Christa Giles

132
Woman, in her primal essence, an
unthinking creature, mad on mystery and the
unknown, smitten with evil in the form of
perverse and diabolical seduction. Dreams of
children, dreams of the senses, monstrous
and melancholy dreams, dreams conveying
spirit and soul into the vague inane of space,
into the mystery of darkness. Everything
must feel the influence of the seven capital
sins, everything is to be found in this satanic
precinct, in this circle of vices and guilty
ardours, from the seed still apparently
innocent to the monstrous and fatal flowers of
the abyss. Here are processions of accursed
queens just coming away from the serpent of
spellbinding sermons; here are women whose
soul has gone from them, waiting by the
wayside for the lascivious goat to come by,
the goat mounted by lust that will be
worshipped as it passes. Aloof and sombre
women, in a dream of envy and unappeased
pride, in their brutish isolation; women
straddling chimeras that carry them into
space, whence they fall back again in
bewildered horror and giddiness. Dark,
terrible, deadly chimeras, the chimeras of
space, of the waters, of mystery, of darkness
and dream. 361