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Wednesday, August 25, 2010

RAINY DAY BLOGFEST_YOU CAN ONLY SPEND IT ONCE_GHOST OF A CHANCE Interlude


{"Life is like a coin.

You can spend it any way you wish,

but you can only spend it once."


- Mark Twain.}

Ghost of Samuel Clemens here. Roland was a blogfest loving fool. He entered Christine's RAINY DAY blogfest.

http://thewritershole.blogspot.com/2010/08/announcing-rainy-day-blogfest.html

I dug around in the innards of his computer contraption and found this :

{After Katrina, Samuel McCord, the man who cannot die, and his best friend, Renfield, the vampire priest

are sloshing their way to be helped or be killed by the undead Marie Laveau} :

As we stepped out into the night's light mist of rain, the black fog curled and creamed in the muggy air like a demon from the Other Side trying to take shape.

Crucified high in the sable sky, the moon of blood admired its reflection on the dark waters of the still flooded street.

Ripples of its long bloody image flowed from the floating dead body of a dog, like tiny red streams bleeding from its lonely soul.

The night suddenly became colder than it should have been. Much colder. And in an odd sense distant. Cold and distant like the promises of lost love.

I turned to Renfield. "Still want to come with me to Marie Laveau's?"


He went paler than I thought possible, but said, "I can take care of myself, Sam."


I nodded but still felt as isolated as a lost ship at sea. The night had become as intimate as a knife fight -- and about as friendly.


New Orleans was a city of the dead and the dying and not much else. The stink of death was thick in the air. Dead creatures still floated down the streets and over the sidewalks. Bloated-bellied dogs, cats, rats, and even one dead drug addict, finally at peace.


I spotted one death-swollen deer as I waded beside a strangely silent Renfield. Flattened birds were feathered pancakes on some club fronts we passed.


What had Thoreau written? “Our lives revolve unceasingly, but the center is ever the same. And the wise will only regard the seasons of the soul.”


The seasons of the soul.


I looked up into the endless sable depths between the stars. I felt like the wolf staring up into the dark universe, who never learns why he must live like he does. But still he sings to the moon. One lonely spirit to another.


We were almost there, near Rue Burgandy and Rampart Street. The night was still not my friend. Too much recent death had set the night trembling with vengeful, wandering souls.


Spirits, lost and angry, were trudging beside us. Because of Death's blood in my veins, I could see them slowly circling us as they had that night as I walked to the Convention Center.


Their shuffling feet were heavy behind us then grew silent. They flowed inches above the flooded sidewalk until they paced us. I could feel the touch of their sunken, hungry eyes on my throat.


If these dead wanted to drink from the living, they had come to a dry well with me and Renfield.


My face grew tight as I spotted the strangely untouched building in front of us. The fine mist dripping from the brim of my Stetson, I stopped at the elegant house I had been looking for.


We were at the home of the undead Marie Laveau.
***


21 comments:

  1. You are one of the few writers I know who can make the grim, the desolate, the tragic beautiful. <3

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  2. Amanda : Thanks for that compliment. I work hard to impact the reader, and that I succeeded with you means a lot. I have to race out into the night again on a STAT. Whew. I need a vacation!

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  3. Vivid and grim. I am terrible at using metaphors/analogies in my writing, but you do them so well. I did think that you didn't need the 'ship lost at sea' when you already had the moon one.

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  4. Vivid imagery. Your special talent Roland - to make a scene come alive with all its haunting devastation.

    I would not have been so brave as to linger in the aftermath of Katrina as you did.

    Beautiful prose; lets us know the horrendous nature of weather. Lest we forget. .

    ......dhole

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  5. "Seasons of the soul" - I like that!

    Take care
    x

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  6. organized and descriptive post

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  7. I know there are so many other haunting and disturbingly beautiful images I can summon within when reading your work, but all I could focus on while I read this was...when did the stench of death dissipate after Katrina? The realist in me once again canceling out the romantic.

    What a crappy way for me to say that your work effects with its vivid imagery. As always, thank you for sharing with us and remember to sleep.

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  8. Nicely done. I read this paragraph over and over:

    "As we stepped out into the night's light mist of rain, the black fog curled and creamed in the muggy air like a demon from the Other Side trying to take shape."

    - Eric

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  9. So many beautiful, yet tragic images. How you manage to mix it all up, I don't know. Your writing has such depth and feeling.

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  10. "As intimate as a knife fight"! That's fantastic. This piece was chock full of evocative phrases. Dramatic and poetic.

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  11. Love, love, love. I'm kind of agreeing with Ted, bot not really. I, for one, want you to keep "the ship at sea" and lose the one right before it - why? Reason 1: You don't need them both, your writing is way to good. Reason 2: You have already used "moon metaphors" and, the ship at sea made me feel far more "lost".

    Very masterful. This could have been distatefull for the reader because of the subject matter, but I have to agree, you found a way to tell it "beautifully".

    Thanks for sharing, thanks for the privilege.

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  12. Roland - I love how you paint a picture with words. Wonderful. =D

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  13. This is haunting, Roland. The broadcast images of Katrina will be with me always. It was like watching a loved one dying in agony and not being able to help. You've captured all the horror but somehow managed to temper it with your beautiful use of language.

    "I looked up into the endless sable depths between the stars. I felt like the wolf staring up into the dark universe, who never learns why he must live like he does. But still he sings to the moon. One lonely spirit to another."

    Gorgeous!

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  14. That image of the bloody moon's reflection pouring out from the dead dog...whoa! You are such a wonderful artist with the imagery. Great post, Roland!

    Edge of Your Seat Romance

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  15. "Crucified high in the sable sky, the moon of blood admired its reflection on the dark waters of the still flooded street.

    Ripples of its long bloody image flowed from the floating dead body of a dog, like tiny red streams bleeding from its lonely soul."

    You have a way of taking what should be ugly, gross, and scary and making it beautiful; wringing from sorrow the echoes of life before. Sublime. I am moved.

    Thank you so very much for your words on my post-your concern and caring mean a lot to me. I yessir-ed your 'should have...' and grinned at your confession. Advice duly noted and will follow up asap. Promise.

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  16. Wow, this was chillingly beautiful. Thanks for sharing. Love it!

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  17. Hi Roland. To start off, I like your blog title and header, they really pull me in. I also like: "Dreamer. Writer. Believer in the worth of each soul," in your About Me section. This short piece is good stuff. I hope to have the courage to share a few "creative pieces" like this on my blog some day. Keep up the good work. I'll be back!

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  18. As always, I am humbled. Your writing is achingly beautiful.

    ~that rebel, Olivia

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  19. Stunning imagery, Roland. You have an extraordinary way with words.

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  20. "As we stepped out into the night's light mist of rain, the black fog curled and creamed in the muggy air like a demon from the Other Side trying to take shape.

    Crucified high in the sable sky, the moon of blood admired its reflection on the dark waters of the still flooded street."

    Yep, these lines grabbed me, hook, line, and sinker. Very compelling piece...nice work!

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