naked witches

December 9, 2017

Mine are the lusts of hoofs and horns,
Of the he-goat and the loon
And the naked witches that demons deflower
On the dark side of the moon.

No common sin may fire my eyes,
Glutted with excesses fell —
My lust is stained with the dung that stirs
On the stinking streets of Hell.

Robert E Howard
Letter to Tevis Clyde Smith September 1930

as if evil crept in

October 20, 2017

When he was dead I raised myself to my feet and I looked about me. Everything was still. A loneliness had come upon my soul.

There was darkness everywhere now but in the forest. And even here there were wisps of grey, as if evil crept in.

I lifted my head to the sky and I shook my fist. “Oh, I reject you. I reject your Heaven and I reject your Hell. Do as you wish with me, but know that your desires are petty and your ambitions have no meaning!”

I addressed no one. I addressed the universe. I addressed a void.

Michael Moorcock
The War Hound and the World’s Pain

where they work much evil

October 10, 2017

…all the Irish, believe that the fairies are the fallen angels who were cast down by the Lord God out of heaven for their sinful pride. And some fell into the sea, and some on the dry land, and some fell deep down into hell, and the devil gives to these knowledge and power, and sends them on earth where they work much evil. But the fairies of the earth and the sea are mostly gentle and beautiful creatures, who will do no harm if they are let alone, and allowed to dance on the fairy raths in the moonlight to their own sweet music, undisturbed by the presence of mortals…

Lady Wilde
Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms and Superstitions of Ireland

something not quite right

September 8, 2017

8 th September

Evening peels the clothes from women’s bodies
until at last their soul’s revealed
the smile locked up inside
Clothed a dream dangles from a hanger
Lips whisper in the shadows
Hands slide from walls
and entwine at the ankles of desire
while the evening uninvites
the thorns of the day

#

There’s something terribly onanistic about the act of creative writing (creative anything, in truth!). At best it’s hard. But if you are forced to it for survivals sake, if it’s not something you WANT to do in the first place, then that certainly defines hell on earth.

#

Her hands are cold
and she smells, not of talc,
but of something not quite right.
She pulls me against her beads,
hugs me for ages,
then stares her lilac eyes
straight in my face.

These creatures, once women, perhaps, dance on the moor at night. They tempt the careless traveler: the backpacker camping for the night, the loving couple exchanging caresses near the stream – all are potential prey! They have no fear, these night things, and will plunge into the abyss without thought. They can transform themselves into night birds and fly back out again or cross the dimensions if they so wish.

Their smiles are deadly.

And from their icy gaze there is no escape –

26th August

Medusa lost her head, but she was only trying to defend herself. These things are a simple matter of perspective –

Both Pandora the first woman in Greek myth and Eve the first woman in Christian myth disobeyed divine prohibition with dire consequences for humanity. Are they male myths revealing the true nature of women? Or anti-feminist fables? Again Perspective is all important –

Tertullian denounced women thus:

“Do you not know that each of you is an Eve? God’s sentence on your gender lives even in our times, and so it is necessary that the guilt must also continue. You are the one who opened the devil’s door; you unseated the forbidden tree; you first betrayed the divine law; you are the one who enticed him whom the devil was too weak to attack. How easily you destroyed man, the image of God! Because of the death which you brought upon us, even the Son of God had to die.” (On the Apparel of Women, 1, 1.) –

The misogyny of the Christian Church fathers grew and multiplied throughout the middle ages –

But then “a witch-angel polarity emerged in attitudes toward women. The sexually active were often associated with the underworld devil, while those with unruptured hymens were adored on a par with heavenly angels. Virgins had virtue because, as the roots of these words indicate, they had male (Latin, vir) restraint. “Ava” was Gabriel’s greeting to Mary, according to Jerome, because the Nazareth virgin reversed the bad name of “Eva,” the sexual siren of Eden. The exalted “Queen of Heaven” of the cult of Mary set in bolder relief ” witches” who, by means of satanic voluptuousness, enchained men for consignment to hell.”

The gateway to hell was unknown until Tertullian located it between the legs of a woman. However, if we turn to Chaucer, his wife of Bath has this to say:

“If women had but written stories;
As have these clerks within their oratories,
They would have written of men more wickedness
Than all the race of Adam could redress.”

All about perspective again.

#

Dinner party for eight tonight. Veggie lasagne followed by strawberries and cream, and a vat of wine.

Hell

July 30, 2017

Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide –

John Milton
Paradise Lost (Book IV)

write my own fears…

October 16, 2016

woman-and-candles

I’ll tell you now. That silence almost beat me. It’s the silence that scares me. It’s the blank page on which I can write my own fears. The spirits of the dead have nothing on it. The dead one tried to show me hell, but it was a pale imitation of the horror I can paint on the darkness in a quiet moment.

Mark Lawrence
Prince of Thorns

Hell…

October 11, 2016

quick-glimpse-of-hell

You know nothing. Hell is only a word. The reality is much, much worse.

Event Horizon (1997)
Written by Philip Eisner, with an unaccredited rewrite by Andrew Kevin Walker, and directed by Paul W. S. Anderson.

a-room-the-damned

It was a sound and a movement that brought me back into myself. The great clock at the farther end of the room just then struck the hour of three. That was the sound. And the movement – ? I was aware that a figure was passing across the distant centre of the floor. Instantly I dropped back into the arena of my little human terror. My hand again clutched stupidly at the pistol butt. I drew back into the folds of the heavy curtain. And the figure advanced.

I remember every detail. At first it seemed to me enormous – this advancing shadow – far beyond human scale; but as it came nearer, I measured it, though not consciously, by the organ pipes that gleamed in faint colours, just above its gradual soft approach. It passed them, already halfway across the great room. I saw then that its stature was that of ordinary men. The prolonged booming of the clock died away. I heard the footfall, shuffling upon the polished boards. I heard another sound – a voice, low and monotonous, droning as in prayer. The figure was speaking. It was a woman. And she carried in both hands before her a small object that faintly shimmered – a glass of water. And then I recognized her.

There was still an instant’s time before she reached me, and I made use of it. I shrank back, flattening myself against the wall. Her voice ceased a moment, as she turned and carefully drew the curtains together behind her, closing them with one hand. Oblivious of my presence, though she actually touched my dressing gown with the hand that pulled the cords, she resumed her dreadful, solemn march, disappearing at length down the long vista of the corridor like a shadow.

But as she passed me, her voice began again, so that I heard each word distinctly as she uttered it, her head aloft, her figure upright, as though she moved at the head of a procession:

“A drop of cold water, given in His name, shall moisten their burning tongues.”

It was repeated monotonously over and over again, droning down into the distance as she went, until at length both voice and figure faded into the shadows at the farther end.

For a time, I have no means of measuring precisely, I stood in that dark corner, pressing my back against the wall, and would have drawn the curtains down to hide me had I dared to stretch an arm out. The dread that presently the woman would return passed gradually away. I realized that the air had emptied, the crowd her presence had stirred into activity had retreated; I was alone in the gloomy under-space of the odious building…. Then I remembered suddenly again the terrified women waiting for me on that upper landing; and realized that my skin was wet and freezing cold after a profuse perspiration. I prepared to retrace my steps. I remember the effort it cost me to leave the support of the wall and covering darkness of my corner, and step out into the grey light of the corridor. At first I sidled, then, finding this mode of walking impossible, turned my face boldly and walked quickly, regardless that my dressing gown set the precious objects shaking as I passed. A wind that sighed mournfully against the high, small windows seemed to have got inside the corridor as well; it felt so cold; and every moment I dreaded to see the outline of the woman’s figure as she waited in recess or angle against the wall for me to pass.

Was there another thing I dreaded even more? I cannot say. I only know that the first baize doors had swung to behind me, and the second ones were close at hand, when the great dim thunder caught me, pouring up with prodigious volume so that it, seemed to roll out from another world. It shook the very bowels of the building. I was closer to it than that other time, when it had followed me from the goblin garden. There was strength and hardness in it, as of metal reverberation. Some touch of numbness, almost of paralysis, must surely have been upon me that I felt no actual terror, for I remember even turning and standing still to hear it better. “That is the Noise,” my thought ran stupidly, and I think I whispered it aloud; “the Doors are closing.” The wind outside against the windows was audible, so it cannot have been really loud, yet to me it was the biggest, deepest sound I have ever heard, but so far away, with such awful remoteness in it, that I had to doubt my own ears at the same time. It seemed underground – the rumbling of earthquake gates that shut remorselessly within the rocky Earth -stupendous ultimate thunder. They were shut off from help again. The doors had closed.

THE DAMNED
Algernon Blackwood

face your own wickedness…

September 17, 2016

reading2

“Back, devil! Return thee to Hell!”

The beast rolled its eyes. “I am not a devil, fool. Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigour? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.”

Brom
Krampus: The Yule Lord