The world is far more bizarre, More populated with oddities, Than we tend to believe, There may yet be things out there, Creatures unknown to science,
Things in the mountains, Beasts leaving fur in pine trunks, Things in the woods, Hiding in plain sight within blurry photos, Things under the waves, Prehistory in Celtic lochs, Perhaps even in the sewers, Cold-blooded jaws laying amidst the grime,
These things were myths, Figments of frightened minds, Mere pareidolia, But who knows? Man is not omniscient.
A scream of lightning sets our stage, An isolated home of high class, Draped in fog and black, Like a classic noir, Worthy of its own Poirot,
A form lays splayed on the ground, Waiting for its portrait in white chalk, Still lukewarm to the touch, And nobody knows who put it there, Save for one of course,
Was it the old mistress in the library? Spite drawn from kisses missed, Perhaps the butler in the bedroom? The old classic, Could it have been the Colonel in the hedge maze? Arrived with grudges to spare, Or the heir in the ballroom? The silver-haired child with most to gain,
Whether by bullet or blade or bludgeon, The guilt remains the same, And crime doesn’t pay forever, So will the culprit by caught? Or will it remain a murder mystery?
You moved forward, Healed and loved anew, Built this cottage of a new life, Thatch of new beginnings, Timbers of healthier boundaries, You found pride in this new homestead,
Yet spectres of past creatures encroach, They want to haunt your new home, Wailing falsities and evaded liabilities, They scratch at the windows, Caressing the glass, Begging to access you once more,
They’ll offer apologies and sugary tongues, But like the vampires of old, Don’t let them in, Withhold your invitations, Close the curtains, And sever the ties.
I dreamed I was set upon by wrongdoers, They wore masks of my own visage, Incarcerating me in my own den, Setting about butchers work upon me, Slicing and beating and burning,
A transformation by gore, Replacing my veins with barbed wire, Restitching the whole,
They plucked out my eyes, Garnets set in their place, Azure shifting bloody,
They screwed horns into my scalp, And forced fangs into my gums, As well as a Chelsea smile,
I shed no tears nor cried out, I was merely a spectator, An observer to the scalpels and needles,
I had been mutilated, A slaughtered scrap of meat, But there can be no doubt, I finally looked without, As I am within.
It’s been a rather emotional week already. Yesterday in particular was certainly a long one but we got through it. Yesterdays poem was rather important for me to write about the particular situation, but as I mentioned before I won’t be going into any details. I hoped the poem would at least give some clues without being all “Oh, woe is me!”, you know? So how about all of you? How are you all doing? I hope all of your personal and creative endeavours are going as well as they possibly can out there. It’s rather cold again, with some places getting a lot of snow so I’ve heard. You better be keeping safe out on the roads! The island generally tends to avoid snow most years, only receiving a bit of frost or sleet. As a bike rider, it’s a bit of a godsend.
So it’s the day of the week for the Harlequins writing music y’all! Did anybody see the clue today? It was something of a red herring in a way. The theme of the day could have been one of two ideas that I had and the clue kind of related to both. I can’t say it was planned though, it was just me being indecisive!
The theme of this weeks writing music is, in fact, vampires! It was either going to be vampires or canines. You see what I meant about the clue now? But yes, for this week, we’re talking about those bloodthirsty lord and ladies of the night. From Dracula to Nosferatu. From the Lost Boys to 30 days of night. From Queen of the damned to… I’m not going to say that sparkly vampire film because hell no! However they appear, they are most certainly a staple of the horror genre, though they often find themselves in other scenarios as well. As with many horrific creatures, they obviously have inspired artists of all kinds, not just musicians. It’s easy to be afraid of a creature that looks like us, but is something a whole more savage and unknowable. Musically, I think the mind would probably jump to the gothic subgenre, but there is other stuff out there. I’m going to attempt poorly to do that for you today. Want to see what I can do? Or rather the music artists can do?
Well then, join me as we delve into the musical minds of nocturnal artists the world over!
And there we have it for another week! What do you all think of these choices eh? Anybody else have a thirst for blood all of a sudden? Only me? Oh bugger. Well, remember if strange pallid looking gentlemen in old clothes knocks at your door, be sure to not invite them in. On the other hand, I hope you check out all of these artists and send them some love as well!
Speaking of some love, would you kindly allow me some? The social media kind that is! The asylum has some sites that are just salivating at the thought of you following or liking them. It would mean a great deal to me if you did check them out. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account over on Instagram and lastly and leastly a page over on Twitter as well. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well. Thanks for everything!
Encircled by black candles, I began the incantation tonight, With my bladed consort, Feeling her soft kiss, From wrist to chelidon, Leaving pools of mana on the altar,
Amidst chants of grunting pain, Casting the magic, Releasing the wine, Just ripe for the showpieces of the damned, Finger painting on the walls, Pinot in the chalices,
There is such art in this sorcery, Haemoglobin, Cruor, Lifeblood, And the dramatic flair of it all, The ultimate form of magic.
Our sloop suddenly halted in open water, Like a reef had struck us, Invoked by some pagan sea god, The ship listed sharply in newly churning waters, Bubbling, Creaking, Slithering,
Then it set upon us, Oddity given flesh, Seizing our vessel like a child’s toy, A thousand grey boughs from below, Bristling with vicious suckers, Shattering mast and severing rope, Plucking men like cockles,
This leviathan, No spear or axe could deter it, Lashing every inch of the deck, I was thrust overboard in the chaos, As I sank, I saw my friends die, Eaten doubly by fathom and beak both.
Do not call me a man, Nor a human, I am body horror, What appears a man, Is an abomination, A terror of mutilation and mutation each, A patchwork of flesh, Necrotic and otherwise,
Seeing from countless eyes, Not all mammalian, Speaking from many maws, Drool flowing from each, Each of the humours on display, All forms of improvement, Sores and incisions, Tentacles and fur,
This isn’t imagination, Not delusion, Just a real body, In abhorrent excess, Sutures and all.
Those eyes, Oh those eyes, Just like Medusa, Piercing and deadly, Tawny like spite, Her gaze is flanked by numerous serpents, Like a scaled bouquet for a crown, She chokes you with her speech, An invisible anaconda, A hiss slithering on every word, The venom almost visible on the air,
She hates what you did to her, How you punished her, Cursed her, But she can punish you now, Goddess or not, You try to flee, Yet the body rebels, She has you, In her coils and vision, You’ll be stone soon, Masonry for your own ruined temple.
At the end of the world, Under magmatic skies, A place I see in my fevered dreams, Only one thing still walks the wastes, Man had become a monster, A titan of flesh and bone, An amalgamated frankenstein of the populace, Eight billion bodies bound together, Making up muscles of great scale, Still trying to reach out, Still crying out in discord, Each step was met with cracks and tearing, Bone organ and ligament, Agony fuelling each movement,
Humanity had finally become what it deserved, A collosal corpse, Its transit was a cacophony of pain, Even under the distant rumbles of its tread, I could still hear the wailing.
WorldofHarley 