autumnal alchemy

Ah, All Hallows’ Eve is upon us, a time for a tricking and a treating, the wearing of masks and the playing of impish deeds. Crass commercialism has blighted this celebrated occasion in the religious calendar, profit is the evil God to which the greedy sup. For me personally, I sit here in my candle lit corner, a roaring open fire ablaze to the slow turn of hand stitched effigies burning crisply on the coals. In my Munsters onesy I sit grandly and survey the gloomy delight of spiders webs silhouetted eerily in the lengthening shadows and the smell of a pumpkin peculiar simmering on the hob whilst holding deep philosophical discussions with my feline familiar all the time observed by a painting of an ageing person painted by Dorian Gray. Of course, I jest, onesies are so last decade and my dear feline companion speaketh only in an ancient dialect of Cantonese which all makes discourses on the newly exhumed Halloween film a little strained. Still, to pique our listening joy, this being Halloween means the rare awakening of he who is known as Melmoth the Wanderer herewith the ritualistic death waltz that is ‘Autumnal Alchemy’. This shadow strewn celebration of the dark arts is sure to chill to the bone, a dance of the macabre, more so, perhaps a darkly spectral circus ghosted in dissipating apparitions of pagan rites performed by an Ancestral land and custom centuries laid a rest. Amid this twilight terror, a courtship spilt in blood and hysteria gathers with conspiratorial merriment. And fair traveller, be careful not to be fooled by the lulling sun toned sighs of the prettying pastoral posies that litter it’s entrance, for all is not what it first appears, something rotten and malevolent lies in the shadows of the chocolate box genteel which soon after the deathly dissolve of the Wicker Man’ fanfares have faded, a glooming fog descends bringing forth its platoon of the forgotten, from therein oblivion awaits as you fall headlong down the rabbit hole of deep psychosis, among the hazy apparitions of twisted bell chimes, bird song, Gregorian chants and mind fracturing dread drone suites an assembling of players whose number include The Ruin, Foraoise, Driftway, Calves, Rowan-Morrison, Birch Book, Broadcast and the Focus Group and Liz Fraser & The Insects take up their places for the sinister Melmoth to weave his spell crafting artistry in creating your epitaph.   

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