Lamashtu- The 1st vampire?

Superstition is nothing more than a veiled attempt to give reason to the unexplained; the more primitive and less cultured the civilization, the grandeur the pantheon of fantastical explanations it has amassed. In ancient times there was no super, to the supernatural; ghost, demons, gods, fairies, ghouls, and everything else our minds call myths, were as normal as the wind and rain that spattered the very tangible ground. Aside from the overwhelming mystery that surrounds life after death, and in particularly our ingrain fear, on a biological and instinctual level, of the unknown, fables were also disguised attempts to bring some clarity into clearly, up to that archaic point, obscure parts of our physical world; ways to account for, and decipher, what our dwindling intellect had yet to clarify. One horrible, yet natural illness and occurrence, that planted, in part, the seeds that would flower into the image of our modern day Vampires was: S.I.D.S- or more commonly known nowadays as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome- this was the catalyst, for some historians, behind the story that would give rise to an industry.

Whenever a babe would, without any precedence or predicted medical history, die of unexplained causes, grieving mothers were prone to damn the very deities they worshiped. As such the idea of a demon, or creature, that would come at night while your baby slept and snatch his spirit away, grew exponentially throughout the first settlements. As nomadic people started creating societies and became more than just wandering apparitions, religions and folk tales fueled their imaginations; things started acquiring names; monsters began to have identities.

It is no wonder then, that in a clearly chauvinistic society and period, one of the first creatures to depict vampiric characteristic belonged to the female sex; her name was Lamashtu, the Mesopotamian deity, whose exploits would be become famous in Sumer.

Depending on what side of the bed you woke up, or what religious faction was in power that year, Lamashtu was either a goddess or a demon- although in those ancient times, one facet did not particularly deny the other; the Sumerian’s had a wider view on the concepts that guided good or evil. As fabrications went, this particular ghoul was rife with a pervading dread reserved, in our modern times at least, only for The Devil himself. Lamashtu’s malevolence was not an edict inborn into her very nature, unlike other goddess, she was one of the first, to not only make a conscious choice to be evil, but actually rejoice in her own wickedness; her acts were of her own accord, rather than at a higher deity’s instruction.

Lamashtu’s lore depicted horrendous deeds, among them but not limited to, was the slaughter of children, unborn fetuses, neonates, expecting mothers, eating fathers and by the end of Sumerian society, every crime and illness this mortal world had to offer was laid at her feet. The fear she spawned was so great, that believers were known to chant prayers to a different spirit for protection. Pazuzu - the king of demons to Sumerians-  from "The Exorcist”; the same creature that was the main characer in unfathomable scores of nightmares in the movie goers mind, and possessed little Linda Blair, became the Sumerian’s guardian angel against the mighty Lamashtu; demon against demon; nightmare gashing on nightmare. Their fear blinded them to the dangers of, what they knew, was the lesser of two evils.

So the only two real traits shared in all vampire legends was handed over to one particularly nasty denizen of the night. The need to drink blood and wanton lust for destructive wickedness, became Lamashtu’s attributes; she became the mother of vampires; prime creation of our vile and sorrowful anxieties; the child of our nightmares.

Interestingly, crib death, or cot death, is still, well into the twenty first century, a natural yet completely unexplained phenomenon that claims, in the United States alone, over 2000 children a year. Autopsies, differential diagnosis and genetics have so far not been able to find the elusive reason for such a cruel malady. 

Excerpt: The Wraith of The Obelisk- L.J. Gomez.

Portuguese man o' war

If ever there was a biological display, be it plant life or wildlife, that surely cemented God's wild tendencies and dynamic artistry it is, for me, without a doubt: The Portuguese Man o' War.

I once read that this remarkable species was proof, for a certainty, of The Lords technicolor tendencies, and one pot head even when so far as to state: "dude, this absolutely proves that The Man likes the good stuff... That's a clear case on where he falls on the whole, legal or not legal issue". The previously mentioned observer also made a further claim, that once I read a bit more about the specimen, I could not refuted: " If He's all knowable and stuff, than I'm sure he was listening to "The Dark side of the moon" Eons before Roger Waters thought it up, I bet dollars to donuts that Pink Floyd helped Him come up with that fella".

A bit about this rainbow colored

 beauty.

- Structure: although at first glace you might consider it a jellyfish, it is not. It is a siphonophore, which is onto itself a colonial organism made up of minute individuals called zooids. These "zooids" each have a specialty and a grant task to perform and, although, under careful examination they may look, and even pass off, structurally, as a solitary animal, they are themselves attached to their brothers and kinfolk. By their very being, and genetical makeup, they are unable to exist outside the "hive"; incapable of any sort of independent survival.

In other words, imagine each of this things, not as a single subject, but, as a vessel; each bottle-head gliding through the waters, like a strange dreamlike submarine, carrying a crew of professionals that depend on each other in order to navigate the ship and keep the oxygen, plus the necessary instruments to sustain life, operational.
It is also composed of four types of cylindrical shapes, known as polyp. One of this chambers, is filled with gas, and, in the event of a surface attack, it deflates, submerging the its whole body underwater.

- Taxonomy and Etymology: scientifically classified as Physalia physalis, it is know as either the
bluebottle or the Man of war, this last codename comes from an 18th century Portuguese navy ship (Caravela); at high sail it would resemble the creature.

- The venom: its sting can paralyze and even kill a person, yet few death occur yearly. Its toxin can produce whip like red welt on the skin, that can last for days after the initial encounter. One of the most terrifying aspects of this beast is the fact, that just like a worm, it's limps or tentacles are active, and deadly lethal, even after they have been severed from the prime host, and wash aimlessly adrift on the waves.

So there you have it, a quick walkthrough across one of natures weirdest animal... and quite possibly one of the most insane and kaleidoscopic designs on this earth.

3:33, a strange marking on the clock.

Yesterday I woke up at 3:33 a.m... this unto itself is not a remarkable thing since a I'm a light sleeper and usually wake up, at least, once in the night. What is nonetheless quite puzzling is the fact, that although this is a common occurrence, my brain made a mental note of the time. I know, like any person with a wild imagination, that I am a slave to darkest recesses of fantasy; to those little things that spook us and later, in retrospect, we blow out of proportions; creating from a tiny insignificant fear, a near debilitating phobia.
For the fact that a couldn't wrestle the Sandman down for an hour, after I saw my luminous clock display on my bed side table no matter how many sheep I counted, I blame the film: "The Exorcist of Emily Rose"... in reality I only saw this movie once, about when It first premiered out, and to this day I barely recall it, nonetheless I must have trapped something of its sinister narrative; the subconscious is truly a horrible partner in this life.
Well, the movie would have us believe that seeing as there are no 66 minutes after six o'clock (or that the screen writers never took into account our mathematical proficiency in mastering that small riddle... can we all say 7:06), the Devil, demons, or whatever monster you choose to scare yourself with, use this timeframe to raise a little Hell.
Hence the reason why so many of us are startled awake at this acursed hour; our intuition warning us of possible evil.

The truth behind the Myth.

There are two ways to actually approach the story: as a skeptic or a believer; either shake the supernatural's metaphorical hand, or attack it with crucifix of science.
Since I am a man who loves the mundane, but relishes in the Heavenly, I discover that it is best to lay down the hypothesis or theories, and let each choose their sides... I simply desire to play and taste from both parties... In the absence of proclaming something, I leave myself open to surprises.

Mystic Explanation:

The number three has a large numerological mythology: it is the angelic number, the number of "The Holy Trinity", the hour when Jesus died, and, frankly, about a thousand more examples of this particular number's influence show up throughout history; it truly is a fascinating numeral... Well, after eons of civilization the same could be said about its siblings.

- It is said, that given as how Jesus Christ died at 3pm... 3:33 in the morning, the exact opposite hour of his sacrifice, that most Demons, and evil entities roam the earth in search of prey; a sort of mockery at the Lord... They must be quite active, and perhaps a bit drained, seeing as 3 a.m repeats about a dozen or more times a day, depending on your geographical position.
- Most Alien abductions occur at this time, or at least those starring Milla Jovovich.
-Witches consider it the Devil's Hour... so internet traffic on the occult and grimoire related websites is at an all time high on this nightly period.
-Then there is the claim, by some demonologist, that states: "...it is a trying period between the crossroad of the spiritual plane and the physical one".

- P.S: lets not forget the fact that Jesus died at a young age, 33.

Palpable Details:

- There are over 7 Billion people living in the world, statically speaking, it is only natural that a small percentage of that population woke up once, or a number of times at 3:33... and more so, that a portion of that piece has seen or heard something concerning this odd tale.
- Circadian clocks or synchronizations:  programs which our body, without the use of external sources predetermined by us, assimilate into our existence certain timeframes and natural alarms. In other words, they are untrainable reactions to our biological rhythms. All these process are closely joined to the environmental cues, different in each local of planet Earth, that embrace us (what is known in the field of chronobiology as: ZEITGEBER).
-Trained and subconscious conducts: the same way, we sometimes, start falling asleep at a determine hour, or we have to take a bathroom break at 10 a.m, or after our daily coffee, we unnoticeably teach our body certain biological imperatives. Studies have shown that we can actually instruct ourself to wake up at a predetermined time, and not even know it, if said time has a special meaning to us; "Gee, will you look at that, it's 3:33, what an odd and particularly weird number".
- Digital clocks: depending on the light they emit, the number 3:33 is one of the most potent displays on a clock's face; specially, at that murky and dark hour. If you add up: the stark glow, your befuddled mind and the gloomy expand of your room, it is no wonder that those numbers will burn straight into your retina and scar your unconscious, and faulty, directives... Once again creating a faulty wiring in your system, a small spark that will go off at 3:33 in the morning, every so often.

So if you ever do catch yourself waking up at 3:33, depending on your beliefs, either reach for a bible or a gin & tonic.

Voodoo and witchcraft: U.S.A roadtrip 1 (Marie Laveau)

"I would rather believe an absurd and fascinating lie, than a trivial and colorless truth; myths carry more passion than facts".

The United States for its 230 odd years, is in essence a rather sturdy and overgrown babe, when compared to archaic age of its peers from across the pond. But unlike its counterparts, the mismatch origins of its people, in other worlds, the proverbial "melting pot nationalities" has in turned blessed it with a rather unique and segmented belief system; and, to me at least, there is nothing more interesting than magic.

That last word should not be confused with parlor tricks and befuddle rabbits, but with true sorcery, or  the believe of such.

No sooner had the new empire been erected that witchcraft became, in the 13 colonies, both a standard and a rooted fear.

Let us go, if not in chronological order, for now, in geographical contours and only focus on the borderline of Louisiana; and more importantly at NEW ORLEANS.

Whenever the word Voodoo come up we immediately grasp at the idea of Zombies, Voodoo dolls, and, in my case, the James Bond villain "Baron Samedy"; unfortunately forgetting, like all religions, that sometimes the bad is far more alluring than the good.

Voodoo, or at least Louisiana based folkways, which in turn should not be confused with its siblings: Haitian and Southern Voodoo, is a mixture of West African Vodun and slave mentality. It has combined often contradictory beliefs, into a vast school of thought; creating a union between Catholicism, Francophone culture, slave trade and Santeria.

A whole book can and have been written on the subject, and to expect a wikipedia search, coupled with a google investigation to actually feed a meaningful article; is laughable at best. As such I will only skim the surface of this frothing soup and target one particular personage in its unbounded history; 

Madame Marie Laveau

Marie, according to some reports, was born a free slave in the French Quarter of New Orleans in the year 1794. 

She was married to a Haitian immigrant by the name of Jacques, about 25 years after her birth. The man only survived ONE year of their marital bliss, he died of mysterious and unexplained circumstance. She later became a hairdresser for the wealthy, and had a child who would surpass her with far more elaborate public displays of sorcery: Marie Laveau II

There are two explanations to Marie's magical career, both interesting in there own way. 

In one we find our self under the weight, glamor and strength of a bonafied Voodoo queen, that mixed catholic beliefs, African ghosts, and all sorts of religious ideals into a personal occult philosophy. Her shadow was felt everywhere and her powers respected, and, above all, highly solicited by the "upper crust". 

In the second and, perhaps, less sensationalist, but still quite tasty version, we find a spy master. A woman with a web of spiders so immeasurable, that to this day one would be hard press to find its edges. A woman whose "birds" were in all the households and plantations of the state. Her power were based more on psychological "cold reading" and a network of informants, that excelled at obtaining inside information on their wealthy patrons, than in any true divination and whisper from the spirits. 

"Servants are just red imps in the parlor; they don't really exist"

Marie died like a celebrity at the old age of 86. Her grave, at Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, in New Orleans, is one of the most visited attractions for tourist who venture into that city, and perhaps one of the most call upon vaults in the world; surpassing even Elvis's tomb in Graceland; people believe in the crypt's power to grant wishes and desires. To this day it is said the Marie's ghost haunts her final resting place.

Marie's influence and enigmatic nature has spawned a number of depictions in popular culture. From tribute songs ("Witch queen of New Orleans" by Redbone); to lovely chapter's by Authors such as Christopher Farnsworth (Blood Oath) and Neil Gaiman (American Gods); and soon even Angela Basset will portray her in American Horror Story: Coven.

Her legacy has been deep-seated the spirit of our time; in the zeitgeist of our period.

Let us protect one more mystery and not tarnish it with truths.

Manifesto

I'm a person adverse to social interactions, that is not to say I'm antisocial, let alone a "shut in", no I simply find that niceties, and protocols stagger your momentum, and ultimately, in your search for companionship, you find yourself more alone; even in a room full of "friends".

With that little self axiom of mine in place, you can imagine that the idea of a "Blog", for nothing more than a "Blog's" sake, is a rather excruciating exercise of masochism on my part. But like they constantly say; "No man is an island onto himself", and it would seem the natives have found me.

I recently got off the phone with my publisher, who knows a great deal more, than "little old me", on how to sell a book. It would seem that the idea of the cypher or man of mystery, that writers are so fond of projecting, is but a dying afterthought in this technological hurly burly world of ours. Once you are out there, you become intrinsically united with your book, sort of like an added bonus or french benefit, your identity becomes nothing more than a new product; one that most be cultivated and made agreeable to the masses.

As such, in the last few months, I have taken a crash course on proper Tweet etiquette, going so far as to incorporate new "slangs" in my vernacular (tuit, tweet, twitter, hash tag and the like); been sucked up, digested and finally excreted, and reborn into Facebook; and now it would seem, I am even asked to forward an RSS FEED on my current blog... first of all, what on God's green Earth is an RSS? and secondly, and perhaps more importantly, "current blog?"

As a writer, or at least someone who fancies himself as one ( a man can only dream), I have brought shame to my profession, or so my publisher has told me, by not having a blog.

I truly believed that writers were suppose to write, they woke up, got a cup of coffee and wrote... a novel in the best of circumstance. Now I find myself experimenting with haiku's for a blue little bird and trying not to wring the neck of all those that critique 140 character failures; trying, in earnest, to post something worthwhile on THE social network and lastly, thanks to my damnable publisher, racking my brain on the real purpose of a blog... as I said: I am not a gregarious and convivial creature.

Fostering a new book is hard work; It takes a certain kind of madness, and sadistic comfort, in taking pleasure in the birthing one of those little bastards out. You constantly poke, beat, probe, kick, and, largely, torture your imagination in order to fill a page up with meaningful syntax; as you can imagine, by the end of any story, that part of your mind, the one so apt to be your pilot in all "flights of fancy", is nothing more than a stressed out captain living on steam and whiskey; waiting for any excuse to just let go and nosedive into oblivion. Hence everything else, that further force his patience and compounds weight on his already beat shoulders, is simply abhorrent behavior; water-boarding an already waxing and annihilated prisoner.

As such, it might not be polite, but I will use this space for two reasons.

1.  A man's got to eat; expect some product placement (my books) and a few puff pieces; aside from food a man has to stroke his own ego.

2. This, In a way, will be my notepad. On these pages I will jot down ideas, archive memoirs, and, above all, will collect interesting tidbits. My books are ripe with data I have collected throughout my years; facts, details, "inside dope", stories and scoops on the bizarre.

This blog, will be nothing short of my reliquary of the strange... my grotesque, odd, horrifying, insane, and unbelievable CABINET OF CURIOSITIES.

For although I am not a social beast; I'm a collector of monster, they truly are the most interesting of companions.