Monday, January 13, 2014

The Disembodied Spirit known as Iago Della Fortuna, Speaks... 1/13/14

Ciao, amici. I am he who was known as Iago Della Fortuna, late of Portofino and many other places on, or near the Italian and French Rivieras. Originally a Neapolitan impresario responsible for bringing grand opera to the Papal States, The Kingdom of The Two Sicilies and various Tuscan and Piedmontese princerinos to the north. My earthly nativity dates to sixteen ninety four, but one night on a pleasure barge just off Capri during Carnival I lay down with a noble vampirina ( Donna Livia de Lorenza, Baronessa Cortina) and for the next two hundred and eighty years lived the life of a carefree vampirino. Our Mediterranean milieu was quite the welcoming place back then. Which is strange considering the brutal fires of The Inquisition still burned throughout the land, but... that's how it was.

My operas, for I still functioned as an impresario, played Salzburg and Vienna and Torino, Milano, Napoli,  Prague... everywhere. And tiny droplets of the magic elixir that was my blood kept many a new castrato alive through the botched ministrations of wine addled surgeons. Quite the lover I was. A princess of Serbia (vassal to the Turks) threw herself under a huge military caisson over me. Such clothes I had... countless pairs of satin knee-britches... coats made in the ateliers of Venice... lace from Brussels... shoes from London and jewels smuggled out  from the Grand Seraglio itself. Life, or whatever it was that I had, was good. I fed on plump, nubile peasants from the hill country. Any age... Any shape...Any gender... Poxed or not... I didn't care. And when times were bad, their papas even sold them to me. Two ducats was the going price... about the same as veal. Don't feel sorry for them. Death came as a balm. And you do believe in The Afterlife, do you not? So they are well taken care of. 

I survived Napolioni Buonoparte. I believe they called him something different among the French... and Garabaldi... Austria-Hungary ... IL Duce and various sundry mafiosi. But last night I was destroyed. That is why I come to you as a disembodied spirit now. Tomorrow I narrate the demise of the poor, Muscovite prisoner and former haberdasher's assistant, Ivan Stephanovich (I think it is). But I thought you'd like to know a bit about me.

It happened like this. I lay on my bier in a dark, deep chamber far beneath my stronghold, just outside of Rome. You can see the castle-like mansione from the ruins of la Via Appia, off among the trees and isolated monuments. How I loved it there.

But as I dozed 'it' found me. Some force... some thing... some entity in the guise of a huge, repulsive fly took shape within my resting place. It scurried 'cross the polished stone floor, stepped up to the ledge and hopped onto my bed, pinning me with a hot, dense, crushing force. I saw the large, glass-like reflective eyes... the monstrous 'face'... the lancet tipped proboscis and the blue-black loathsome carapace.... fairy wings it had, but every other part screamed nightmare. And the loud electric buzz of its abdomen 'gainst my body made me retch. The fly just lapped it up. Then it thrust the hellish proboscis down my throat, flooding me with acid til even the bones dissolved. I couldn't scream. And in my present ghostly form still taste it.

Tomorrow the Russian prisoner has his own ordeal. Please know that I will be there to relate it.

Death is not easy...


please honor me with a comment. thank you. 

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