The moon was shining brightly.

Swift and sure the prow of the night-boat parted the silvery foam.

The smell of young flesh. Peals of laughter. A breathless pianola. The tripping of dancing-feet. Voices husked with drink and voices soft with love. The shrill accents of vulgarity. Hustling waiters. Shop-girls. Bourgeois couples. Tired families of four and upward. Sleeping children. A boy selling candy. The crying of babies.

The two friends were sitting on the upper deck, muffled in their long rain-coats.

In the distance the Empire City rose radiant from the mist.

"Say, Ernest, you should spout some poetry as of old. Are your lips stricken mute, or are you still thinking of Coney Island?"

"Oh, no, the swift wind has taken it away. I am clean, I am pure. Life has passed me. It has kissed me, but it has left no trace."

He looked upon the face of his friend. Their hands met. They felt, with keen enjoyment, the beauty of the night, of their friendship, and of the city beyond.

Then Ernest's lips moved softly, musically, twitching with a strange ascetic passion that trembled in his voice as he began:

Huge steel-ribbed monsters rise into the air Her Babylonian towers, while on high, Like gilt-scaled serpents, glide the swift trains by, Or, underfoot, creep to their secret lair. A thousand lights are jewels in her hair, The sea her girdle, and her crown the sky; Her life-blood throbs, the fevered pulses fly. Immense, defiant, breathless she stands there.

And ever listens in the ceaseless din, Waiting for him, her lover, who shall come, Whose singing lips shall boldly claim their own, And render sonant what in her was dumb, The splendour, and the madness, and the sin, Her dreams in iron and her thoughts of stone.

He paused. The boat glided on. For a long time neither spoke a word.

After a while Jack broke the silence: "And are you dreaming of becoming the lyric mouth of the city, of giving utterance to all its yearnings, its 'dreams in iron and its thoughts of stone'?"

"No," replied Ernest, simply, "not yet. It is strange to what impressions the brain will respond. In Clarke's house, in the midst of inspiring things, inspiration failed me. But while I was with that girl an idea came to me--an idea, big, real."

"Will it deal with her?"

Ernest smiled: "Oh, no. She personally has nothing to do with it. At least not directly. It was the commotion of blood and--brain. The air--the change. I don't know what."

"What will it be?" asked Jack, with interest all alert.

"A play, a wonderful play. And its heroine will be a princess, a little princess, with a yellow veil."

"What of the plot?"

"That I shall not tell you to-day. In fact, I shall not breathe a word to any one. It will take you all by surprise--and the public by storm."

"So it will be playable?"

"If I am not very much mistaken, you will see it on Broadway within a year. And," he added graciously, "I will let you have two box-seats for the first night."

They both chuckled at the thought, and their hearts leaped within them.

"I hope you will finish it soon," Jack observed after a while. "You haven't done much of late."

"A similar reflection was on my mind when you came yesterday. That accounts for the low spirits in which you found me."

"Ah, indeed," Jack replied, measuring Ernest with a look of wonder. "But now your face is aglow. It seems that the blood rushes to your head swifter at the call of an idea than at the kiss of a girl."

"Thank God!" Ernest remarked with a sigh of relief. "Mighty forces within me are fashioning the limpid thought. Passion may grip us by the throat momentarily; upon our backs we may feel the lashes of desire and bathe our souls in flames of many hues; but the joy of activity is the ultimate passion."

Posted by Vladimir Wed, 06/20/2007 - 15:45

 

Vampire lore rooted in N.E.

November 3, 2007 (The Advocate / Jamie Deloma) -- Beliefs about spirits coming in the night to eat the flesh of the living were pervasive among early New Englanders, and may have inspired the creator of "Dracula" -- and fear of blood-sucking vampires lurking in the night.

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Unearthly assault alleged

February 9, 2008 (The Morning Call / Chris Parker) -- A Pottsville man convinced a 15-year-old girl he was part werewolf and part vampire before sexually assaulting her, police say. Kristian Allen Carl, 19, also believed he was a supernatural mixed breed, police say.

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Journey

What is this thing I'm feeling?
A flash of light burning through my veins.
Or is it just my soul they're stealing away.
Don't know how I started,
But I never want to stop.
Just want to keep on flying away.

Lights that flash
Burn my brain
Twisting colours
Break the frame
Another plane I want to go
Am I insane?
I just don't know.

Where is it I'm running?
Like a theif breaking through the night.
It doesn't really matter anyway.

Slicing through the darkness

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Chapter 02

With elastic step, inhaling the night-air with voluptuous delight, Reginald Clarke made his way down Broadway, lying stretched out before him, bathed in light and pulsating with life.

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Vampire-cult killer subject of French film on serial murders

March 22, 2008 (Orlando Sentinel / Adrian G. Uribarri) -- Vampire-cult leader Rod Ferrell claimed he would live forever. But as the convicted murderer serves a life sentence in prison, it's the story of his gruesome Lake County killings that just won't die.

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