Imported Poems

Below is the next chapter of the story. Every chapter contains a little bit of philosophy in it (some a great deal), a little nugget of truth from my perspective for those folks who like to think, which truth be told is more a coincidental phenomenon than an intentional act, and is probably due to my disgust with stupid, boring dialogue (which seems to typify a great deal of modern lit). If my characters talk, they're going to say something.

PS: I once heard a quote that says "Great minds talk about ideas, good minds talk about events, poor ones talk about other people".

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As Phoenix stared out the window of the 747, she could not help but think of those she was leaving behind. Certainly, her parents were old and would adapt to her disappearance, but what of her son, Jordan? Phoenix knew it would devastate him to think that his mother had abandoned him or, worse yet, had been kidnapped and possibly killed, yet she could not return to him - at least, not as she was. Byron had neglected to inform her of her new nature until after their conversation in the hotel, and even then he had spoken of it in an obtuse way - something concerning her “new condition”. Eventually she had come to understand that while she was not like him, she was not like the rest of society either. NO - she was some sort of amalgamation, a half-human, half-vampire.

“You know, given your disposition, you may be doing him a service,” Bryon murmured into her ear.

Phoenix had temporarily forgotten the intuitive connection between them, and now realized he had ascertained her musings. I’m not like you, Byron; I’m not debauched,” she replied.

Crossing his legs, Byron leaned in closer. “Not any longer, though you once were - but it is not that of which I speak. I’m talking about that certain melancholy of the soul, that ‘bittersweet root of paradise clenched gently between your teeth’ which causes suffering to those we love the most.”
Tears plummeted down Phoenix’s cheeks. “I’m sorry you never knew Ada and that Allegra died when she was five. How horrible that must be for you.”
Byron’s mouth opened slightly and in his wild blue eyes Phoenix could see the traces of faded memories. “I’ve often thought on it, and I believe I did right by Ada; her schooling in mathematics undoubtedly assisted her sanity. As for Allegra - one day I shall see her again.”

“Whether you see her again greatly depends on you,” Phoenix shot back.

“Ah, I forgot your religion,” Byron scowled. “If I’m saved I’ll see her, and if I’m damned, then I shall see Hell.”

“You’d do well to think on that, for it’s the only hope you ever have of a reunion with your lost children. You cannot in one breath say ‘I shall see my children again,’ and in the next ‘I’m damned to Hell, if in fact, Hell exists‘. Do you realize those are mutually exclusive ideas? Either your children are in the ground, dead and rotting if they have not already completely putrefied, OR they are in heaven, as God is want in his mercy to forgive toddlers and always accepts his children. And if you decide your Ada and Allegra are with God in the beauty of the everlasting life, you must know that without faith, you are damned to separation from not just God, but also them.”

A dark cloud passed across Byron’s face. “I am the devil.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Byron. You’re not the devil or Cain. You’re just an individual like anyone else, except you’ve a brilliant, lyrical mind. Your role in God’s narrative is not as a reprobate religious figure or an unjustly sentenced martyr of God’s tyranny. You’re a poet, a damned fine one - one of the best. On a personal level, I’d like to see such brilliance in the presence of magnanimity. Maybe you should quit God as ‘Governmental Dictator’ or ‘Corporate CEO’ and try ‘God the artist‘, for this nature that you so adore, these trees and flowers and midnight sky, these are God’s lyrical ballads to us. These are God’s sculptures and paintings.”

Although Byron remained taciturn, Phoenix sensed he was listening intently. “Faith is the cohesive element which binds the universe together into a comprehensive whole. Without it, without God, everything disintegrates. What are good and evil when there is no objective truth? You might say good and evil are determined by the individual, but is not subjective truth an illusion, a lie each person tells themselves to give themselves meaning? And if truth is relative to the individual, then aren’t all truths equally valid? And if all truths are equally valid, then aren’t Shelley’s invectives against an oppressive government’s religion merely the denunciations of a single individual, whose opinion is no more worthy of consideration than the government who oppressive its people? And what is freedom that it should be so precious if God does not exist? Because society declares it so? Some societies prefer a monarchy - control for the good of the many. Are they wrong? If so, who are we to declare their moral values evil? Are we not setting ourselves up as God?

You know what atheism is, Byron? It’s mental masturbation. The only atheists I respect are those nihilists that acknowledge everything is meaningless, and their next breath is merely a selfish desire to survive - to avoid the pain of death.”

Byron simpered. “I thank you for your concern, but I’m neither atheist nor Christian, though I might become Catholic.”

Reaching over, Phoenix whacked him on the arm. “You’re such a recalcitrant *** sometimes!” she declared passionately.

Byron burst out laughing, and gabbed her. “What are you going to do, abuse me into submission? If you can’t beat the devil out of me, you’ll beat God in?”

“No, you‘re wife already tried that and failed,” she countered.

“Ah, but you are my wife now….”

“…for about five minutes; then you’ll grow bored with me and marry again.”

Byron frowned, and Phoenix realized she had touched on a sensitive topic. “Perhaps…it’s true; the flame consumes itself and is gone, but regardless of whether I one day fail to love you, I will always cherish your friendship, your imagination and your work. At most, we will be soul mates, and at least, close friends.”

Phoenix beamed. Little did she know how accurate Byron’s prognostication would turn out to be. Within three months of arriving in LA, his interest had waned, and he pursued other women, “wedding” those he did not outright murder, although as promised he did maintain their friendship.

For her part, Phoenix set about the task of manufacturing Byron’s lineage, ultimately selecting Elizabeth Medora Leigh, the child of his and his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, as the matriarch of the line. From there she chose Elie Taillefer, her son and Roman Catholic Priest, as the patriarch, and fabricated a new but plausible lineage stemming from a fleeting but passionate affair with one of his parishioners. For his part, Byron was quite pleased, and pursued infusing living individuals with credible memories by turning them into his blood servants and torturing them.

By the end of their brief but passionate affair, Byron was the illegitimate offspring of himself.

Post-amour, Phoenix set about inculcating Byron with modern history, especially in literature and the arts, via lengthy online training sessions and frequent jaunts to the library, and soon he was proficient in all of them (though like Phoenix his mind failed to grasp the mathematical computations which legitimized quantum mechanics). As his knowledge increased - and his quest for it was insatiable - so did his writing, till he was producing such literary masterpieces as “As I Lay Dying”, the “Necronomicon” (in honor of H.P. Lovecraft), and “Byron’s Sea Sodom: The Untold Story”. Regarding the latter Phoenix was forced to remind him that to date no one had discovered manuscripts which delineated the names, places, times and circumstances by which he conducted his scandalous love affairs, and that to reveal such information in his current situation would incur great criticism and suspicion. In response, Byron agreed to choose some other subject for his clandestine work, eventually selecting “Homosexuality in the British Public School System” as his topic.

For living arrangements they temporarily resided in a hotel room, although Byron eventually settled upon an extravagant house in the Hollywood Hills, and one night forcefully adopted its owners into his growing family. Soon the mansion was spilling over with beautiful brunettes and buxom blondes, something which Phoenix, being a reclusive sort with a gross need for solitude, found overweening, so she asked and was granted permission by Byron to build and abide in a guest house behind the main. It was only after she officially moved into the residence that Phoenix began to notice a change in her undead husband. Although his boudoir invitations had become less frequent, his spontaneous visits increased, so that he began popping in at odd hours, even building a sheltered walkway to facilitate daylight travel. With these intensified visits came an intensified preoccupation with her unsupervised activities, to the point that he questioned her loyalty to him, and at least once intimated she was involved with someone else, possibly one of the boy toys he kept for himself in the house. Although she denounced all his accusations as the workings of an overactive imagination, his behavior did not change, but it was not until the night when, after overindulging in wine and drugs, he appeared unannounced and began savaging her that she realized the extent of his obsession. Despite his brilliance and power over the female persuasion, he was at heart insecure, and her level of intellectual and physical independence from him was something he count not endure. After several incidences that left her beaten, bruised and bleeding, she agreed to allow him to assign her one of his assistants, who would keep watch over her during his absenteeism. Slowly, she ceased her nocturnal outings and then her trips to the mansion, and then, any company at all. At the end, she remained alone, locked inside her chambers, fearful of everyone and everything, but most of all - herself.