Vampire

Saint Germain

“What is a man? A miserable little pile of secrets!” - Count Dracula, Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

Vampires, by common folk, are known as the absolute masters of the night. They are powerful, Violent, and terrifying beyond measure. Despite that, one of the defining traits of the master vampire is his unfailing ability to draw others to him, to bind them to his service, and to subjugate them with his awe."

"Jacques St. Germain, The Infamous Louisiana Vampire

Flawless skin that never seems to age. Eyes that pierce into your soul. Never hungry, but always thirsty. Powerfully charming, yet peculiar. They draw you in with their fascinating stories and hypnotic voices; but you can’t help but think something seems a little strange.

But you go anyway, down into the depths of their dark, eerie palace where their “treasures” lie, only to realize that you are their next pawn. You clench all of your muscles as chills run down your spine.

Someone’s thirsty.

As they flash their crooked smile and you see teeth sharp as a knife, you know you’ve found yourself in the midst of a monster you’ve only heard about in books."

Often his attempts at self-defense begin with collisions between the hypersexual and the demonic, for such extremities easily confront fear as in “Metamorphoses of the Vampire.” Looking at this poem has the obvious advantage of a familiar, folkloric subject matter but, moreover, it shows the nervously decadent ways the …

Baudelaire

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“The value of being unpopular, is a masochist’s dream & there is no more unpopular a being than that, which sneaks up in the middle of Hobbsian slumbers, and sucks the living daylight out of the victim”

meno

For here is a gothic verse to decode an abstract vilified strongheld abyss of escape from, even as a subscript of Ecce homo.

"One size poem fit for all

Thanks for dethroned queen who abjectly forwarded Attila’s sword into the eternal green piece of creation, when retracting to aesthetic distance in consideration of reassemblage of other parts, where those others may view proportionality more in vogue, then an eternal socratic memory can embellish with.In this way hold the coming peace in suspence, so that the very young not be pierced by the obstruce yet sublime disproportion.

That venture on such course in dharmic memory’s tantra for the countless generations to come.

As if turning and others, polanyi, von neumann could foresee the coming strong hold for the sake of the antipolitical."

comfortably leading into my next post of which I am not always as civilized as this Hungarian wordsmith and littérateur…

Draco says:

If it were not for reality, i’d take this on pain’s promise, as it were.

…from hilo’s abyss,: from animal to man, a gentle silken touch !

Of course You’re right ! And the dissapont few drops trickle down as the fear’s sudden downward track turn into a lost gratitude.

Of course, common precaption. based sensibility is in the vogue which suggests otherwise then the old tale of a child recognizing the emperor’s not having clothes on.

Case at point, a beach here, displays a woman’s almost complete undress, other then the translucent skimpy bikini.

Most everybody ignores such flagrant revelation,
whery little left to the imaginatjon, this mostly is left behind in the annals of fashionable history.

The flagrantly deformed vestige hiding from the daylight is what we were, where we came from and what we fear most.

How to face it in a world of beauty, of narcissistic necessary defenses, the feeding of beautifying manicurged facelifts .

Of all pre shocked insulated Carl Solomon’s who can only fathom a partial inch of the miles of undertow, that prepossess the fear of fallinh?

Then the self thought men, out of. a … vertigo
spiraling fearlessly downwards & downwards concurrently by the duper man whose silken cord betwixt anilal -& man cum god, who broke ranks & not broken on the galloping murgetroy of a silvered buckle way west Roy.

This same self thaught inside the gothic sincracy become idiotic, means to deliniate the jig bubble and lay it bare upon half way fallen in the plains of battlefield stretched out into infamous dare, for none can go there without.

And that is what the teen age half wit of ‘I was a teenage vampire’ found out way back in 1957.

Way West - JW Roy - Way West - Deeper Shades - Playlist - Is this correct? I listened to Way West - I will listen to all of Deeper Shades if I am right.

& what if You’re wrong?

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Well, maybe I will listen to it anyway.

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The music is actually not unpleasant.

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Vampire == socialists - usurping other people’s money - leaving them dried up and dead - lost in their own head - light on them makes them oh so catty - must be why they are oh so batty.

Yes and more: an unfinished symphony, a cocophony of sorts.

An alchemist to be continued. Leaving on a jet plane now.

Later.

The vamp for sure caught in torment, potentially thrown blindly into the cruel sun.

A search for the elixir, the Sun also rising, as did the scorpion, redux.

A long time then caught in the middle of the brew, searching .

The cave was dark yet alluring somehow as if darkness depended. On IT.

And IT’s mark one day actually many days left and the repressive light not coming as well through, in the most glorious Son, he needed escape.

But how with atheophied eyes still some images ever so strained suppressed by visit to colonies, colonies of them unrecognizable for the lack of light.

Colonies re-pressed into the almost timeless indentations, the hiding places where he was still.

Born if an ideal half shelled out of sea vision see. Where all light suddenly lastly summer, using all clever tricks and …

Well in that still night of soulless search for signs , he transformed himself into bug eyed worm filled book ends.

And the half shell became electric and beauty became that electric magnetic machine through which mesmerized, layed out in divans of fortune.

From there, slipping and sliding the repression through stings of colonized and perfectly synched.

image linked brotherhood , a play, but an earnest one for the ethereal , the most assimilated and near identical specimens, transforming into carbon clpies. re-integrating and forming and reforming and he was through compliance into that form, ejaculating copies …

His magic of salvation, the literalization liberated, his transformative power into the roach he became, engendered the sweet elixir of love that only bees’colonies can dish out of petals so sweet, as to exite the tendrils in spring.

White raw honey spurts in spring. The life of bees is short, how short?

Here is the rundown :

How long do honey bees live?
Average life span of the honey bee by colony member
Worker Spring/Summer born: 6 - 7 weeks Autumn born: 4 - 6 months
Queen 3 - 6 years
Drone 55 days

What ? The shortness of their life is astounding.

Europa was raped by Zeus, and armies of bees ejeculated just short of extasy. Her coming brilliance foreshadowed a very long and drawn out possession of thr colonies, without any sign if afterthought of oreviews, except a few German pessimists who turned eastward

Repressiveness if colonies was brought hazardly, filled with future perfect unknowns, and
liberal hibernated bears foraged the rain forests .

observr524 says :

=“socialists - usurping other people’s money - leaving them dried up and dead - lost in their own head - light on them makes them oh so catty - must be why they are oh so batty. ”

Yes and more yet there seems no solution, is there? But I do apologize for giving the wrong impression fortnight.

Vampires are created , not constructed like Frankenstein.

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and both seem equally scary to me - but for the sake of writing…for the sake of creativity…and for the sake of imagination…

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Insurence for Polidori, Lord Byron’s doctor who should have taken , in gambling with Shelley’s wife Mary, who went all out on Frankenstein. If he were alive now, he could have known that it is better to loose at least some, so that he would not have gone all out for betting for a romantic idiom, for which he paid the ultimate prize.

Did he, could he not have foreseen that ?

No, he was betting going hog on it’s success, whereby creating a bad paper trail for The Count!

The count had this pre-figured, and needed fresh blood. The poor soul was thus indebted to Mary, and as with all bad loosers, he paid a very heavy price.

Poor soul he was only 25 to take such a bad hit!