well, Igor.

And Igor looked back on his black horse marvelling what a creature would use its most precious personal image of splendour and love as a message of murderous resentment.
An ugly being, it must be assumed, perhaps without a grain of joyous Earth in its soul.
Sad, Igor thought. But he refused, as always, to let the sadness of such beings mean much to him.
Or perhaps a mouse-grains worth - for this he said a small prayer and patted his horse on the neck, appreciating its sense of direction, away from the hissing and the shadows.

Igor came to a temple, dark and menacing, a white-gold crescent moon atop it.
He dismounted his horse and entered the portico, in which a whisper of a hum could be heard perpetually. The Goddess of Vengeance.

And Igor spoke his name and the Goddess appeared, and her-almond shaped orange-flamed eyes peered into his soul and she said, as the moon shuddered

It Shall Be Done.

…and as all of this was happening, there was a girl hiding in the corner of the temple. She was hiding because she was not supposed to be there. If she had been found out, she would have been put to death. But her curiosity was so much stronger and tantalizing so than even her fear of death especially since what did she have to fear from a life so devoid of happiness and joy.

But she tried to ponder what it was that she heard. What did it all mean? She could not make any sense of it. What did “his name” mean. Who was he? What about Vengence? Now she had a reason to live if only they did not find her there.

Igor. What is that person named Igor all about?

I need to find a better hiding place and a safer one where I can learn “stuff”.

As these thoughts occurred to her, a veil of sadness came upon her, but then she remembered the worn out cluch, " The only thing to fear is fear it’s self.

Then her frown caused a burrowing of brows into a dismal mask, was she a he or a he? Was it from Igor or Igora he was an asylum sought?

As the girl finally left the temple she tripped over the drunkard who was muttering half sentences and she fell into the mud and then got very angry with the drunkard. “Can you not find another place to be a burden?” she snapped. The drunkard didn’t notice her, he kept babbling and lying in the way. She said “grrrr!” and the spirits of vengeance which inhabited the temple laughed and caressed her hair, and she felt a strange courage come over her and she spoke to the old man such: “go write a book and don’t make any spelling mistakes, you!” And the old man suddenly was silent, grabbed his nap and his sack (which had some beef jerky in it) and wiggle-waggled off to his womans hut, intent on finding the feather he had used to write with when he was still a respected member of the forest. And the girl looked everywhere for Igor until it was night and she was suddenly face to face with an owl. She knew the owls are not what they seem. She asked “are you Igor?”

The owl at first did not respond but simply gazed at Aletheia with a strange look on his face which made the girl quite uncomfortable. His look was so intense that Aletheia at once could believe that possibly the owl could set her to flames. But yet again, her curiosity and her need to know far transcended any fear for her safety.

Finally, in what seemed to Aletheia to be a lifetime, the owl finally spoke. He asked her: "What is your purpose in being here, Girl? At first, silently to herself she murmured “Ah, so he is not simply an owl” and she tried to hide her smile hoping that whoever and whatever it was before her, could not so much see her in the dark even though, it was, after all and at least for now, an Owl.

“Please”, she begged and went down on one knee as if genuflecting to some kind of a god - “just in case” she mused. “I want to find the man who they call Igor.” Do you know of his whereabouts, Oh wise and mighty Owl? I am told that you are able to turn your head around in all directions at a whim. Might you have seen this man in his comings and in his goings?

Again, the Owl asked Aletheia in more of a screeching sound this time “What is your purpose in being here”? Poor Aletheia almost fell to the ground in fear at that. " I only want to speak with him". “Is that so strange a thing to a mighty owl like yourself?” The owl smiled to himself at this.

Aletheia said: “I came upon Igor in a temple and his words left me with such a curiosity in my heart that I could not begin to shake it. I want to find him and sit with him under the stars. See, look up, Owl. Do you ever look up? Do you see all of that beautiful light above you? Oh well, I want to ask him what he was doing in the temple and what is this thing called vengeance which I have never ever before heard of. There was just something about him ~~ even though his countenance is nothing really to look at ~~ I want to meet with him. I would never ever hurt such a creature as himself.”

The owl then asked Aletheia: “What will you do? What will you say to him upon first seeing him?” The Girl answered honestly and with some hint of surprise on her face: “How can I possibly know beforehand what I will say, how I will act. I only know that I go in search of Igor and hope to find him.” “If you do not know of his whereabouts, would you like to accompany me on my journey? I have heard that down through history many gods have walked with creatures like myself as companions. I have no idea how long this journey will take or how treacherous it will be before we finally see Igor but I have also heard it said that when one has flown as far as one can, one is halfway there. If you are a god, you will not have that problem. As for me, I can walk on and on and on forever.”

The owl flapped his wings, rose up and flew onto Aletheia’s shoulder. “So, are we flying or walking, Girl?”
“Both” said Aletheia as she and the owl made tracks…

***Paraphrased from The Legend of the Guardians

Then the owl showed The Vampire and Igor together, as the were:

youtu.be/WmetLBAaMac

youtu.be/TJAfLE39ZZ8

It was there great plateaus of the French Atlantic where Igor stood facing the great Archangel.
Once here had been armies.

Igor said: Why have you come to me at this hour, O mighty Angel.
As it goes when one talks to an angel, the answer appeared before Igor as the question had reached the angel.

Now Igor missed the Angel, for he has gone with the wind in a streak of Purple.
But his heart told him to head for the hills, where the temple of Vengeance was hidden.

Igor noticed he was holding a sword.
It was rusty and had another mans name engraved on it.

A sudden flash came to him of an alcove, a cave like hole, and armies outside, and a merciless old hag passing out this sword to him - no not him - someone else - someone whose feelings were now his - he cast off the sword and thunder rumbled. When he looked around after a while he could not see it.

Now he came to a pool and washed his hands. The water turned to purple and Igor knew he was asleep. When he awoke he was only halfway to the temple, and he had to cross a great swamp.

upon entering the swamp igor noticed a small company of men talking with a cyclops who kinda looked like chris squire, the bass player for Yes, and was carrying a spear. the thought occured to igor; why would a cyclops choose a spear as a weapon? depth perception requires two eyes, so how could the cyclops use the weapon with any degree of accuracy?

igor sat down on a stump and thought this through. maybe the producers of the movie hadn’t considered this? he glanced to the side of the company of men holding counsel with the cyclops and decided to intervene. there was a small camera crew filming the scene.

‘excuse me,’ said igor, ‘but i think a melee weapon would be a much better choice for a cyclops.’

‘cut!’, shouted the director. ‘who is this guy?’ the crew and cast now stood silently as if considering what igor had said, and waited urgently for the director to respond.

‘he’s actually right’, offered marcy, assistant organizer for the costume crew. ‘here… close one eye and try to hit that tree over there with this rock.’ marcy hands the director a rock, who turns it in his hands to study it. after a moment or two, the director rears back and throws the rock.

‘splash!’ the rock misses the tree, falling at least ten feet short of it, and lands in a small pool of water.

‘told ya, dude!’, sounded marcy triumphantly. the cast and crew now aghast and whispering among themselves.

‘alright fine. give him a sword or something,’ demanded the director. ‘but sir, wouldn’t a battle axe be more appropriate? my brother used to play dungeons and dragons and he said the bigger guys always carried axes or halberds.’ it was quincy, the mircophone guy. he shifted his feet nervously as the director stared ominously at him.

‘look, i don’t care what you give him, but give him something because we’re running out of daylight and i need to get this scene finished.’

And in the end the studio had to pay for a reshoot of the whole swamp scene because management couldn’t sign off on an intervention at the hands of a Russian, or anyone carrying a Russian sounding name.

The director, who was allergic to swamp creatures, moaned to his wife and turned in his bed and asked why, why am I here?
To suffer and bleed and make something of this shit, she said.
He huffed and puffed and got out of bed and put on his sunglasses, socks and tie. He slurped some powder into his nose, stood up in front of the emblazoned mirror and began trying on underwear.
His wife looked at him bemused.
Your tie.
whaddaboudit.
Its going to look bad under your shirt.
He angrily started ripping at his tie, nearly choking himself to death like Baron von Muenchhausens suicidal brother.
Jesus this day gone broke! He relapsed in his old mommies tongue.
Don’t bear it in mind, said the wife. She’ll come around.
She came out of bed and embraced him.
He, drawing her with him, sat down on the ground and embraced her like a convert embraces a priest.
If you say so, he sighed.
He then got up and looked in the mirror and said
help me with my tie.
and so the day of the great director began in earnest, and this was the day of the reshoot of the swamp scene.

SWAMP SCENE

INT. SWAMP - DAY

the bubbles are unmistakable. A RUMBLING comes out of the near black in which we are located.
FAINT RAYS OF LIGHT come through the tarmac of green and reveal us to ourselves.

Igor delved in his soul and found a rubber Duckie. He tossed it outside of his body and it became a whirling storm that sucked him up and slurped him down the drainpipe of a bathtub of which faint memories remained intimate to his mind. He then slew seven dragons and twenty beasts with no heads - slaying them meant screwing on their heads - during which he got bit several times with rabies and other, more sinister madnesses, and for this he had to calmly flute herbs under a Buddhic tree and make a fire of a non-Buddhic tree and sit in the rain and smouldering ashes afterwards, contemplating everything one can do with an apple aside from eating it.

Igor now aimed his hypertrusive obstacular at the skies underneath and overhead and blasted.
What happened has been registered in and as every cartoon ever made.

Then he went out to eat, breakfast. It was noon. It was allowed. He had a hamburger and coffee.

And Munchausen aside, he grasped the iPhone in his pocket since he was expecting to vomit out a breakfast ill prepared by his wife, and suddenly forgot her name, and as he tried to recollect, a total loss occurred, in fact, the time of great reckoning was it hand, forgot everything about everything lead ing up to NOW, as if the instance, this, ate up every bit of memory had left, and no, he told himself, I will reboot one the taste of this badly prepared brew leaves my lovely apprehensive taste buds.
Igor was perturbed by Dracula, very much so because Dracula tried to out him, and he knew the rules befitting the service, otherwise his position of s double agent will be given up, even though it has been marginally been deposed and filed into some abandoned memory storage since microfilm days, dumped and forgotten.
So why should now be worried about dracula’s whereabouts and activities when Dracula was immersed in time travel as eagerly as he is?
He’ll if wife became overly inquisitive about his whereabouts, he could refrain from directly facing her underlings and proceed to tell her not to call any of drac’s acquaintances, drac he knew, was not much into too much daily exposure any way, and tried to keep it to the minimum.
In fact him and drac were attuned in certain ways to the swampy underground that meant certain exposure since Dostoevsky days when letters from underground didn’t mean much, and could not in a thousand ways indicate swampy terrain.

So slovenly forgot about the awful contents of the ill prepared breakfast brewed up by the missus, after stretching it out inordinately, and put on his well its another day another dollar day mask, went about his daily routine.

On a normal day, Igor has breakfast with coffee and hamburger - that is when he finds the opportunity to shove the wife’s conjuring in a plastic bag which he then maneuvers into his briefcase, which he possesses expressly for this purpose. The wife thinks Igor is an accountant, but Igor is in fact, a Man. In the occasional case where Igor is forced by his wife’s scruples to absorb into his digestive tract her conjurings, said digestive tract disallows the stufflings trespassing beyond a certain point, and addresses them back to sender in pulp form, yet Igor, polite being that he is, is compelled to find other locations into which to emit the retoured plasma than the Formica living-table, and in a bout of characteristic illuminance he has contacted a Finnish programmer he had remained in contact with from the days of “purple motion” and “second reality” to manufacture an iPhone app which will allow him to projectile vomit the plasma into to the phone-screen, where the app will secure its absorption and disposing into “the cloud”. However this morning it appears that the apps tolerance is still found wanting and the plasma smothers the physical object of the phone - meagre by proportion as the physically is next to the cloud-ness, the virtuality which holds the true significance of the device, despite its sleek design which is still, even covered in yellowish chunks, unmistakably American, and therefore real.