Balladeer’s Blog resumes its examination of the macabre 1868 French language work The Songs of Maldoror.
A RAIN OF BLOOD FROM MY MIGHTY FORM
An uncharacteristically vulnerable Maldoror wonders if he is in his final hours. He defiantly and gleefully boasts that none of the world’s lying, parasitic clergy will be attending him when his end comes. If his supernaturally long life is at last over he plans to meet it cradled on the waves of the sea or atop a forbidding mountain peak.
Our narrator further points out that no sign of either sorrow or fear will mark his hideous visage at the approach of his merciless annihilation. Against all the odds he marshals what is left of his strength and begins to float across the sky, so that he can watch man’s inhumanity to man to the very last. His eldritch form spreads like a coal-black cloud, blotting out the sun and inflicting violent eruptions of lightning on the ground below. Continue reading
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