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Lord Of Infinite Diversions by T. WINTER-DAMON

t. Winter-Damon is a demented poet from Tucson, Arizona whose work has been described as Neo-Baudelarian-Cyber-Sade. His work has been widely published around the lunatic-fringe world of the small press and experimental magazines. In addition to his poetry, he writes a monthly review column on the surreal/experimental/underground publishing scene for Scavenger's Newsletter. Just lately Winter-Damon has decided to try his hand at writing a novel, and, in collaboration with Randy Chandler, the two have completed Duet for the Devil, first volume of The Books of the Beast trilogy — excerpts of which have already appeared in various small press publications. No, this is not another of those fairyland-fantasy trilogies.

Lord of Infinite Diversions

(kount hymn 2 aiming thee phallen)

green jade, green jade the womb of this throne room cavern, the prince is poised magnificently upon his throne, he is a fair & well-formed youth, a youth perhaps of fifteen summers, ringlets of golden hair entwine about the beautiful cruelty of his face. Beautiful, almost effeminate his haughty decadence, his eyes compel, his eyes that are faceted chunks of amber lit from within, to stare into those eyes is entrapment eternal, certain, witness the human insects frozen deep therein… the prince is naked, not merely unclothed but naked in his perfect sin. naked as the marbling of veins & arteries & musculature laid bare for his inspection, the flayed female slaves displayed indecently upon his rack, his phallus is a rearing serpent, his wings of bone & leather tremble like the leaves of aspen at the first faint breath of winter, his excitement is so delicately understated, like the fire that dances deep within the opal, like the gilded satin of a butterfly's wing, a huge fly like a jewel is set into the ring upon his left hand, emerald & amethyst glitter upon his middle finger…

grey, all dove grey the tailored garments of the dandy, the dandy in his carefully pressed trousers & his vest & waistcoat & top hat. a ruff of lace at throat & wrists betrays the hint of white white foam, the golden fob. the golden chain, the golden timepiece, exposed, a symmetry that evokes some secret symbolism suddenly made manifest. (& as if this were surely not enough!) his face his hidden, masked as an albatross in ivory, smooth & sensuous each perfectly carved curve, the grey man. the dandy, they are one. one who ravishes his slain lover's corpse, a woman in torn vestiges of black lace & net stockings ornamented with gold clocks, her hair is panthers' fur & jungle midnights, a black-bearded dwarf clasps her severed head between his naked thighs…

restless sea. restless sea of slowly rolling waves, sea of violet, sea of scarlet, sea of crimson…

& in the timevault the throbbing brain of Donatien Frangois drifts in its womb of glass, laved in its broth of hemoglobin & of soma. (skull of glass, hallucinating death dreams into infinity… dreams slowly rolling in a sea of blood & the piss of pirate priests & fly agaric…)

restless sea.