This is an unholy land.

Indeed it is, Os. No holiness here. A bit self-righteous maybe. ("A BIT?" say the Greek chorus.) Hey, it's good to feel "got," at least for three hours per week, and know that I can do but very little wrong.

The Girl holds The Iron Rose to her breast (and yes, it was a bit chilly that night she and The Boy were locked in the cemetery), and hopes, for a day better than today, and a perfect love that will endure the ages and the rot, as the statuary, headstones and monuments have done.

Major, MAJOR praise for our live guest, Lussuria, who rendered the sound of the subconscious world, opaque and fraught with icy uncertainty as it is, in real time. Material from the full-length Garden of Seduction was featured, and some unreleased work as well. So pleased am I to finally have Jim bring his unique sounds to The Castle.

The comments board reflected my enthusiasm for Lussuria, as well as cheers for Curved Blade, Emil Beaulieau, Long Distance Poison and Creeplings (their MySpace photo by your author, pat, pat.)

So The Boy, The Girl, and The Iron Rose go down for the last time under the iron doors, and fresh posies from an old mourner seals the deal. Were they ever there? Did they actually die long ago, let out just for that one night? He was unsure of her intentions, but the embrace of lust eternal, rolling forever on the clak-clak of old bones, brought him in, and down, for the last time. Click on the picture to access the playlist and audio archives of last night's horrorcast™.

R.I.P. Jean Rollin, painter of my mind's eye, 1938-2010.