Vampires at the Garden

I recently found a treasure chest of online videos… a stockpile of episodes of the old seventies soap opera… Dark Shadows. You know the one, featuring our favorite fanged fiend, Barnabas Collins… a sexy New England vampire. Watching a few of those episodes threw me right back to my early adolescence. Not that I ever spent much time watching Dark Shadows… that was a special treat that only seemed to happen while visiting my older cousin, Lulu, who was a die-hard fan (pun intended).



But what it brought to mind were all the Saturday afternoons spent down at the Garden Theater, watching double feature vampire movies. All the kids from school seemed to have the same idea. Our parents probably thought it was a good idea, too… getting rid of the kids for four hours at a crack for really cheap… I think it cost 30 or 50 cents to get in back then. My, how times have changed.



My memories of those Saturday afternoons are somewhat fuzzy, but I can recall with crystal clarity the taste of the many root beer barrels and lemon drops that I consumed in that old-fashioned theater… not to mention boxes of hot buttered popcorn.. with real butter, no fake coconut oil that the concessions staff have to tell you each time you ask for butter that the coconut oil tastes just like butter. If it really did, they wouldn’t have to keep telling you that. I guess, these days, they figure, if they just say it often enough, we’ll eventually believe that it’s true. After all, it works for George Bush.



But I digress. They were always vampire movies. Two vampire movies, back to back, week after week, and we never got tired of them. My favorite one was called, “The Fearless Vampire Killers, or Pardon Me, But Your Teeth are in My Neck.” When I saw that movie, I think that was the first time that I ever saw garlic that didn’t come out of a jar. The villagers were wearing big strings of garlic bulbs around their necks to ward off attacks from vampires. Since then, I’ve always enjoyed buying garlic by the bulb and chopping my own for stir fries.



I couldn’t really tell you what the appeal of all those vampire movies was, but I must admit, they got into my blood, and I ended up reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Quite the gothic horror, that. Imagine how surprised my young mind was to discover that it was a love story of sorts. Imagine trying to make sense out of that at the tender age of thirteen or fourteen… right about the time when blood takes on a huge significance in the lives of young girls who are getting their first period. Finding a man who likes to drink our blood would eventually take on a whole nuther significance, but at that time, we just saw it as a vague hope of getting out of gym class.



Fast forward a few decades, to where I had left my interest in vampires far behind, or so I thought. Then, I started dating a man, an artist who seduced me by showing me my own reflection (I guess he was trying to avoid having me look for his). Yes, he seduced me by showing me my own reflection, by liking me and admiring me for all the things that I had always wanted someone to recognize in me… the things that I had always wanted someone to love about me… by seeing who I really was, and celebrating that.



And no sooner had he succeeded in seducing me, and in winning my heart...than he took that heart and ripped it out of my chest and left me for dead. He shattered the mirror that he had created. Now, everything that had reflected back at me so beautifully was just so many shards of glass floating in a bucket of muck. The things that he had so recently admired in me became the objects of his ridicule and scorn. He reveled in his own cruelty.



But this man had many mirrors at his disposal, and he hurried to replace the old one so that I would not be left with nothing to remind me of him. The new mirror that he held up to me was cloudy and spattered with mud and the shredded bits of my own heart, still palpitating in sorrow for the loss of my beloved illusions. His supply of crystal clear mirrors seemed to be infinite, but I knew that I would never gaze upon my own reflection in one of those mirrors again. Those were reserved for the new women in his life.



And each time he unveiled one of those crystal clear mirrors to a new lover, he secretly wrote her name on its clouded and vile counterpart. I saw him do this many times from my new vantage point of “friend,” until one day, when I relayed my tale to a friend, she gasped and said,



“He’s a vampire.”



I smiled my confusion.



“Oh, yes,” she continued. “He’s a vampire, alright. But he’s not after your blood. He’s after your energy. He can’t live without it. And when he’s drained you of all your energy, he goes and looks for it somewhere else. This man will never be satisfied with anyone.”



Well, I have to admit, it struck a chord. Hadn’t I stopped eating for two weeks after he shattered my beloved mirror? Hadn’t I almost died as a result? And after I revived myself, no thanks to him, didn’t he keep chipping away at me until I no longer knew who I was or believed that anyone could ever see the things in me that he had seen… the things I used to be able to see in myself before he ever came into my life?



I became curious about vampires all over again. I wanted to understand the correlation between the mythic, bloodsucking creatures that inhabited the fog and gloom of misty mountain villages in Transylvania and the real-life, energy sucking creatures that inhabit the fog of my self-image in the misty nether regions of my consciousness. I still had that same copy of Dracula that I had read so many years ago. I read it again, and I began to understand.



I had been surrounding myself for years with people who drained my energy. It was no wonder I was always depressed… always running on empty. I had nowhere to go and get recharged, and if I did, I worried that I might be doing the same to others… Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, right?



I can’t even begin to say that I’ve eliminated the energy vampires from my life (although I did give the boot to that artist about 8 years ago), but at least now I’m able to recognize them sooner rather than later. But perhaps not soon enough. After all, since coming to Prague, I’ve met and lived with so many different people… the people who have peopled the pages of this blog. Some of them have been pirates, and some of them have been vampires. You know who the pirates are… they have pirate names… Pegleg, Sinbad, Jolly, Ms. L, Cabin Boy (not quite up to pirate rank, but in the same general category), and Molly Bly. You can probably guess who the vampires are… the Transformer, and the Fugitive. But they didn’t get vampire names, because I didn’t recognize them as such until just now. I really should carry a mirror around with me at all times.



There’s yet another character, who has played a double role in my life… half pirate, half vampire. But that’s the subject of the next post…

Sensual story

She was extremely attractive. I was a lucky man. She was slim, had a cheeky smile, long dark brown hair and was slim with small perfect breasts.

She would simply lie in her favourite blue bikini made of thin silky shinning material that showed her curves so well and couldn't hide her pert hard nipples that could be easily seen pushing the material into little peaks.

I released the catch of her bikini top and raising herself to her elbows she let it fall forward and I took the straps over her shoulders. Then I pulled down her bikini bottoms and she lifted her tummy so I could slip them off.

She looked so good with the light glistening on her breasts and her neat pubic patch catching the sunlight. It was so erotic.

Then spreading a little cream on her tummy she began to massage her breasts, one in each hand in a gentle circular motion as she rubbed in the cream. She would pause now and then at her nipples, which she would spin between her fingers making them stand up like dark hard acorns on her small tits. I could tell by the ever so slight movement in her legs that she was becoming very aroused.

She rubbed herself like this for three or four minutes and then lay very still, although I could see her chest pounding as the beating of her heart betrayed her excitement. Slowly she sat up, raised herself off the sun bed and walked into the house and into my arms.

Love, Tess

Passion

Her arms crossed in front and she took hold of her shirt by the hem with both hands. A cheeky grin revealed her pleasure. She raised the hem slowly, her narrow waist twisting side to side in deliberate seduction. One breast, covered in powder-blue lace, revealed itself, disappeared momentarily then reappeared, this time with its twin. The shirt climbed higher and higher, eventually sliding over her head and then falling on the carpet. There was no need for an exchange of words; actions and expressions spoke far more eloquently.

She leaned forward, just a little, pushing her rear out, then resumed, wiggling more provocatively as she slowly pulled her slacks and panties down together. They cleared her creamy buttocks and came to a stop at her upper thighs. She then proceeded to slowly slide the slacks and panties down her long legs until they lay on the floor at her feet.

She straightened and stepped away from the heap of clothes. Her hand went down to her pubic area, fluffing the soft thatch of hair before her fingers uncurled on their own accord and slid between her dampened petals. The pleasure took her unexpectedly; her eyelids drooped, her head rolled back, and she moaned in her pleasure.

She shook her head and squinted her nose, giggling at her folly, then grew serious once more. Combing her fingers through her thick curls, she reached back and arching, unsnapped the hook of her bra. The satin straps slid off her round shoulders and she discarded the lacy restrictor with a hearty sigh of liberation.

She stood naked, her hands falling to her sides. She is aroused. Her breasts tightened and grew heavier, her pink nipples hardening like two bullets. Heat unfurled low in her belly and her breath quickened with desire.

She is ready to be taken!

The Life Of The Prophet Muhammad By Leila Azzam

Brood

However if you can past some of the shocks, and see the deeper meaning David Cronenberg was trying to say about, buried anger, hate, and guilt you'll come to love this movie as much as I do. Its one of my top ten horror favorites.
If you havent seen it here is a quick spoiler free description.
A psychotherapist (Oliver Reed) pioneers a new form of psychodynamic therapy called Psycho Plasmics. He encourages his patients to vent their angers and fears, and it causes his patients to manifest physical ailments (welts, cancers etc). One of his patients is really fucking pissed and when she starts getting mad people start dropping like flies. This is as much as I will tell you you'll just have to see this shocker from Horrors Golden Age.

Any fans of this classic or haters here?

TheTrueStoryOfCainAndAble Or How the farmers civilized the hunters to make it safe to over populate the earth so there weeman can be possessed by Daem

The human body, in its systematic nature, has 3
primary objectives:

1. Procreate
2. Food intake
3. The elimination of waste

This is the human equation:
One half is feces, the other mammal
The human as shit.

This is what you've become
The end result of human stupidity
Another mesh of flesh with no dignity
A solid waste with dull neuronal activity

2000 years from now
they'll discover our copralite
learn of disease and parasite
enough to know what made us tick
enough to make them sick

anatomy...
scatanthropology...
the study of man.

Micturate - here's to your health
Defecate - upon the self
Felch - the goddamn sphinct and
Gargle - it's fucking contents

Playing king of the hill
On a mountain of manure
On a planet called earth
Mirroring what we're worth

We are nothing but a failure
Evolution took a shit
In my heart, through these eyes
Humankind in its own shit resides.

2000 years from now
they'll examine our copralite
gain perspective and insight
enough to know what made us tick and
that we were made of shit

Humanure / CattleDecapitation

And the angel of the lord came unto me, snatching me up from my place of slumber. And took me on high, and higher still until we moved to the spaces betwixt the air itself. And he brought me into a vast farmlands of our own midwest. And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil. One thousand, nay a million voices full of fear. And terror possesed me then. And I begged, "Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?" And the angel said unto me, "These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots! You see, Reverend Maynard, tomorrow is harvest day and to them it is the holocaust." And I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared, "Hear me now, I have seen the light! They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul! Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!" Can I get an amen? Can I get a hallelujah? Thank you Jesus. Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on........ This is necessary.