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!
#5268/6-9-2016
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.
#5270/6-11-2016
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.
#5273/6-12-2016
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.
6-13-2016/5274
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.
6-13-2016/5275
