Friday, July 8, 2016

The Woodlands of Ebenus

Weird Poetic Prose Vignettes

“In The Woodlands of Ebenus” 
 . . .

The Hyperborean Mythos

 The Woodlands of Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose/Hybrid)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale One

In the Woodlands of Ebenus, dark weft, horizontal threads weave, are interlaced into its greyish eldritch night, — with its gibbous moons…

Within this infernal region, and within its nocturnal ages, resides a hidden expanse, of hell!
Unlisted channels, chambers, vaults, unknown even to immortals, other than the unscrupulous Gaul’s, and their brotherhood of disincarnated souls!

Here resides pre-Satanic entities who speak in rude rhythmic gutturals—
Malevolent demon in a primordial chant and malignly frenzy who: pace, plan, and implement, within their diabolical enchantments…
And make their sacrifices to Taranis, thunder god of the Gaul’s— hence, they never relent, in this expense!

Lo, to the Romans but a curse!

In this Woodland of Ebenus, forthwith, the succubus lives to play her sanctimonious tricks!
This female demoness, Lilith, takes her pleasures in mortal men, whenever she can, and she can.
. . .

Here the Gaul, the Celt, and those along the Rhine cater to Lilith’s fancy, worship the demon princess—
As strangers on a stroll who lose their way, wander in a daze, they are the ones besought, pressed, navigated to Ebony’s Inn.
Then brought to her on her flat fiery stone slab.

(In this riddled haven, where past and present co-exist, both in its own portals, atolls!
Yes, separated in segments and cycles of time, to live and relive in its unhallowed barbicans, men are brought from centuries long born, to Woodlands’ Ebenus, forest…)

       “Where am I?” questioned a wayfarer, walking livid (in the Black Forest), beside himself, lost in the crossways, snatched out of the current age, to the end of Rome’s great fall, in Gaul! 
Finding himself at Ebony’s Inn, —in the Woodlands of Ebenus—: thus, he orders a flavored birch Barbarian dark beer, a veal cutlet, and cheers.

The keeper pinched a drop of potion in his pint; hence he awoke on the stone pyres of the succubus, in two shakes of a lamb's tail—

To which this story’s trimmings, are too cadaverous to tell. 

But I will say one thing: in the swirl of flame and shadow he vanished!


The Hyperborean Mythos

The Hounds of Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose)

Tale Two

It came to my attention, while in the Rhineland’s, in the early ’70, the  Creatures of the hidden woods, hounds in one of the unknown, unlisted terrene Hells, called the Woodlands of Ebenus, three  hounds in one, aggregate.
They had snake-like necks, eyes that burnt like hot coals, with no eyelids, saber gleaming bloody tattered teeth, chipped, and jagged, with wings of a bat.
Hence, flaring with venomous green mist from their mouths, on slither like limps, having skin like antique oak, they were released daily to eat and find their protean from  within the Ebenus Woods, —its neighbor, the Black Forest, outside its portal, to which they were forbidden.
And once these hounds found their urge befallen, they gashed and laid their prey—: spine to neck to legs and tales, bare boned, and then to devour their marrow: a marvel in evil in a most cadaverous plight.
Their cuisine, or fare, was: ox, a horse, a wolf, a rat, all like to like to the hounds of Ebenus.
But tedious, in their routine, century to century.

They searched night by night, and slept day by day, in a lair behind the cataracts of the Charnel River., the river of bones.
. . .

At first this did not strike the Gaul’s or Celts outside the portals of the Ebenus’ forest, although they heard of them, but all being aphorism.
But then corpses were found here and there, lying bone bare, with even dug graves—
A Cadaverous nightmare.
The hounds had become anthropophagic, in that they were eating flesh and even the rages that were, blood drenched!

Great was the scandal of these happenings.

Lilith, Princess of Ebenus, heard the shrill screams  from beyond the portals, and peered through its ingress, the starlit gate from forest to forest, then locked the door, to allow no retreat, hence, the hounds had to face their fate—

And although they were not eatable for the Gaul’s and Celts, nor for the stags (the giant red deer), they burnt them on a pyre, but would not disappear:
Therefore, they called on the monks of a nearby abbey, who cast holy water on their hides, and pelts as they reemerged from a simulated death, to awe and havoc, they were cast to the hyperborean winds, never to return.

Note: 6-10-2016/#5269 (2:00 a.m.)

The Hyperborean Mythos

Lost Portals of Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose/Hybrid)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale Three

I tell this tale as men have told it, in the time of the Gaul’s and Celtics of long ago, in the deep forests of the Rhineland, I tell about Woodlands of Ebenus, her last breath; a ghostly blood splash!
How the halls of Ebenus’ devils and demons battled the race of Astral Devils that appeared in the year 479 A.D.; who leaped from a passing asteroid… To earth!
Who wished to circle her globe and create their own epoch!

Some who will read this narrative will no doubt, doubt the complete disappearance of this eccentric diabolical race of devils and demon in such an ending, but be that as it may, legends and tales of devils need no verifiable motives nor explanatory circumstances:  like emotions, they just are, and then they are naught, just like a long lost constrained source, for the archeologist and anthropologist to discovers… eons later!
. . .
Lilith, Princess of the unlisted Hell, called, The Woodlands of Ebenus, had seen them coming several years before they came—
Beyond the planet of Pluto, and its five moons.

These devils more wicked than her kind, with no ears or noses, semi-Serpentine, in their meandering ways, had now arrived.
And to the dormitory of demonic beings in Ebenus, a horror awaiting, that need no further waiting!
And to the Gaul, and Celt, the inhabitants outside the gateway of Ebenus, a tribulation in the making!

The Astral Devils, made their lair, just outside the portals of Ebenus, five-thousand in all.
Lilith knew she’d have to intervene, lest the Gaul’s and Celts worship another deity!

After dismissing her arts of necromancer, in summing them, in vanishing them, hence, she knew there would be a shrill and eldritch battle forthcoming.
A battle of scourge and peril.

And so, she called on her father, Taranis, ancient thunder-god of Gaul, whom gathered together his devils-at arms, to fight: fiend to fiend, outside the aperture of Ebenus, in the bat black darkness of the Ghoulish woods.
. . .

Taranis armed with his battle-axe, in lieu of the sword or hammer fought with valor and honor, as did Lilith—
All her demon fought like werewolves, teeth clashed, like linked iron, as they raised smoke and fire, all hissing with a voice of fury and all leaped one to another—
Wounds, like dark wove welts, binding intangible thickening webs encircling them with wizardry, clashing upon them stone and axe, in this inexorable fight—
A powder of dead atoms, filled the air, and it was as if a metamorphosis was taking place:
Each familiar spirit, turning each and every one into constrained, estranged carbon: stable, chalky, solid, graphite, limestone, coal—all turned into minerals!
For it was long forbidden, by the God of Heaven, for their kind not to molest at will, beyond the boundaries of Hell.  

Note: 6-10-2016/#5270 (11:43 p.m...)

The Hyperborean Mythos

The Unwilling Guest of Ebenus
((The Woodlands of Ebenus) (in Poetic Prose))

Tale Four

The two warring demonic armies that had met near the Woodlands of Ebenus in the year 479 A.D, one earthly one astral, now sealed in stone, as if being in a sepulcher, or tomb wrapped for ages, now were in a veritable oppression; and the illumination they were afforded was vague and indistinct at best.
The thronging shadows within the carbon stone (likened to the Chalk Cliffs of Dover) the devils and demon of that battle numerous in years and perhaps ten-thousand in account, were bored with the mysterious disquiet: they were inflamed in repugnance, likewise.
As if dead in a windless vault.
And amongst themselves they plotted, and befriended one another, according to feudal and demonic customs of their times.
And even more so sinister and insoluble, as they were as demoniac ruffians of those far-off days.
But as I mentioned, insuperable, but united, although constrained, and all selected Lilith to be their queen, and her father the baleful taskmaster, Taranis,  ancient god of the Gaul’s, now their potentate.
What supernatural horrors and unavoidable bewitchments had Lee Sexton become involved with, so he questioned his other self?
And what he was about to do he cursed himself for.
Yet, he marveled at the spell that seemingly drugged him, drowsed his faculties, his will, and choked his human power.

A funeral fabric odor was in the air, it appeared to fall around him, and all around the surface ground, a mustiness of death, and dead years.
The geochemist, was inspecting his environment, as if the whole place was a buried tomb, a clinging decay of stone like chalk.
Lee knew by legend and lore, and yore he was standing next to the invisible Woodlands of Ebenus that had no legitimate existence.
But here he was, and looking at supposedly dead demonic beings long entombed in stone, for some 1500-years (the year now being A. D., 2016).
Yes, Lee shuddered, for it was some ensnaring malefic necromancy that brought him here;
Here being the land of the Gaul’s, in the time of the fall of the Roman Empire, in the Black Forest!
Here for whatever the case may be.
At one time the cornerstone, or fountainhead of the demonic sorcery of the Gaul’s and Celts; today, it would be dubious.
It was an eerie place indeed, he pondered, as if in bafflement.

Insanely—so he felt—he could sense, if not even hear, crackly like twigs snapping inside the stone.
As if those long entombed demonic forces sunk deep in its terrain, were trying to move upwards and out!
“What is it you want” he decried.
He resigned himself to no reply, but to his surprise, one came:
 “We’ve been crushed down into this mass, for our defiance long enough, help us to get out!”
Lee was unable to resist their pitiful request, thus he—within the following month, shoveled up 20-tonnes of this enmeshed carbon, and transferred it into a fossil like fuel.
Turned up the heat, liquefied it, burnt it: and curiously enough, the demonic forces were transformed into a smoky cloud—a long trail or tail of shadowy like torrent interlacing fiends, separating, and transforming as if in a metamorphoses transformation.
Hence, he sat back on an embankment, made no further effort.
The middle-aged geochemist, was benumbed.  

It was Nyx (born of the primeval chaos in the ancient cosmos, who once was demonic Arch-knight of Atlantis, in Poseidon’s Capital Citadel), who stepped forward after all was said and done, and announced to Lee Sexton, his reward:
To be entombed like them into the miseries of stone.
And to all that watched as Lilith opened the portals of Ebenus, —observed the geochemists’ end as he was stomped into pulp, and buried under a rock.
All cheered with sardonic amusement.
And what was once two demonic forces, now became united: a fawning, implacable throng of fiends.

The Hyperborean Mythos

The Ebon Book of Ebenus
 (In Poetic Prose/Fusion poetry & prose)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale Five

 I found a thin deluxe edition of Lilith’s Spells, Queen of the Woodlands of Ebenus, originally written in 489 A.D., in what was known back then, as “Land of the Gaul’s”. 
It had been rewritten only once, which dated to the 11th Century, in Old English.
I had heard about it but thought it was a fable, the legend foretells: that its possessor, could activate the spells within the book, and only s/or he.
It told about the scourge of demonic diabolical arts, learned from the angelic renegades, in the antediluvian age.
The contents of the book goes back quite a long ways, some even say, to the days of Mu and Atlantis.

I am for the most party a poor collector of rare books, allured into most any worthwhile bookstore wherever I am.
And on this particular weekend, while visiting friends in St. Paul, Minnesota, I stopped at the bookstore off University Avenue, next to the rarest known bookstore being in San Francisco, this was a close second, if not indeed the second best in the good old U.S. A. 
I was really window shopping as they say.
I pulled from the shelves a web infested book, and behind the book in the north west corner, was an old gray rat, so old it was devoid of hair, with half blind eyes, eyes with no eyelids so it appeared, in the eldritch deep blackness corner, and the deep blackness of its iris was a porphyritic dote, like a spark of crystal, in its center.
Of each eye, tenebrific gloomy sight, so I deduced.
The rat possessed a flat head the size of my fist, likened to an anticodon, and in form, serpentine, as long as my forearm, and not so unlike mongoose.

The rat, or mongoose-rat, grabbed onto the spine of the book with the side of its gums, for it was per near toothless.
Its jaws tightened around the spine of the gothic book, but left no imprints.
We were in a tug-of-war.
In fear of tearing or perchance ripping or even loosening the hinges on the book, the near toothless-rat let go, lest it damage the book.
The creature was infinitely foul, macabre, but too old to do much physical harm.
His whole pelt, was shriveled corpselike, ready to become mummified.
Perhaps the rat was as old as the book’s ancient binding.
That is to say, I knew its contents was written down in a previous book, in: 498 A.D., and was rebound and perchance at the same time revamped.
It read in Old English, perhaps the 11th to 13th Century.
I have been a poet for fifty-years this rat was quite the occult phenomena, I’m unable to describe it other than a horrific hallucination.

The bookstore off a busy street called University Avenue, on this full fall day, this overall happening for me was a tragedy in the making.
This parasite could only have existed in the inane night world of the sorcerer; so I told myself; as atrocious and horrific as it was, it was from a world that really wasn’t.
. . .

I do believe the rat itself, was an animation, a creation of unreality planted within the book, a spell of yesteryear, renewed.
For within the book were the demonic unfamiliar writings of a special black arts, long forgotten?
I took the book in hand, as the rat vanished as if it was part of the book, its ancient guardian, guarding its precious impermissible writings, from perhaps from Christians or whomever might find good reason to destroy them.
As I sat back in a sofa chair and opened the book to read it, the apparition of the rat leaped out at me, as an imperceptible projection.
I dropped the book on the floor, startled, the vision vanished, “What’s wrong?” asked Tom, the owner.
Then eyeing the book on the floor, commented “Were did you find it, I lost it twenty-five years ago, when I first bought the place, and put the books on the shelves, perhaps forgetting to clean this back section…”
The book now produced a foul order, but Tom didn’t mind, it was as if he was in too much an adulation in finding his lost treasure.
He started to pick up the book with gargoyle eyes, having crouched down on his knees to its level, as to inspect the book of any harm before actually lifting its form, from its inorganic insertion.
Still with abhorrence, and Tom with fascination with the book, said to me, lifting it, and looking upwards straight into my eyes,
“How did you like my little pet inside? Did you both get along, see eye to eye?”
Before I could answer him a customer came in, Tom could tell, he had a bell attached to door, with it opened.

However I made my exit from the bookstore I don’t quite rightly remember, I was still sick with revulsion.
I recall only I found myself on a bus feverishly trying to figure out the street I was on, and clumsily found out I was going in the opposite direction I wanted to.

#5273 (6-12-2016)

The Hyperborean Mythos

The River of Trepidation
Under Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose/Fusion poetry & prose)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale 6

 Underneath the Woodlands of Ebenus resides the River of Trepidation.
The eldritch river surges in an underground maze, and swift is its current! 
Its serpentine length, is said to go under the Mediterranean Sea to the African Continent.
This river navigates down a legendary tributary, called ‘The Necromancer,” channel.
And not even the devils and demon care to challenge those rapid waters, nor put their fate in a worse atrocity.
All the same, Lilith, Queen of the Woodlands of Ebenus, wanted to be the first to conquer the tributary, as one might want to conquer the Himalayas.
Legend also says its end—to this tributary—cast its travelers into interstellar space, lest s/he escape its rapid edged cliffs, and do a turnabout.
Whatever the case, there is, nor ever has been, the return of man, beast or unfamiliar spirit, to its origin.
Lilith, the most skilled of the sorcerers in Ebenus, employed Otis, the Oarsman Imp, to grit his teeth, and row her down the tributary, or face the pyres of  her father, Taranis: thunder-god of the Gaul’s, who has the strength of an renegade archangel. 
. . .

And so it came about, down its shadow passageways, to the tributary the craft was rowed: an eighteen feet long vessel, with a teakwood keel.
The herculean imp, with his massive physique, had no trouble rowing, but hit numerous times the cliff walls, and at times scrapping the bottom of the vessel with mud and stone and slime.

The clanging of the vessel, must have woke up the creature of the deep, known as: Plesiosaurus the Death Unhuman, they were now in her nest, her tenebrific realm.
Otis, hearing and feeling the shrill shrieks of the Unhuman creature, and attesting to its bombardment of the craft, became frightened.

Otis, a dimwitted deity of no renown, was now eye-searching every foot of water, to see where the creature was, and still hitting the horrific crags as he rowed.
Ere, still came the grinding and crashing underneath the torrential waters, the beast pounding with its head and body, trying to break the keel of the boat.
And although Otis was an oarsman, he had no skill as a swimmer, and now this he feared the most, as the keel cracked, and he was swept down the rapids forthwith, and over the cliffs into empty space.

Lilith, swam to the creature, and with her spellbinding phantasmagoria magic, made herself into a more ferocious beast than the beast, and had the plesiosaurus numbed, thus, rode the on its back, wave to wave to the wildered woods of Ebenus.


The Hyperborean Mythos

The Anthropophagi of Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose/Hybrid)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale 7

Born of a staler birth, on what is now being called planet #9, there were a group of nomadic demon who rode an asteroid to earth, eons before, and lived amongst themselves within the Woodlands of Ebenus.
Among the pines, cypress, and eucalyptus trees.
They robbed the graves outside Ebenus, the deep rooted and ancient catacombs, the caves, they emptied out stone coffins, not for potion resurrection, but the task ordained by their master, cannibalism.
Also for sacrifice.

Queen Madb, a most powerful sorceress, and warrior goddess, who during those far-off days, of the fighting Celtic, —was there necromancer.
Strange it was in the year 2018 A.D., Madb had decided to hunt to and fro outside the Woodlands of Ebenus once again, and done so unnoticed, decided with sorrowful sweetness to venture where all such forces like her were forbidden unless asked by a mortal.

It was forbidden after the Christian era had begun, to eat flesh again.

Seemingly, she was now successfully reviving the lost ardent love for flesh-eating.
This was taboo for 1500-years, or more, it was put fathom-deep into oblivion—as previously mentioned—but  always did this tribe of nomadic demon have its wild yearnings.
And now like a seamless tide, across old Gaul, they brought back this terrible evil.

Madb and her tribe of fifty-fiends, in mad surges, robed every cemetery in the Rhineland’s.
In a weird way, this brought peace, from out of the dead, an eerie gray web like peace for the tribe, and sorcery was of course woven into it.

On the other hand, the other hordes and throngs of demonic souls of Ebenus, beckoned for Madb to stop her furtive escapades of robbing the dead, and dragging them back through the portals of Ebenus. 
Lest God be maddened by this, and all of Ebenus be cast into oblivion.

“Ere,” spoke Lilith, to Madb, “…darkness will fall upon you if you do not retreat from this old credo!”
Then many fearful glances were exchanged between the two Queens.

The question came: who had the magical supremacy of the two.

The following night there was a full rounded moon—
It was timing and shrewdness that also counted in the game of war, not just who may be superior—
Lilith knew she was not equal to Madb’s sorcery, but Madb had a bigger ego and she took this into consideration.
Hence, Lilith was allowed to pick the weapon of her choice, and for them to battle it out instead of having a gang-war: once and for all, and Madb likewise picked her weapon.

“I must slay my pry before a mirror,” Lilith told herself, “and do it swiftly.”

Lilith picked up her father’s battle-axe, shined it to a high glow, likened to a mirror, put a death spell on it—

Madb, declining the battle-axe for the sword, and she too put a hex on it, to when it struck the battle-axe, to melt it into liquid form.

And they met, hastily in an empty area of the forest, with 20,000-fiends and demon and devils, watching.
Whispers and shadows of invisible beings, phantoms, all silently awaited for the battle to begin.

As they fought, flames arouse from their weapons, but none yet broke, or melted: for it was spell to spell, and curse to curse holding them together.
The vessels of wizardry was working but with no results, it was like matter and antimatter fighting for its dominance.

All the evil spirits were dazzled by glimpsing at the radiance of those clashing weapons.

Both Lilith and Madb, peered into the other one’s weapons, mirror-like weapons, making them immobile, and they dropped to the ground like mummies.

All the demonic and unfamiliar spirits held back, thinking who would rise first, they both had been blinded by each other’s weapons, a strange brightness of its mirror reflections.
As they looked into the eyes of both warrior Queens, a weird brilliance remained in their eyes—; porphyritic like.
And their bodies had fallen into a magnetic orbital slumber.

Both weapons remained in the hands of the original beholders, both frozen in time and space, both lay side to side.

And the demons did what they do best, they left to find more entertainment and mischief, elsewhere.


  The Hyperborean Mythos

The Red Death of the Celts of   Ebenus
(In Poetic Prose/Hybrid)(A Gaul and Celtic Tale)

Tale 8

The year 499 A.D., grim was the Red Death of the Celts outside of Ebenus, and swift, within hours, to those who acquired it bled its victim’s dry of blood, by way of its red sores.
It came to the portals of Ebenus, but had no way to enter its abode.
Yet outside the Woodlands of Ebenus, it devastated the realm of the old monarch, called the: Ebon Diabolists of Rhineland, king Fergus, once lover to Mebd; or diabolic king of the Celts and throughout the Black Forest and the Gaul’s, and the Rhineland’s.

Those who were infected felt sonorous taciturn to their bodies…
In the matter of hours their bodies strangely whitened, became stiff, emptied of its blood, anon to join the long dead!

Eerie was this plague that passed through the Black Forest like a merry-go-round, faster than the speed of light!
So it appeared.

And the thieves, once they touched the infected booty, dug their own graves, figuratively speaking.

The Red Plague, breathed upon the forest like a typhoon, corner to corner and throughout, the birds brought it even farther.

Demdeez, the Sorcerer, said it fell upon the forest by a passing comet which shed its decay from stones and rocks that fell through earth’s atmosphere—
Rocks that fell upon the comet itself as it passed through a belt of asteroids that circled the sun, and it came far-back from Pluto.
Alas, he had many ambiguities of this rot plague of red pussy sores and scabs, but no cure of ridding the forest of the disease.
His sorcery and science was limited.

As for the diabolist king, king Fergus, he hid inside a monastery with monks indifferent to his subordinates.

It came to pass, 10,000-had died of the plague, the red death of the Gaul’s and Celts, before Demdezz, approached the Woodlands of Ebenus, its forest portal, and begged for a spell a cure of this  undistinguishable killer disease!
Striding and pacing upright and rigid outside its gateway for days on end, he would not relent until those wizards inside the portal would listen to his plea, and hence, they got dizzy of watching him—
Whereupon, he was given an aromatic wooden ring.
He then was instructed to duplicate it, and put it on the index finger of each and every person to whom he wished, to each ring touch by the very one given to Demdezz, the Red Death would pass.

In time those who wore the perfumed ring, would purify the forest, and preserve each person who wore the ring, unto his originally assigned death.
But to those who didn’t wear the ring, a blatant death for sure awaited.
And so Demdezz, done as he was told, and the contagion never once seeped into the flesh whom wore the ring.
And this was kept a secret from the king, and his closest watchmen, and it was just a matter of time, they met their great sorrow, and joined the ten-thousand.
And the Rhineland in time became known as a realm, with a realmless king.
And to all those who lived within this realm, it was a great thing.