November 3rd

 

flawed fallen angel

the goatherd of paradise

tainted by mortals

I watched a documentary “How the Devil Got His Horns”. It was another brilliant BBC programme. Basically it concentrated on the art history of the Devil, Lucifer, Satan, whatever you call him.

How the rarely mentioned character in the Bible took on more and more significance over the ages. Early depictions of him, were actually as an angel in the sense we would understand, beautiful, fine featured, feathered wings, even with a halo. But the image got more horrific and corrupted over time, horned, goat legged, sharp fanged, forked tailed, inflicting terrible tortures upon sinners. I can imagine the illiterate entering church and looking at these horrific frescoes and conceptualising eternal damnation. I can also imagine the wild imaginings of artists to make their devil more horrific, more violent and shocking. On the one side, for those commissioning the works, a prime example of fear used to control of course. On the other, the artistic license to have fun with a creating piece of work and really go to town on it!

The Devil is a complex character, I’m no Theologian or Philosopher, I’m not a believer, but I imagine that the Devil is much like anyone, neither “good” nor “evil”, just flawed, just as Jesus was flawed, but always doing his best, hanging around with the lowest of society, promoting equality and love, which led to his global appeal.

If the Devil was banished from heaven, then the last place you should send him to have a think about his actions is where us lot live. There’s no chance of redemption hanging around with us bunch of fucked up mortals.

From the BBC Website, detail from the frescoes painted by Luca Signorelli in Orvieto Cathedral. Considering how realistic and contemporary this looks it’s actually quite surprising this was painted in the early 1500s.

October 16th

pigeons flee the field

stocky shapes accelerate

away from danger

Wood Pigeons look ungainly when on the ground or teetering on the small platform of a feeding table, like portly drunk businessmen negotiating their way to the the toilets in a packed wine bar. But in the air they are agile, they can reach some speed when they have to and are surprisingly manoeuvrable. With that weight comes muscle and power, they look fat, but they aren’t. This bulk allows for explosive bursts of speed. As I drove towards Flitwick a number of them got spooked and jumped into the air and flew over the road above me. They really shifted it.

pic from RSPB website

July 29th

The sky blacken-warped

masses and oppresses them

cowering in caves

Thunderstorms are scary. It pricks at something ancient embedded inside us. Reminds us that we are not the boss. Natural events can fry you, drown you, starve you, kill you in any number of ways, as well as inspire you. No wonder we started worshipping the sea, the sun and nature, afraid of offending the whimsical feelings of a God.

June 28th

shadow witches perched

unblinking at the window

ragnailed and swaying

I walked into the spare bedroom in the dark the other day, before I switched on the light, I had a flashback of childhood. On windy nights, when the curtains were open, even by a tiny crack, I used to scare myself looking at the shadows of the trees breaking between the curtains, splayed on the wall. I imagined witches were out there, squatting in the trees, silently waiting for me, their long slender fingers exploring the insides of the room via their cast shadow.

And then of course I stupidly watched Salem’s Lot at one point, the Stephen King TV adaptation. Of course that was it then, it was floating vampires tapping at the window *and* tree witches from that point forward. Oh, and ghosts walking through the walls (sometimes just the dismembered floating drooling head of a ghost hovering above me) and a werewolf under the bed / in the wardrobe.

But it was all ok, as the rules were if you hid under the covers, they couldn’t touch you. Beds and blankets are the greatest ward against the supernatural. Not garlic, not silver, not holy water. A bed, with a sheet to pull over your head. Foils them every time.

Stills from Salem’s Lot below. This scene was pretty chilling. Even watching it today, this otherwise unremarkable TV horror has some great suspense and frightening moments. And David Soul is in it.

When a vampire floats up to your bedroom window and starts tapping and scratching at it, imploring you to let him in, do not, I repeat, do not invite him in. Without an invite, he’ll have to stay outside, getting bored. Just stay in bed. And pull the sheet over your head so you don’t meet his gaze, or he’ll try and beguile you to do his bidding.

Dude, what did I just say? He’s gonna mess you up now!

May 26th

The egg sac seething

silk severed weave and repair

afraid of the dark

I went to the Freud Museum, to catch the Louise Bourgeois exhibition “the return of the repressed” before it finished. I really admire Bourgeois work, so interesting and unique, so personal.

There is something ancient and deep seated about her art, from the darkest recesses of dreams and metaphor. It speaks of maternal relationships, sadness, abandonment. It really drags you in. It makes you feel something. Her work is honest and beautiful.

I’ve interlaced some of her words in the Haiku.

"I came from a family of repairers. The spider is a repairer. If you bash into the web of a spider, she doesn't get mad. She weaves and repairs it."

(one of Bourgeois’ spiders in the garden, i took the photo, then I noticed the “no photography” sign, oops)

And also from her textile piece “I am afraid”.

 

I am afraid of silence

I am afraid of the dark

I am afraid to fall down

I am afraid of insomnia

I am afraid of emptiness

 

Is something missing?

yes, something is missing and always will be missing

the experience of emptiness

 

To miss

what are you missing?

nothing

I am imperfect but I am lacking nothing

maybe something is missing but I do not know and therefore do not suffer

 

empty stomach empty house empty bottle

the falling into a vacuum signals the abandonment of the mother.

March 25th

Laughter crackling flames

Footpad’s silent steps avoid

Plots most foul and grave

 

So this Haiku is about an event from the previous night. Does it particularly matter that it wasn’t about an event on that specific day? Not really.

As I walked through the moors at dusk (see previous Haiku for March 24th) I could hear laughter, it was either on the edge of the moor or in one of the big gardens. Then I saw the bonfire and the silhouettes of people’s frames against the bright light of the flames.

It put me on edge, I initially thought it was people being brazen and messing about in the moors, but of course it wasn’t. My eyes had played tricks on me and it was a bonfire in someone's garden. They were having a party. But it didn’t stop me from thinking I was a level 9 Halfling rogue, hiding in shadows to get round the orc encampment. Many lost years playing Dungeons and Dragons led to this horrendous paranoid imagination of mine.

March 17th

 

The shadow of war

Terror crawls and suffocates

A place of love burns

(image from shauntan.net)

Why do people up sticks and go to live in a new country? There are many reasons of course, but I always feel for those who are fleeing war and poverty. I read Shaun Tan’s “The Arrival” today. Debbie bought it for me for my birthday last year. Tan creates a fantastical world, the art is incredible, the detail is phenomenal. The fact it’s written without dialogue captures that immigrant isolation perfectly, their hopelessness, their inability to communicate, their fear of sinking in the depths of the city they’ve moved to. I’m not exactly happy with the quality of the Haiku, but I wanted to capture something of this beautiful book.

February 22nd

 

Near dark, Hand held tight,

The restless shadow crawling,

Praying for morning.

 

I watched an old favourite horror film of mine “Near Dark”. Didn’t get to bed till after 1am last night (this morning). It’s a road move and a vampire movie, Lance Henriksen is in it and with that timeless lined face, you really do believe he fought in the American Civil war. I say ‘watched’ because the volume was switched off. I was listening to Sinoia Caves at the same time, it gave the film a weird soundtrack. And even without dialogue, it worked. Freaked me out a bit.

A track from Sinoia Caves album The Enchanter Persuaded.

Near dark has fantastic imagery, it was a ground breaking vampire film, took them out of castles, they’d adapted, they lived amongst us, they drove cars. They sucked us in with their confidence tricks. They were drifters. And of course they killed us. Some of the imagery is captured in this video. The actual score for the film was written by Tangerine Dream which gives it a cold electronic edge too. Although a bit dated now, it’s still a great film and groundbreaking in the “vampires in the modern era” genre.

And if you like Sinoia Caves and horror films, then this film sounds like it will be a paranoid psychedelic nightmare. Beyond the Black Rainbow. It’s set in 1983 and Sinoia Caves (Jeremy Schmidt working under an alias, who is the Keyboard Player of Black Mountain) have written the soundtrack. The trailer gives you more questions than answers. Unsettling. And it’s full of the vintage sound of old analogue keyboards. Moogs and Mellotrons aplenty.

Finally, I wrote. I’ve started a blackly comedic (well I think it’s funny) short story in the “Paranormal Romance” genre. The music by Sinoia Caves and the visuals from Near Dark helped it along. I’ve nearly finished the first draft too!

Who says dudes can’t multi-task?

February 15th

 

The landlords daughter,

Siren song, pray, deny her,

Willing fool ablaze.

 

I read a news story today that the Hotel / Bar where many scenes of the Wicker Man were filmed is up for sale (the original version from 1973, not the abomination “starring” Nicholas Cage). For only £200k you can own a piece of classic British horror film history, the Ellangowan Hotel in Creetown, Dumfries and Galloway.

Where Britt Ekland tried to entice Christian copper Edward Woodward into her bed with her sexy pagan incantation and dance. And where the bawdy bar scenes were filmed.

What a film, not gory, just incredibly unsettling. Proper psychological horror. The ending fills me with dread every time. If you haven’t seen it… you should! It’s probably my favourite film ever.

The beautiful Britt Ekland, temptress in the film.

The increasingly marginalised and bewildered Edward Woodward, the Christian policeman sent to investigate the disappearance of a child on the remote Scottish Island of Summerisle.

Lord Summerisle, played by Christopher Lee in the frightening final scenes of the film. The impassive and faceless Wicker Man looms menacingly in the background.

February 3rd

 

Disembodied head,

Eyes tight shut, I know he’s there,

Waiting by my bed.

 

There was a book club at my junior school. It was a special treat getting a book. Books were luxuries, I had the library of course, but I didn’t have many books of my own, which is why I cherished those I owned, comics (I got one a week) or otherwise. So I was absolutely delighted when I got one of the Usborne Pocketbooks, Supernatural guides. It was the “Haunted Houses, Ghosts and Spectres” one.

The artwork still has quite an impact for me, it smacks me in the chest with that thrill of fear I used to feel as an 8 year old. I used to be scared of the dark, one particular image stuck with me. It was of a blue disembodied head which haunted someone in an old country house. I used to hide under the covers (a classic ward against evil) terrified to peek, eyes shut fast, thinking if I opened my eyes and looked upwards, he would be there, looking down on me, silent, judgemental, evil, his mouth slowly opening and closing with no sound coming out. My imagination was rampant. I felt if I looked at him, he would literally scare me to death, by floating towards my face, till he was only inches away from me and then enter my face and possess me. I was that scared. Interestingly, the artist must’ve used an image of old horror actor Lon Chaney Jr to base his work on, when he played the phantom of the opera. Years later I saw the image of the Phantom and instantly thought “that’s my ghost!”, I’d forgotten about the book by then. So I went back to my old bedroom at my mums house then and retrieved it.

I still have the book, I’ll never throw it away. It’s beautiful, the artwork is amazing, it makes me feel happy and sad. Sometimes it’s nice to feel like you’re little again. South Harringay infants and junior school, aged 5 to 10 were wonderful times. I was so happy there.