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01 October 2015 @ 01:00 pm
Halloween 2015: Lovers and Other Monsters  
Sounds of the Season:

I can't find the song about Maria Elena Oyoz. Or the sung version of "Fair Imogene."

So in the best spectral bridegroom tradition:

Alonzo The Brave And Fair Imogene (Kenneth Peacock)

A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright,
Conversed as they sat on the green;
They gazed at each other with tender delight;
Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,
And the maiden's was fair Imogene.

"And oh!" said the youth, "Since tomorrow I go
To fight in some far distant land,
Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow,
Some other will court you and you will bestow
On a wealthier suitor your hand."

"Hush hush these suspicions," fair Imogene said,
"Offensive to love and to me;
For if you be living or if you be dead,
I'll swear by the Virgin that none in your stead
Shall husband of Imogene be.

"If by ire or by lust or by wealth led aside
Forget my Alonzo the Brave,
God grant to punish my falsehood and pride
Your ghost at my marriage should sit by my side,
Should tax me with perjury, claim me as a bride,
And bear me away to the grave."

To Palestine hastened this hero so bold;
His love she lamented him sore;
But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed when behold,
A baron all covered with jewels and gold
Arrived at fair Imogene's door.

His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain,
Soon made her untrue to her vows;
He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain,
He caught her affection so light and so vain,
And carried her home as his spouse.

And now had the marriage been blessed by the priest;
The revelry now was begun;
The tables, they groaned with the weight of the feast;
Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,
When the bell at the castle tolled one.

When to her amazement fair Imogene found
A stranger was placed by her side;
His ire was terrific, he uttered no sound;
He spoke not, he moved not, he turned not around,
But earnestly gazed on the bride.

His visor was closed and gigantic his height;
His armour was sable to view;
All pleasure and laughter were hushed at his sight;
The dogs as they eyed drew back in a fright,
The lights in the chamber burned blue.

His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay,
The guests sat in silence and fear;
At length spake the bride, while trembling, "I pray,
Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay,
And deign to partake of our cheer."

The lady was silent, the stranger complied;
His visor he slowly unclosed;
Great God what a sight met fair Imogene's eyes,
What words can express her dismay and surprise,
When a skeleton's head was exposed!

All present then uttered a horrified shout;
And turned with disgust from the scene;
The worms, they crept in and the worms they crept out,
They sported his eyes and his temples about
While the spectre addressed Imogene:

"Behold me, thou false one, behold me," he cried,
"Remember Alonzo the Brave;
God grant that to punish thy falsehood and pride,
My ghost at your marriage should sit by your side,
Should tax you with perjury, claim you as a bride,
And bear you away to the grave."

So saying, his arms 'round the lady he wound,
While loudly she shrieked in dismay;
Then sank with his prey through the wide yawning ground,
And never again was fair Imogene found,
Or the spectre that bore her away.

Not long lived the baron and none since that time
To inherit his castle presume;
For chronicles tell that by order sublime,
There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime,
And mourns her deplorable doom.

At midnight four times in each year does her spright,
(While mortals in slumber are bound)
Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,
And she shrieks as he whirls her around.

While they drink out of skulls newly-torn from the grave,
Dancing 'round them the spectres are seen;
Their liquor is blood and this horrible stave
They held to the health of Alonzo the Brave,
And his consort, the fair Imogene."

####.... Variant of a ballad by Matthew Gregory Lewis [1775-1818] English novelist, playwright, poet, and composer, first published in his novel "Ambrosio the Monk" c.1790. Also a variant of a British broadside ballad, Alonzo The Brave, And The Fair Imogene, published by S. Carvalho (London) without a date, and archived at the Bodleian Lbrary Broadside Ballads, shelfmark: Harding B 5(45) ....####

Collected in 1952 from Harry Curtis of Joe Batt's Arm, NL, by Kenneth Peacock and published in Songs Of The Newfoundland Outports, Volume 2, pp.380-382, by the National Museum of Canada (1965) Crown Copyrights Reserved.

Kenneth Peacock noted that Mr. Curtis performed this Irish ghost ballad both as a song and as a recitation. Despite the rather good tune, Peacock admitted he preferred the recitation. Several children were present at the performance because it had been rumoured that Mr. Curtis was going to recite his famous ghost story for 'the man from Ottawa'. The performance, Peacock added, was really quite electrifying. As the story unfolded the children sat bug-eyed, hardly daring to breathe. Mrs. Curtis had placed herself near the oil lamp to be ready for the ghost's entrance when "the lights in the chamber burned blue." At this moment she suddenly turned down the wick, and the children broke out into squeals of delicious terror. From that moment on, Mr. Curtis had the audience in the palm of his hand.

Thursday Stuff:

Since we're on the topic of lovers and other monsters, have a taste from Hungry Hearts, available as ebook or paperback, here or at Amazon.

"Persephone is Bleeding" from Hungry Hearts

For one precious moment Clay remembered Sky, that broad expanse filled with creatures great and small. Their tawny, earth toned feathers flung wide, slicing through the heavens, and smaller rainbow-hued specimens flickered like fireworks in the trees.

Clay felt the all-too-bright shadow nearing, and dug his hands in deeper until he could feel the shapes of his eyeballs pressing against his palms. A gust of wind followed the contours of his body, and a soft brush of something striped his cheek, gentle like a lover’s kiss.

With it came what might have been a voice, and it felt as if he were trying to parse and purge a language to which he had long forgotten the words.

See me.

As incomprehensible as it was, his hands dropped from his lids, and it took him several moments to peer past the neon swirls and sparkling spatter that remained stuck to his irises. He blinked, trying to focus on the glowing shape, the shadows long shed. The figure leaned nearer, peering down through Clay’s eyes and into the depths where his soul lay hiding, curled up and cringing in a corner. What might have been its hand reached out toward him, and Clay’s eyes widened in wonder at the thought. Touch was not given here without layers of meaning and misery behind it; even Father’s loving touches came at a cost, and Clay always did his best to avoid those whenever possible. If it were not to punish or to ply his trade, Clay deemed touch unnecessary, an inevitable consequence of learning at Lucifer’s hand.

Instead, Clay listed into the stranger’s grip, its every sinew and finger and bone burning brightly against his skin. Clay felt his flesh blister beneath its palms, but even when the top layer of his skin dissolved beneath the crevices and crags of its hands, it still did not feel like one of Father’s touches. Lucifer had laid his fiery brands upon him and Clay’s soul had shrunk and shriveled at the weight of them. But at this creature’s touch his soul swelled, pressing back against its palm on his chest until it felt as if it held Clay’s heart in its hand.

And before Father’s fingers came to blind him once more, no more delicate than they had been in that time Before, Clay finally saw proof that the sky he remembered had not been like the stories Lucifer shared with him. He saw proof that he had not made up that spectacular shade that had haunted both his dreams and his nightmares for as long as Clay could recall. This strange creature had brought Clay the greatest gift he could possibly receive - more so than his freedom, even more than his role as Father’s right hand.

As his vision cleared, this light-bright, soul searing shadow brought him the one thing that no one else down here possibly could.


Creepy Pics of the Day:

Hosted by a non-con, underage snuff threesome.