This site is a work in progress. Once finished, it will serve as a memorial to great works of art, literature and music from the pre-digital era of dark culture.
Blog
Taken from: vampirerpg.free.fr
Chapter 1
Win big, Momma’s fallen angel,
Lose big, livin’ out her lies,
Wants it all, Momma’s fallen angel,
Lose it all, rolling the dice of her life…
– Fallen Angel
* Poison *
Crystal leaned heavily against the open door to the refrigerator, peering into the brightly lit interior, wondering which bowlful of leftovers had the least chance of killing her. She finally decided on the leftover pizza – cheese and sausage, and chocolate milk – the carton was still half full. She kicked the fridge door shut, and stood in front of the oak wood cabinets, debating on whether or not she needed a plate. Shrugging, she dismissed the idea, elbowed the kitchen light off and headed for the dark living room.
She tripped over an amplifier that sat on the living room floor as she fumbled for the light switch. Finally, the track lighting leapt to life, and Crystal eye-balled the room with a grimace.
Scores of sheet music littered the room. Some of it was wadded up into little balls, some of it was crumpled, but it was mainly strewn everywhere. Compact Discs, records, and tapes were scattered over the top of the oak bar, along with some half-empty glasses, pens, pencils, an electric pencil sharpener, a set of headphones, an amp hook up, earrings, a Dodgers baseball cap and a bra. Phone numbers taped to the entertainment center added a colorful clash to the pile of socks next to the large Roland Keyboard component unit that sat in the middle of the living room floor. A hand-held synthesizer lay on the black sectional, wires winding out into the unknown. High-heeled boots, and a pair of high-top gym shoes were scattered under the glass coffee table. Magazines occupied one black velour chair while newspapers occupied another.
“I’m gonna have to clean this place up sometime,” she thought to herself. She tried to recall what the carpeting looked like and failed.
“Soon,” she said out loud to noone. She elbowed the light switch again, deciding to eat in her bedroom, knowing for a fact she had a better chance of making it back out in one piece. As the light clicked off enshrouding the mess in darkness, she tripped towards the bedroom.
“What a difference,” she though as the bedroom lights came on. “I can see the floor and feel the carpeting!” A king-size bed, piled high with pillows sat against the far wall. Each pillow, encased with either a pink or black sham matched the large black and pink comforter on the bed. Heavy black curtains hung from the huge picture window. Two black dresses accented with silver, and an ebony lounge chair took up the bulk of the room. A large hat stand, holding an array of many different kinds of hats sat next to the open door to the walk-in closet. Through another door, Crystal could see the pink tile of the bathroom floor.
Glancing at the dresser top, she tried to avert her eyes from the enormous pile of mail that had accumulated there. Frowning, she put her milk down, scooped up the mail and went over to her bed. She grimaced at the slight pain in her chest. Ignoring it, she flopped down and began reading through the mail as she munched her pizza. It took a while to make a dent in all the bills, junk mail, fan letters, invitations, and catalogs. When she was about halfway through, the phone rang. She glanced at the digital alarm clock on her nightstand next to the phone. The time read 12:23 a.m.
“Time means nothing to musicians,” she thought to herself. Reaching for the phone, she again felt the pain. Why did she feel like she was forgetting something?
“Hello,” she said, stating rather than asking.
“Crystal? Why in the hell haven’t you called me back?” bellowed a scratchy, deep, Bronx accented voice on the other end.
Crystal raised an eyebrow. “Rip, is that you?” she inquired.
“Who the hell else would it be?” he growled.
“I dunno, maybe someone NICE.” she said icily. “What is your problem anyway?” She could see the 6′ 3″ guitar player in her mind, probably smoking a cigarette, and running his long fingers through his shoulder-length black hair.
“Rumor has it you’re gonna start working at home.” Rip’s voice dropped about 20 decibels and took on a kinder tone. “The pain that bad?”
Crystal looked down at the half-eaten slice of pizza before she tossed it onto the nightstand and wiped her hands on her jeans.
“What pain?” she forced her voice to remain calm. She glanced at her dresser top again and saw the prescription bottle. Damn! That’s what she forgot.
“Jack Miller tells me you’ve been having a rough time at the studio.”
The pain in Crystal’s chest caused her to grit her teeth.
“Jack don’t know shit.”
“Crystal -”
“Look Rip, I’m fine.” It was a dull throbbing pain now, and Crystal made a mental note to kick herself in the ass for not taking her pill.
“Have you thought of maybe taking some time off – Cancer is some pretty serious -”
“Rip, it’s not that bad!”
“Bullshit! And Jack says you won’t even give Chemotherapy a try.”
“I’m not going to waste my time, Rip.” She got up and began pacing the floor. “The doctors say I have a 2% chance of survival. Small Cell Anaplastic Carcinoma is deadly, Rip.”
“Well, that 2% -”
“I like my hair – thank you!” she interrupted. She ran her fingers through her auburn hair feeling the different lengths in it’s shag cut. “Rip, if I’m going to die, I want my hair!”
“You might not die if you take chemo…”
“NO!!”
“Just try it – take a break from the rat race for a few -”
“Rip, music is my life,” she whispered as she looked at herself in the mirror on her dresser, her hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears. The pain in her chest intensified and she fought to keep her voice even. “I can’t give it up. I won’t give it up,” she said harshly.
“I know,” his voice sounding shaky, “but you’re going to die if you don’t try something.”
“I’m going to die anyway.” A single tear slid down her high cheek bones, her shapely lips twisted into a scowl. “I’m going to go down fighting Rip,” her voice edged with razors. “I have an album to complete and I only have 3 1/2 months to do it. I have come too far, worked too hard to quit NOW!” She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the pain surging through her.
“Crystal.” there was a pause, “Crystal?”
Crystal opened her eyes, the pain, reaching new heights, caused her to feel dizzy. She staggered forward, losing her balance. She hit her temple on the corner of the dresser with a sickening crack. She crumpled, black phone still in hand, the black carpeting rising to meet her, enfold her, welcome her.
Blackness, and she knew no more.
Full story here
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”
(Artwork by Odd Nerdrum)
Stills from Häxan, the 1922 silent film written and directed by Benjamin Christensen.
