The Devil You Know
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Posted:Oct 1, 2022 9:14 pm
Last Updated:Mar 18, 2023 3:45 pm 3481 Views
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”I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair, but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me, and I don’t know why. My nightly blood lust has overflown, into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity … is about to slip.”
What deliciously sinful lines are they not? Cleverly crafted, well written and thought provoking. Not the sort of words that will get you 25 to life in eternal hell fire and brimstone just for speaking them, or pack 200 calories onto your backside just for indulging in the devilishly delightful way they roll off the tongue. Rather, the kind of words that give pleasure to those who like their movies spiced liberally with plenty of food for thought. Words that walk up the garden path of your subconscious … dain to politely knock on the door just to see if you’re home - and then if no answer is forthcoming, strong arm their way inside your head like some kind of daring daylight break and enter. Words I would have written myself - if only I had thought of them first.
Having said that, I sheepishly confess that I’ve never watched American Pycho - but not without good reason. Thrillers just aren’t my cup of tea. Such tedious things as human beings perpetrating mundane acts of murder and such. Colonel Mustard did it in the study with the candlestick - or - Lordy, Lordy Mrs. White bludgeoned him to death with a lead pipe in the Ballroom. Come on! I prefer my villains to be not of the normal, but rather the paranormal variety. Fiends you can’t see. Monsters that know exactly what keeps you up at night … and exactly what it takes to scare you. To me, that’s much more entertaining than watching a criminal mastermind plot his dastardly deeds, while the voices in his head egg him on like some perverted version of the Green Bay Packers cheerleading squad on Super Bowl Sunday. To me, it’s the devil you don’t know that can really scare the bejesus out of you … not the devil you do.
“I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity … is about to slip.” Yup, nicely written indeed. Thanks once again Patrick Bateman for inspiring something fresh and off the beaten path for this Halloween.
~~ Isabella
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Masque of the Red Death
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Posted:Sep 26, 2022 9:13 pm
Last Updated:Mar 18, 2023 3:46 pm 3494 Views
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As October swiftly approaches I thought I would share one of my favorite tales from Edgar Allan Poe. The imagery is magnificent, the story intellectually horrifying .. the ending masterfully well written. It’s one of those rare times where even Death wears a mask as He walks among us. Perfect reading for a cozy evening huddled next to the fireplace with someone you love. But don't forget to leave a light burning in the hallway .. just in case.
The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its avatar and its seal .. the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness .. and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court .. and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the Prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The Prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven - an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange .. the fifth with white .. the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet - a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the firelight that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervade the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm - much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which must have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these .. the dreams .. writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff - frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away .. they have endured but an instant .. and a light, half subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumour of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise - then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the Prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood - and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him - "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him .. that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly - for the Prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the Prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the Prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uniterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple - through the purple to the green - through the green to the orange - through this again to the white - and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry .. and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presenced of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
Edgar Allan Poe
The Mask of the Red Death
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Leave The Door Open
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Posted:Sep 23, 2022 10:05 pm
Last Updated:Sep 27, 2022 9:51 am 3574 Views
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”We are a dangerous breed, you and I. We are lock pickers. We are dangerous to others and ourselves. It is always a great risk to open a door if you don’t know what’s behind it.”
Said baby, said baby, said baby
What you doing? (What you doing?)
Where you at? (Where you at?)
Oh, you got plans (You got plans?)
Don’t say that (Shut your trap)
I’m sipping wine (sip, sip) in a robe (drip, drip)
I look too good (look too good) to be alone (woo-woo)
My house clean (house clean), my pool warm (pool warm)
Just shaved (smooth like a newborn)
We should be dancing, romancing
In the east wing and the west wing
Of this mansion, what’s happening?
I ain’t playing no games
Every word that I say is coming straight from the heart
So if you tryna lay in these arms
I’mma leave the door open
(I’mma leave the door open)
I’mma leave the door open, girl
(I’mma leave the door open, hoping)
That you feel the way I feel
And you want me like I want you tonight, baby
(Tell me that you’re coming through)
Ooh, you’re so sweet (so sweet), so tight (so tight)
I won’t bite (ah-ah), unless you like (unless you like)
If you smoke (what you smoke?) I got the haze (Purple Haze)
And if you’re hungry, girl, I got fillets (woo-woo)
Ooh, baby, don’t keep me waiting (waiting)
There’s so much love we could be making (shamone)
I’m talking kissing, cuddling
Rose petals in the bathtub
Girl, let’s jump in, it’s bubbling
I ain’t playing no games
Every word that I say is coming straight from the heart
So (if you) if you (tryna) tryna lay in these arms
I’mma leave the door open
(I’mma leave the door open)
I’mma leave the door open, girl
(I’mma leave the door open, hoping)
That you feel the way I feel
And you want me like I want you tonight, baby
(Tell me that you’re coming through) come on, girl
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (I need you, baby)
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (I gotta see you, baby)
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (girl, I’m tryna give you this)
Ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah
Hey-hey, I’mma leave my door open, baby (I’mma leave the door open)
I’mma leave, I’mma leave my door open, girl
(I’mma leave the door open, hoping) and I’m hoping, hoping
That you feel the way I feel
And you want me like I want you tonight, baby
(Tell me that you’re coming through) woo!
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (tell me)
(Tell me that you’re coming through)
Woo-woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo
Woo-woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo, woo-woo
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (la-la-la, la-la)
(Tell me that you’re coming through)
Girl, I’m here just waiting for you (oh!)
Come on over, I’ll adore you (I gotta know!)
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (I’m waiting, waiting, waiting)
(Tell me that you’re coming through) for you
Girl, I’m here just waiting for you
Come on over, I’ll adore you
La-la-la, la-la-la-la (la-la, la-la)
Leave the Door Open
Bruno Mars and Silk Sonic
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The Night is Not Forever
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Posted:Sep 10, 2022 11:45 am
Last Updated:Mar 18, 2023 3:48 pm 3734 Views
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Today I found myself thinking of you after a long, long time. My dreams have been restless and strange for the last few days and I have been very sick with Covid. Still, there must be a reason you came to mind even though my life has moved forward since those days when we were friends. Even though it isn’t your birthday and even though I’m clearly delirious - I thought I would post this again to mark the moment. You still mean something to me.
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I’ve always wondered … what do you say to someone when you’ve already said it all? When the silence between you becomes so loud it’s almost deafening? When you want to hold on but it’s clear they’ve already let go - and the distance between you becomes too much to bear?
It’s been so long since you touched my life that an emptiness now takes the place of your smile. Details begin to fade, emotions become dull as my heart tries to forget. That last divine spark of inspiration glows and I salvage one final creation from what used to be a never ending fountain of words. A poem that will stand as my gift to you on this very special day .. your Birthday.
I’ll ring the bell and slip the paper under the door, praying that you might still be home - even at this late hour. And if you are, I hope that you will see these words lying there on your doorstep. Soft whispers in the growing silence .. tied up in ribbons of blue.
Sunshine lights the rainbow path, that’s where you led me to
Memories woven with strands of gold, tied up in the essence of blue
You take me to places most never find, where time simply ceases to be
A wish and a prayer and I’m almost right there, on the shores of the Arabian Sea
And the soft breezes blow as my heart calls your name, my soul lying bare at your feet
And I sing you a song of surrender and hope, knowing soon in my dreams we will meet
Over distance and time I have searched for the one, someone so perfect and true
Never knowing sweet words could seduce me until, I found myself falling for you
But now the sun sets on the times that we shared and I try to hold on but it seems
I turn to find you have already gone, fading like mist in my dreams
But still the sun shines on the rainbow path, that’s where you take me to
Memories woven with strands of gold, tied up in the essence of you.
With all my love,
Isabella
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The Good Stuff
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Posted:Aug 7, 2022 12:47 pm
Last Updated:Sep 29, 2022 9:19 pm 4171 Views
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”Somewhere in the last couple of years, I’ve really grasped the concept of the brevity of time,” he says. “It’s very, very fleeting. No matter how many years are ahead of us, it will all be gone very quickly. I don’t want to miss any of it.”~ Keith Urban
Well, me and my lady had our first big fight
So I drove around ‘till I saw the neon lights
Of a corner bar and it just seemed right so I pulled up
Not a soul around but the old bar keep
Down at the end lookin’ half asleep
But he walked up and said, “What’ll it be?”
I said, The good stuff”
He didn’t reach around for the Whiskey
He didn’t pour me a Beer
His blue eyes kinda went misty
He said, “You can’t find that here”
‘Cause it’s the first long kiss on a second date
Momma’s all worried when you get home late
And droppin’ the ring in the spaghetti plate
‘Cause your hands are shakin’ so much
And it’s the way that she looks with the rice in her hair
Eatin’ burnt suppers the whole first year
And askin’ for seconds to keep her from tearin’ up
Yeah man, that’s the good stuff
He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass
And I smiled and said, “I’ll have some of that”
We sat there and talked as an hour passed like old friends
I saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare
It was a pretty girl with bouffant hair
He said, “That’s my Bonnie, taken ‘bout a year after we wed”
He said, “I spent five years in the bar when the cancer took her from me”
“But I’ve been sober three years now”
“‘Cause the one thing stronger than the Whiskey”
‘Was the sight of her holdin’ my baby girl
The way she adored that string of pearls
I gave her the day that our youngest boy Earl
Married his high school love
And it’s a new t-shirt sayin’ I’m a grandpa
Bein’ right there as our time got small
And holdin’ her hand when the good Lord called her up
Yeah man that’s the good stuff
He said, “When you get home she’ll start to cry”
“When she says, I’m sorry, say so am I”
“Look into those eyes so deep in love and drink it up”
“Cause that’s the good stuff”
That’s the good stuff
The Good Stuff
Kenny Chesney
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Summer Nights
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Posted:Aug 5, 2022 7:54 pm
Last Updated:Aug 5, 2022 8:02 pm 4178 Views
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We swam all day. We ran down the dock, our wet feet slapping on the sun bleached boards and made sloppy dives and cannonballs into the lake. We tooled around on paddle boards and kayaks. We floated lazily on inner tubes, fingers trailing in the water. We talked, we sang along to the radio and told jokes and cracked each other up. Then we pulled ourselves up onto lounge chairs, jammed straw hats over our faces, stretched out and fell asleep in the hot summer sun. When we woke, we raided the coolers for cold drinks, ate chips and salsa, jumped back in the lake and dripped water over our magazines and paperback books. When the sun had tipped into the afternoon sky we pulled shorts and tank tops over our swimsuits and padded into the house to make a big summer feast of a dinner.
The gardens were overflowing and the farmers market stalls had been too tempting to resist that week so the house was full of summer vegetables and fresh fruits. We handed two dozen ears of corn to a few of our group who carried them out to the back porch to shuck off the fresh leaves into brown paper bags. We lit the barbecue and laid out thick slices of seasoned eggplant and squash and tiny new potatoes. We marinated portobello mushrooms and added them sizzling to the grill. I had an Italian grandma who taught me that when vegetables were in the peak of their season (as all of our haul were), to show them simply with good olive oil, garlic, a bit of sea salt and an herb or two. We had buckets of fresh tiny tomatoes from the garden and I made them into an insalata di pomodori per grandma’s recipe with lots of fresh basil torn in. As the vegetables were coming off the grill I cut thick slices of farm bread (two loaves at least), rubbed them all over with fresh garlic, drizzled olive oil and sprinkled salt and pepper and set them on the grill to crisp. As we were all coming to the table I laid huge trays of the bruschetta, topped with grandma’s tomatoes in the centre. Here were the grilled vegetables, the fresh salads, the hot sweet corn and plates of fresh guacamole, homemade hummus and salsas and herby pestos.
We talked over each other, reached for dishes, passed them, ate off each other’s plates, poured cold water into cups, dug beer out of the cooler and bottles of Rose and Prosecco and ate and ate and ate. We stayed at the table talking as the sun started to sink down behind the trees, pushed our plates back and lit citronella candles to ward off summer bugs. Someone brought out bowls of fresh berries and a hot cobbler from the oven. “No!” we cried. ‘No more! We can’t!” But we found a way. We carried our plates into the house and some kind soul started washing dishes. Someone started to dry. We turned up the radio and sang as we tidied and wiped down the counters. I snuck to my room and pulled on an old pair of lounge pants and a warm soft hoodie. My skin was sun kissed and chilled and the fresh clothes felt so good. I washed my face, put on some lip balm and found my flip flops and headed back out. Now there was a fire and all the chairs had been pulled up around it. We propped our feet up and looked at the stars that were just starting to show. Fireflies were blinking in the trees and a breeze brought the smell of water into our noses.
There is a feeling on summer nights when you look up at the sky and suddenly remember how old the Universe is. How big it is and how small and simple you are. It is always a comfort to me to remember that I am small and so may as well take some joy where I find it and set aside my worries and grudges. I looked around at the faces of my friends, the firelight shining in their eyes, laughing and talking and making memories together. I felt simple contentment and gratitude to be where I was and with them. I leaned my head back against the old Adirondack chair and took a deep breath of summer night air. Tonight I would sleep, deep and peaceful.
Nothing Much Happens
Kathryn Nicolai
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