Welcome. This is my blog, and you're my most coveted guest. If I seem a bit too intense, it's only because I have so much that I want to share with you, and I can see that you're eager to begin as well. So, please...make yourself at home, sip an East India cocktail (I blended the pomegranate juice myself), and sample some of my domestic and imported Arcana: useless, but fascinating information about Victoriana, Steampunk and other favoured topics; music which evokes that dark, lost Lenore sensibility; and other pleasant or, perhaps, unsettling non sequiters whispered in a darkened room. Linger long or short, leave a comment or refrain, but remember to come back soon to play a (shhhh) parlour game.
Velkommen. Dette er min blog, og du er min mest eftertragtedegæst. Hvis jeg synes en smule for intenst, det er kunfordi jeg har så meget at jeg vil dele med jer, og jeg kanse, at du er ivrig efter at begynde så godt. kan du ...føl dig hjemme, sip et East India cocktail (jeg blandetden granatæble juice mig selv), og prøve nogle af mine indenlandske o importerede Arcana: ubrugelig, menfascinerende oplysninger om Victoriana, Steampunkog andre begunstigede emner; musik der fremkalderdenne mørke, mistede Lenore sensibilitet, og andrebehagelige eller måske foruroligende, ikke sequitershviskede i et mørkelagt rum. Linger lang eller kort,efterlade en kommentar eller afstå, men husk at komme tilbage snart til at spille en (Shhhh) selskabsleg.


My photo

I love my grown children, miss all the dogs I ever had, and I cry at the drop of a hat, I believe in true love, destiny, fairness, and compassion. If I could be anywhere right now, it would be the ocean. My favorite city is New York, but I am always longing for London and craving more time in Copenhagen. I'm drawn to desolate places, deserted buildings, and unknown byways. I don't care how society perceives me as long as my gut tells me that what I'm doing is right. I am interested in paranormal things, spiritual things, historical things, and things that glow at night. I like to drink, I smoke when I write, I can't stand small talk, and despite my quick temper, I would rather kiss than fight. I'm selfish with my writing time, a spendthrift with my love. My heart has been broken so many times that it's held together with super glue and duct tape. The upside is that, next time, I won't be tempted to give away what I no longer have to give. But I will let you buy me a Pink Squirrel.


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Helvede's så Nocturne

Helvede's så Nocturne
The raw, aching sadness with which the following words were typed has been reformatted to fit your screen. No need to adjust it. All names have been expunged to protect the innocent and the willfully insane.

Nocturne in G Flat major

Chopin, darkness, light, sand and wind, starlight tread. Beethoven, love, fear, madness, redemption in the night. Liszt, waltzing widows, desperate bargains, pleasure's secret plight. Now, then, before, always, forever. Promises made on lonely beaches, celestial summer's perfect kiss, passions quenched in salty breezes, the lure of distant mist-draped heights. Bitter interlude. Final, private nocturne. Burned down like a candle. Doomed bleeding beauty. Fated sacrificial night.
To be continued...

Gentle Visitor

Gentle Visitor
And now, Gentle Visitor, won't you please lend an eye (we've worked so hard)...
We love all things dark and mysterious, macabre and obscure, odd and unfathomable. Nothing is too strange or bizarre for our little blog. And although we would never presume to offer definitive answers to the great questions of life, we shall do our best to enlighten, inform and delight our visitors with our whimsical potpurri of facts, anecdotes, trivia and informational outpourings. We strive not to offend, but to edify those who wish to reach beyond their comfort zone and touch the fabric of another time and place, and of distant, but genuine worlds and lives. As Victorian-themed blogs go, ours may not be the most austere, nor the most comprehensive, but we know what we like, and if our readers like it as well, then all is as it should be in this ramshackle corner of our own personal Victorian empire.

A Musical Note

A Musical Note: We feel that our blog is best viewed when accompanied by one or more of the following musical selections. Then again, we also feel that our blog is best viewed when accompanied by a glass of absinthe, a bite of lemon cake, and a foot massage (preferably by someone you know). So, to paraphrase the otherwise completely irrelevant-to-our-blog Mr. Aleister Crowley, "Do what thou wilt...but be open to Chopin."

And now we begin

And now we begin
"One must strive to show decorum even when scrolling." Queen Victoria, Buckingham Palace Blog, August 11,1879

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Tuesday, September 25, 2012


A good friend of mine died last week. There's no other way to say it, no way to make it sound less drastic or terrible or sad. She was the ex-sister-in-law of another good friend, but even though she had long since divorced that other friend's brother, the two of them were still so close that they referred to one another as "sister." I wish I could mention her name, but I know she wouldn't like that, being the private sort of person that she was. But I can tell you some things about her. She was fifty two, she was blonde and pretty and smart, she had a Cuban father whose DNA was no doubt responsible for her unique ability to be both charming and bawdy with equal flair, and she was a top notch hairdresser. She was a fan of Loverboy, Areosmith, and the B-52's. She was obsessively neat when it came to folding her clothes and organizing her jewelry, she had a strong liking for Vanilla Coke, and she loved cats. Adored them, really. Her house was filled with their likenesses, and even her jewelry and some of her clothing bore feline images.

Obviously, at fifty two, she was much too young to die...but everyone says that about the people they lose, whatever the manner of their death. Still, as deaths go, hers was particularly tragic. It happened as the result of a car crash, one which occurred less than a mile from her house, just after midnight, as she and her boyfriend were returning home from a bonfire gathering at a neighbor's house down the road. The last time I saw her was a little over a week before, when she and her boyfriend stopped by my house whilst running errands. It was a random, unexpected visit, and I was busy with something that seems very unimportant now, but on the day she stopped by, it seemed important enough to keep me distracted during most of her visit. Despite the desultory nature of our conversation, as she was leaving, she paused in the kitchen doorway and said, "Give me a hug good-bye." Which I did....not knowing, of course, that it would be the last time I would ever hug her, much less see her physically in this world.

Anyone who has ever lost another person they loved already knows, without me needing to remind them, that the hardest part comes not when that person dies, but afterwards, when the shock has finally started to wear off, and as it does, it becomes starkly apparent that life is...well...just going to go on. Charles de Galle, the late former president of France, once made the wry observation that "cemeteries are filled with indispensible people." I suppose that's true. At least in so much as people are only ever truly indispensible as long as they happen to be alive. After that, those who considered them indispensible somehow manage to find other people to replace them and other ways of accomplishing what the absent person can no longer accomplish for them. But, of course, with all due respect to the late Charles de Gaulle, when a loved one dies, it's not their indispensibility that we mourn, it's the fact that they have left a hole, however imperfectly shaped, or oddly formed, or inexplicably endearing. That...and the cold, frustrating discovery that people we love can die, and no matter how much we believe otherwise, our own lives will proceed without them. That's what I'm struggling with at the moment. The awareness that a beloved friend is no longer present in this world, but I am, and the sky is still blue, birds still chirp, the refrigerator is still keeping food cold, and the sadness I feel hasn't stopped me from thinking about how much I need to buy a new pair of boots for the winter. It doesn't seem fair, or right, and yet, that's the way it is, and always has been, and always will be. And the most I can do, in the face of such seeming unfairness, is write this post in which I can't even mention my friend's name. But I can tell you one more thing about her. I don't think she would mind. On that last day on which I saw her, she was feeling very proud because she was wearing a pair of denim overalls that she had owned since 1973...and she could still fit into them.

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