Onegoodwaytosolvehusbandproblems

The world of the dreamer…

January 17, 2015

Dancer

“In the world of the dreamer there was solitude: all the exaltations and joys came in the moment of preparation for living. They took place in solitude. But with action came anxiety, and the sense of insuperable effort made to match the dream, and with it came weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude again. And then in solitude, in the opium den of remembrance, the possibility of pleasure again.”

Anaïs Nin

a woman

Save the Earth…

January 17, 2015

savetheearth

The Vourdalak

January 17, 2015

Graveside

Picture if you will the small village of Lyovikha three hundred years ago. Narrow streets of sunbaked earth in high summer turning to glutinous mud with the first autumn rains. Box-like houses built of logs on each side of those streets. It is night and the silence is something almost tangible…

A scream abruptly cuts the stillness like a razor slash through tender flesh. In every single household the occupants wake and listen. More screams disturb the night. Agonising ululations that tell of a soul in torment. But the villagers, of course, do nothing. They are powerless…

Fear leaves them petrified. Fear of the Vourdalak. A beautiful but evil woman or female spirit. A particularly deadly species of vampire…

This one arrived on the night winds two months earlier. She fed remorselessly on the village’s headman until he was dead. His young, black-eyed wife she kept for her later entertainment. On the second day of her reign she sent for the six village elders. Each of these men in turn she emasculated, feeding greedily on the arterial blood from their ruined groins, before eviscerating them. It is said she held the still beating heart of one of them in her hands, raising it to her victims eyes before feeding on it…

Day after day, night after night, the Vourdalak engaged in a wild orgy of gore and sickening depravity. Men, both young and old, were powerless before her beauty. At her slightest encouragement they would open their own veins for her to drink, or mutilate themselves in the most unspeakable and terrible ways…

And the village woman became her play-things, providing her with flesh pleasures after she had fed on their men-folk. Her laughter and the women’s screams filled the night. She provided each of them in turn a glimpse of hell on earth…

The Vourdalak’s horrendous deprivations continued for five long dreadful months. Attracted to a young doe-eyed child-woman, she ordered that the girl be brought to her that night to share her bed. “I will make her my consort,” the creature claimed. “She will sit at my right-hand throughout eternity.” Unfortunately, when the girl arrived in the Vourdalak’s presence, she was heavily menstruating and the scent of sweet blood sent the vampire mad. The creature in a mindless frenzy tore the girl limb from limb…

So it was, inevitably, the village of Lyovikha became a place of ghosts. The Vourdalak having destroyed the villages three hundred and twenty-three inhabitants, moved on to pastures new. She scented fresh blood on the snow filled winds from the north…

So, boys & girls, forget Tolstoy’s pretty fairy-tales, forget Pushkin’s erroneous borrowings, and know that the Vourdalak is deadly. It will suck the very soul from your body and leave it in eternal torment. If confronted by one of these creatures, forget waving you crucifix in the air, forget your thrice blessed holy water. Instead run like feckin’ hell….