Archive for the Nativity in Black Category

Goodbye 2017

Posted in 2017, Black Hymeneal, Krampus, Nativity in Black, Uncategorized, Year End Review with tags , , , , , on December 18, 2017 by Manuel Paul Arenas

Well,  December is almost over and 2017 has already got one foot out of the door. Unfortunately, it will just be yet another in a sequence of shitty years for me. For starters nothing has changed since my last year end update. Black Hymeneal is still in limbo, waiting to be published. I have revamped the original manuscript, made some changes in the selection of poems, and rewritten the introductions then sent the manuscript to my friend Denisse Montoya who is supposed to help me with the cover art and layout, but I do not have an ETA on that at present.

My buddy Dick Kelly got sidetracked and wasn’t able to complete the Krampus illustrations for our proposed chapbook, but we recently talked and he said he was getting back on it. Again, I am hopeful, but there is no ETA at present.

I have been writing more these days and actually was able to write a prose piece I had conceived of last year then shelved. It is called Nativity in Black and I debuted it at the Space 55 7 Minutes Under the Mistletoe on 12/15/17. I have recently requested a video of my performance which I may post on here once I receive it, if I can figure out how to do that. Perhaps Denisse can help me with that as well. I also have been working fairly regularly on two stories from my Helldorado series, however, what has kept me from completing them in a timely manner is that my tablet shit the bed back in April and I cannot afford to replace it so I have had to do my work at the library where my access is limited and there are multiple distractions and no privacy.

I am still at the caption job and still have yet to make a single friend. I hate some of the calls I have to dictate, most actually, but it pays the bill for now. I still long for the day when I can make my living off of my art.

Speaking of living, I may have to live somewhere else by the end of 2018. My landlords are raising the rent so I have renewed my lease for the last time then my roomie and I are parting ways. So now my future living situation is uncertain.

Without getting into the boring details, my personal life hasn’t changed either. I had hoped sometime in my 50th year things would look up for me in that department, but no such luck so far. Perhaps it’s just as well. If I should decide to leave Arizona at the end of 2018 I will only have to worry about myself and no one else.

If I had to live in AZ for the rest of my life, I had hoped to make a name for myself writing Southwestern Gothic Horror, with a Latin bent, but I would gladly give that up if I can leave the Southwest all together.  I am so unhappy here. I would love to return to my beloved New England, but I don’t think I can afford that. I also don’t relish being so far away from my family if anything happens. Perhaps the Northwest would work. I will have to weigh my options very soon.

 

 

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Nativity in Black

Posted in Antichrist, Black Sabbath, Gothic Prose, N.I.B., Nativity in Black, Nativity in Black (album), prose, The Omen (1976), Weird Fiction with tags , , , , , , , on November 22, 2017 by Manuel Paul Arenas

I will begin this post with a disclaimer. I was hesitant to post this little prose piece for fear of a backlash from people who don’t understand the difference between fiction and reality. The following is a fantasy, not a comment on my personal beliefs, nor is it meant to be a parody of anyone else’s beliefs. Okay, now that’s out of the way let’s move on…

About a year ago, I was listening to Black Sabbath when the tune N.I.B. came on and I began to reflect on the amusing story behind its name:

“In a 1992 interview, Geezer Butler states that the title simply refers to Bill Ward’s goatee at the time, which the rest of the band thought was shaped like a pen nib; also referred to as nibby. Apparently, Geezer Butler said: “Originally it was Nib, which was Bill’s beard. When I wrote N.I.B., I couldn’t think of a title for the song, so I just called it Nib, after Bill’s beard. To make it more intriguing I put punctuation marks in there to make it N.I.B. By the time it got to America, they translated it to Nativity In Black.” Ronnie James Dio can be heard mentioning (but not confirming) this assumption on several live bootleg recordings with the band from the early 1980s and on the 2007 released Live-CD Live at Hammersmith Odeon, recorded in 1982. “Nativity in Black” was later used for the title of a series of Black Sabbath tribute albums.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N.I.B. retrieved from Wikipedia 11/14/2017)

Cover art for the Black Sabbath tribute album, Nativity in Black (1994, Columbia Records).

As I pondered over the title Nativity in Black I was struck with an idea to write a prose poem describing the nativity of the Antichrist. It would be a mirror reflection of the traditional story, showing the shadow side, the yin to its yang, if you will. I did some research, made some notes, and then put it aside in favor of some other more pressing projects. Fast-forward to October 2017 after the 7 Minutes in Hell show at Space 55, my buddy Ash invites me to participate in a special Horror-themed Christmas show to make up for the Lovecraft show in August which got canceled at the last minute. I of course agreed then promptly began to panic as I didn’t have anything Christmas-themed save for my Krampus poem which I have read at several events over the last few years. I needed to write something new, but what?

Then one evening I was sitting in my room looking through my DVD collection for something to watch, when I pulled The Omen (1976) from the shelf. I put it on, and within minutes was reminded of my shelved project. I pulled it out and found that inspiration came very quickly so that within days I had the body of the piece written and just had to tweak it until it was ready to be shared. So without further ado, I present Nativity in Black

 

In the days of political cronyism and religious extremism, when the underprivileged were exploited and social minorities were discriminated against or persecuted, a coven of Spanish witches were celebrating an akelarre in a remote cave in the vicinity of Zugarramurdi, in Navarra, Spain, when they were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of an emissary from Hell.

Naked and dreadful she rose from the flames of their bonfire, her long red hair cascading down the entirety of her pearly flesh to rejoin the flames; her green eyes were fierce and dazzling. The witches were sore afraid and trembled at her approach, but she opened her palms at her sides and in tones of surety set their minds at ease:

“Fear not my little darklings, I am Lilith, true first woman and Queen of all Hell, and I bring you good tidings that will be a boon to all children of darkness. Tonight, in the ruins of Chorazin an oppressor was born unto you; he is the Antichrist, your Overlord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby swathed in shadow, lying in a minikin ebon coffin.”

In response to her announcement a host of cherubic heads on bat wings sprung from the fire from whence arose their mistress; their lambent eyes glimmering like tiny candle flames in the gloomy cave, their red mouths chaunting in antiphonal response, “Hail to Satan in the lowest chasm, and on earth woe to those who incur his wrath.”

At the conclusion of her annunciation Lilith raised her arms from her sides and flames appeared on either palm as she declaimed “Let these lights become a beacon to all who wish to undertake the Black Pilgrimage and witness the beginning of the end.” Clapping her hands together the flames coalesced to form a fireball which she released into the heavens beyond the cave. Simultaneous with the egress of the beacon was the withdrawal of fair Lilith and her dreadful chorus followed by the return of the lackluster normalcy of the sublunary realm.

At the departure of the infernal host the coven rallied to choose 3 of their 13 to follow the ignis fatuus, traveling through never-ending night on a small barque with a lone sable sail, blown by an ill wind, to the shores of Galilee. Upon their dawn arrival, as the barque and the beacon flame faded, giving way to the oppressive daytime sunlight, they climbed the hill of the ancient city where they sought and found the fabled lost synagogue of Jacob Ory. Exhausted, they collapsed at the foot of the ruin and fell fast asleep.

Awaking to the gloom of the crepuscular hour they waited for the reappearance of the guiding light which appeared anon in the caliginous heavens above the ruin before falling, like a comet, toward them. Frozen in mingled fear and anticipation they followed it’s decent until, at the last moment, it slowed to alight on the flambeau between the horns of the terrible Goat of Mendes, Baphomet, who was the first to appear in the formerly occulted tableaux which was suddenly illuminated before his dais in blasphemous splendor.

Acknowledging the pilgrims the Light-bearer deigned to motion for their approach. The witches, complying, were awestruck at the scene before them. To the left, lurking just beyond the fulgor of Baphomet’s beacon, were a coterie of ashen-faced men in tailored suits. Each one in his livid hands bore a bauta mask adorned with the semblance of a human face, each vizard representing one of the sundry races of humankind. Their red eyes smoldered in the shadows as their forked tongues slithered betwixt their acuminate choppers.

To the right was a menagerie of benighted beasts: a prodigious toad squatting and squinting, it’s cat-like eyes surveying the coven with a scrutiny that betrayed an aberrant intelligence; a three-headed serpent, reared upright, with its heads thrown back, exposing its belly in obeisance; and an enormous black canid with a single flaming red eye in the center of its forehead which stood menacingly as acting sentinel to the infernal infant in the funest cradle before them. Next to them were a band of sooty devils creating a discordant din: one blew a steerhorn from his buttocks, another played a tabor and a third a viol all fashioned from human bones, gut, and skin.

Opposite them, genuflecting to the unholy family, were the bedeviled shades of the three magi: Otsanes, Zoroaster, and Hystaspes, granted leave from their underworld abodes to present Satan’s son with individual gifts of goety, astrology and prophecy. The child’s mother, a callow and corrupted apostate, was fair of face, lithe in figure, and arrayed in black. Crowned with a star-ruby in a silver diadem, she accepted their gifts with unseemly gusto which she submitted to her consort for his consecration before placing them on the dais.

The hell-bound Hadži, with hesitant steps, approached the little black funerary box lined in black silk where an august newborn, swaddled in a protective wreathe of tenebrosity, gurgled and wriggled before opening his penetrating black eyes to gaze upon his menials who quailed at his uncanny gaze and fell on their knees to grovel.

“Woe to you, oh earth and sea, for the devil sends the beast with wrath because he knows the time is short. Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a human number: its number is six hundred and sixty six.”*

 

*Fans of the band Iron Maiden (Maidenheads?) may recognize this quote from the opening of the title track from their Number of the Beast album (1982), but it is in fact 2 separate quotes from the Book of Revelation, 12:12 and 13:18 respectively. I really like their translation the best and tried to find the source but the only other place I have seen it is in the 1976 novelization of The Omen by David Seltzer. I believe both quotes are in there, but when I went to look for them to cite here, I only found 13:18 [Seltzer, David (1976) The Omen, pg. 137, Signet / New American Library]