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Werewolves of Boat Quay

Beware those of you traipsing through the woody forests of revelers in Boat Quay tonight with baskets of mooncakes for Grandma. Lantern Festival (mooncake night) is typically a night for curfew-free romancing and matchmaking.

Filtering her pale glow through the smokey haze of a thousand forests burning, the full moon means many things, brings many changes, makes many strange things happen.

Fertility rituals ring out where the river meets the sea, scintillating red and green and gold lantern lights echo in wavelengths across the waters, flashing harmonic reflections into the eyes and onto the sweat-burnished cheeks of unruly overpaid Dionysian revelers, whose cups overflow with watered-down liquors...

You sense their ancient precursors not so deep under their specious skins, answering the mythopoeic calls of a forbidden primitive religion, its victims of orgiastic sacrificial rites drenched in menses and semen, cavorting with abandon as dark tongues of firelight lick moistly at their grunting, shouting, laughing bodies. But even in history, for most of the god-fearing year this communal insanity was out of sight, illicit, subliminal, hidden beneath the silent surface of the unspeaking woods, suggested only by faint flickering illuminations somewhere the depths in the forests, faerielights that rise and go deeper into the forests as they sense you approach, their calls of ecstasy fading and growing to your ears with the gusts of a troublesome warm wind.

And so you munch your lotus paste and egg yolk. Hidden messages in the mooncakes speak of signs of trouble, troubled times, the foment of discontent. They are calling for the rebellious rabble to rise up secretly and slaughter their illegal and rapacious masters as they sleep in Procrustean beds of self-imposed ethical amputation. Dissent and the call to action are in the cake and of its eating.

Lunatics abound, causing trouble. Taxis vanish mysteriously. Disturbances in the ether, madness from on high, sexually charged and rampant, dispatched with devilry by the Princess who ate the Sun King's food and floated away to become the Moon. This is not the sad Princess who kissed and frog and kissed him again and again at his ribiddy insistence until she baulked - "Men! You'll never change!"

For people DO change under the full force of this Princess's pallid rays, sometimes grossly, sometimes into fearful and all too recognisable creatures: the hunting packs of the human psyche.

Those previously infected lycanthromorphisize. It's in the blood.

Beware Little Red Riding Lingerie. Is that REALLY a benign smile on Grandma's leering mouth? Hop into my bed he/she cries. In the original fable The Miss of the Red Cape disrobes before climbing into bed with Grandma? Why? Something we keep in the family?

But Grandma, what tents the sheets so? What big condoms you have! And so many!

What woodchopper's axe will fall and fall again into the wolf's bloated guts once he eats you all up? And did you resist your WereGrandma's mastication? Did you push his head away as he whetted his fervid appetites? Or did you fling your head back and cry to the moon, your sister moon, "Eat me! Yes, eat me!"

No post-prandial caesarian need rescue you, for with an act of will, the sheer strength of progenetive propagation, you pop naked and undigested, slimy with juices and entrails, intact and alive, parthenogenetically from the dead wolf's latex husk, which you wrap expertly in a tissue and flush down grandma's biodegradable toilet.

AaahhhhwwooowwwWWWWW



Will she rise again, this demonic moon? Is once a year enough?

E@L

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Put the cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come get into bed with me." Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!". "All the better to hug you with, my dear." "Grandmother, what big legs you have!" "All the better to run with, my child." "Grandmother, what big ears you have!" "All the better to hear with, my child." "Grandmother, what big eyes you have!" "All the better to see with, my child." "Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!" "All the better to eat you up with." And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up. -- Little Red Riding Hood, Charles Perrault


From XB
~~~~~~~~~~~

Further reading:

mr brown has a commentor with the Singlish LRRH story. I used to have it also, but on my previous blog.

On female sexuality and lycanthropy - The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter.

On Dionysian rituals and the Platonic eidetic (WETFTM) - The Athenian Murders by Jose Carlos Somoza.

E@L

MORE...


Posted by: expat@large on Oct 06, 06 | 11:26 am | Profile


OTHER MONKEYS SAID



I am both amazed at how much time you have on your hands, and how your warped mind really works...

well written.


Posted by: Indiana on Oct 06, 06 | 2:37 pm

My mind WORKS??? That's a revelation!


Posted by: expat@large on Oct 06, 06 | 2:50 pm

Think I'll probably be crying "Eat me!Yes, eat me!"

Depending on who's doing the eating of course.*grin*


Posted by: VirginPornStar on Oct 08, 06 | 11:16 pm


Yeah ... I know it's out of context ... and now irrelevant.... but ...

Roses are red
Violets are Blue
Iíd come to the phone
But thereís someone to do.


Roses are red
Concrete is gray.
Leave me a message,
If youíve nice things to say


Roses are red
My arse is bruised black
If your message is funny
Then Iíll call you right back


Roses are red
Fresh shit is brown
Iíll replay your message
When Iím back in town


Roses are red
And I say with aplomb
I canít speak to you now
Iím in the middle of someone*


Posted by: markeast on Oct 08, 06 | 11:49 pm

I think it's the "free time" thing Indy keeps talking about .... (funny how he always has time to say that ...)


Posted by: markeast on Oct 08, 06 | 11:51 pm

You sent me scrambling for the dictionary.... but you still have me on lycanthromorphisize... (... no, don't tell me ... I'll get it!.. I'll get it..)

I'm fine with parthenogenetically. (Thanks for asking anyway)

My, what big words you have, grandma...


Posted by: markeast on Oct 09, 06 | 10:51 am

Methinks the haze is getting to you.


Posted by: Hairydonut2 on Oct 09, 06 | 3:34 pm

Mark: Lycanthromorphisize - to turn into a werewolf. One of mine own, thank you very much. Didn't you watch (in slow motion) Kate Beckinsale in Underworld I & II?

"aplomb - someone" nearly there!

and speaking of someone we'd all like to see in tight black leathers...

VPS: you've merely to ask and you shall receive. AAawwooooWWW :)

Hairysmoot: cough cough, what you say?


Posted by: expat@large on Oct 10, 06 | 1:12 am

I have already received.


Posted by: VirginPornStar on Oct 10, 06 | 11:39 am

Really? Funny, I would have been certain that I would remember that...

These tablets are REALLY playing havoc with my memory!


Posted by: expat@large on Oct 10, 06 | 5:46 pm


THIS MONKEY SAYS




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