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The leaves are desiccated and brown. Flies are dying. Tired people trudge home from the bus in the dark. Old coats from last year (or last decade) are dragged out. Skin looks pale, or ashy and dead. The cold time is upon us. Humanity hides indoors, breathing in an atmosphere as dry as the Namibian Desert.
This is when we read actual bound books and watch old movies. There's nothing like a 1930's classic on a cold, dark, almost winter night. All curled up. Wrapped in a snuggie. Surrounded by accent cushions. Doors locked. Shades down. Nesting time. As long as the phone doesn't ring, nothing could be better.
So let's talk about ancient and not so ancient types of torture.
Let's talk about solitary victims stripped bare and given over to essentially diabolical souls.
They say there was a client kingdom, far off along a distant shore of The Black Sea. Roman tax gatherers came by maybe twice a year, but their garrison just to the north kept the barbarians away. So the king paid and he seethed at the indignity of it. And the population suffered. Some went into the sea. Dropped overboard, down into the midnight depths, freezing cold and bound in chains. Imagine those moments... conscious but doomed. Cold beyond all bearing. Heart pounding. Twisting and writhing in the crushing grip of a giant, unseen hand. Eardrums gone. Sea water rushing in, exploding delicate tubing and flooding down toward the gut. Don't gasp! Don't gasp! Don't gasp! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! One heart beat more. One heart beat more. And still you plummet. Ribs crack. Sternum buckles. And then you gasp. And then you breathe.
Do you know what it feels like when a mouthful of ocean water winds up in the wrong place? You know, that day at the seashore, jumping waves with your friends? Too much laughter. Too many hot dogs. Too much sand. Not enough sun block. And here comes THE BIG ONE, that moving wall of water, that mini tsunami, unbelievably huge... Then it's here, towering above you, maybe four feet over your head. You gasp, scrunch your eyes and try to live, while you and all the other little one tumble about like towels in a washer. Then you're on the sand and it's over... almost. But you wheeze and cough, trying to expel a tiny bit of water from the delicate tissues of your lungs. It hurts. It itches. You feel the pressure, but then it's gone, replaced with a red, raw, heat.
Drowning is something like that, but infinitely worse. Both lungs fill with water, like two sacks filled with cement. There's no way to force it out. If you even try more just rushes in. Air sacs begin to leak and rupture. Lungs explode. Can you imagine what that's like? I don't think you can. Crushed from the outside. Crushed from the inside... Broken and ruined... All from water. And then you're dead. Sometimes it takes five minutes. If it's really icy even longer.
And that's the most benign form of torture.
Polynesian kings staked victims down, spreadeagled, in advance of flowing lava, feet toward a searing heat, more than twice the temperature required to melt lead. And some lava flows very slow... inch after inch after inch. Death, when it comes, is a precious gift.
In some traditions today is All Souls Day. Pray for the dead.
And stay warm.....
<back to our regular Vampire Wonderland tale next time>
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
click FIRE to flow through all Vampire Wonderland episodes.
click ICE to join me on Twitter.
please comment. I ask every night. a few do, but just a few. I'm grateful and very appreciative, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
thank you for your support. and I would have posted a regular episode tonight, but saturday is my #realSNLtalk night, LIVE and ongoing during every #SNL broadcast. (Saturday Night Live for those outside the North American market) And it's not just me. Tonight we had six or seven or eight people posting, plus others tweeting, fav'ing and retweeting. Industry types, everybody.
Lot a stores are decorated already, so if you want to escape the cold wind tomorrow, go to a mall. Drink a pumpkin latte (when it gets closer to Christmas they'll have venison lattes) buy a toy or two and take it all in.
Peace...
This is when we read actual bound books and watch old movies. There's nothing like a 1930's classic on a cold, dark, almost winter night. All curled up. Wrapped in a snuggie. Surrounded by accent cushions. Doors locked. Shades down. Nesting time. As long as the phone doesn't ring, nothing could be better.
So let's talk about ancient and not so ancient types of torture.
Let's talk about solitary victims stripped bare and given over to essentially diabolical souls.
They say there was a client kingdom, far off along a distant shore of The Black Sea. Roman tax gatherers came by maybe twice a year, but their garrison just to the north kept the barbarians away. So the king paid and he seethed at the indignity of it. And the population suffered. Some went into the sea. Dropped overboard, down into the midnight depths, freezing cold and bound in chains. Imagine those moments... conscious but doomed. Cold beyond all bearing. Heart pounding. Twisting and writhing in the crushing grip of a giant, unseen hand. Eardrums gone. Sea water rushing in, exploding delicate tubing and flooding down toward the gut. Don't gasp! Don't gasp! Don't gasp! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! One heart beat more. One heart beat more. And still you plummet. Ribs crack. Sternum buckles. And then you gasp. And then you breathe.
Do you know what it feels like when a mouthful of ocean water winds up in the wrong place? You know, that day at the seashore, jumping waves with your friends? Too much laughter. Too many hot dogs. Too much sand. Not enough sun block. And here comes THE BIG ONE, that moving wall of water, that mini tsunami, unbelievably huge... Then it's here, towering above you, maybe four feet over your head. You gasp, scrunch your eyes and try to live, while you and all the other little one tumble about like towels in a washer. Then you're on the sand and it's over... almost. But you wheeze and cough, trying to expel a tiny bit of water from the delicate tissues of your lungs. It hurts. It itches. You feel the pressure, but then it's gone, replaced with a red, raw, heat.
Drowning is something like that, but infinitely worse. Both lungs fill with water, like two sacks filled with cement. There's no way to force it out. If you even try more just rushes in. Air sacs begin to leak and rupture. Lungs explode. Can you imagine what that's like? I don't think you can. Crushed from the outside. Crushed from the inside... Broken and ruined... All from water. And then you're dead. Sometimes it takes five minutes. If it's really icy even longer.
And that's the most benign form of torture.
Polynesian kings staked victims down, spreadeagled, in advance of flowing lava, feet toward a searing heat, more than twice the temperature required to melt lead. And some lava flows very slow... inch after inch after inch. Death, when it comes, is a precious gift.
In some traditions today is All Souls Day. Pray for the dead.
And stay warm.....
<back to our regular Vampire Wonderland tale next time>
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
click FIRE to flow through all Vampire Wonderland episodes.
click ICE to join me on Twitter.
please comment. I ask every night. a few do, but just a few. I'm grateful and very appreciative, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
thank you for your support. and I would have posted a regular episode tonight, but saturday is my #realSNLtalk night, LIVE and ongoing during every #SNL broadcast. (Saturday Night Live for those outside the North American market) And it's not just me. Tonight we had six or seven or eight people posting, plus others tweeting, fav'ing and retweeting. Industry types, everybody.
Lot a stores are decorated already, so if you want to escape the cold wind tomorrow, go to a mall. Drink a pumpkin latte (when it gets closer to Christmas they'll have venison lattes) buy a toy or two and take it all in.
Peace...
