helga von porno

Tales of my fortunes in London involving philosophy time travel heroin addicted granny, prophesy, prostitution, murder, global conspiracy, friends, and personal finances. I am from east germany and fled to england when my parents where murdered and have been living here unofficially since.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Herbert and the Ice Queen

Herbert strolled across the meadow with melancholy in his heart and sat down beneath an old willow tree, took out his lute and began to play the sadness of his heart. The sadness was so sad that the singing birds stopped singing and flew far away. The sky turned from blue to milky bruisey grey. The trees and grass crackled with frost like cut glass. Dawn approached dust and dust approached dawn like dancers in a square.
Herbert looked up to the hill where the Ice Queen stood stock still surveying the grey and dismal veil with unblinking stare. He had never seen such a statue of beauty so cold and austere.
He went up to her and greeted her grinning. "Hello maid, and what a beautiful maid you are." He tried.
She turned to him from her neck like an owl. She leveled her gaze on him. Placid, yet unforgiving.
Herbert was great at staring people out. At bard school he never was forced to look away or giggle. But he found his cheeks grew rosy and his feet needed visual attention.
Wheresoever he looked there was Spring but as the Ice Queen's gaze followed winter layed over.
"Happy Christmas!" He tried, and danced a gay jig.
Such uncompromising scorn had never been implied so explicitly as by the Ice Queen's silent response.
"I know, I will throw you a party, we'll have a great big fire and lots of lovely local folk, that should break the ice......"
Herbert's voice trailed off. The Ice Queen's cold blue eyes told you easily what foolishness this was.
Herbert disappeared into the wood. I watched him go. For I am the Ice Queen. I turned back to the vale and poured ice over the world with my steady impenetrable stare. In the periphery I knew there was colour and warmth in the world, but wherever I looked was ice and death and solid cold.
Herbert returned with local folk. The area was anarchist. The people of the wood were free. There were Bodgers and love makers, jugglers and drug takers, nude dancers and vegetarian cooks, singers and ranters story tellers and rugby teams, all manner of musicians bearing bassoons clutching cellos garroting guitars and banging banjos. It was a jolly jamboree and the fire grew higher and higher. But whenever the Ice Queen turned her gaze to the fire it smouldered sputtered and went out. Jugglers dropped their balls, Bodgers bungeld their chair legs, cellists snapped their bows and the organ grinder ground to a halt. Herbert wrang his hands and wondered how to melt the Ice Queen's heart.
Shouting came from the woods and a phalanx of Fascists appeared in formation. They destested freedom and battered the free folk in a disciplined and ordered fashion. They took them screaming and struggling to pre prepared pits in the wood, slit their throats and threw them in big open graves. The anarchists resisted, but only Herbert knew how. He drew his sword and sliced and slashed and slew and wounded and gashed and fucked up badly fascists who came near the Ice Queen. But his heroism didn't break her Ice. He got drawn into the melee, called to arms by a hurdy gurdy player.
A big black brute of a fascist set his maliscious attention on the Ice Queen. "I'm going to take the frosty wench!" He anounced and stided towards her like a walking tree.
A little boy, the son of a nudist, ran in between the Ice Queen and the Fascist giant. "Don't you hurt the pretty lady!" He squeeked at the fascist, and stabbed a stake knife into the fascists foot.
"Arrrrrgh!" went the fascist clutching his foot and hopping. "Right, you little bastard!" He growled, and brought his Axe down on the little boys head and cut him in two.
As the two little arms twitched their last in a bath of gore, and incredible thing happened, The Ice queen began to thaw!
It started in the corners of her eyes. Two springs bubbled up cutting streams down her icey cheeks. Then her heart glowed red with fury and fire lashed from her tongue. She screetched and screachy scream blast of fire and a great heat of fury poured from her like she was a pillar of flame and vengeful rage.
The fascists singed and recinded recoiled and retreated defeated.
The sun rose rosey rose and streams gushed from the mountainside and birds returned and sang their silly songs of love.
I collapsed back in the leaves and gazed teary eyed into the deep blue sky.


  • At 5:24 AM, Blogger razboynik said…

    Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.....!

  • At 3:54 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said…

    Merry merry Christmas, darling. May hijinks and high-balls (I believe this is an American beverage) be yours this season and all good wishes for the coming year.

    It's been a real treat finding your blog this year. I'm looking forward to an equally sparkling and witty 2007 round these parts.

    Now go on with you.


  • At 5:37 AM, Blogger Andyexpat said…

    Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year !

  • At 3:15 AM, Blogger Ultra Toast Mosha God said…

    There's nothing like an axe halved-infant to bring back warmth to a cold soul.

    So, if I see a stony faced maiden by the roadside in the yuletide season, I should bid her merry christmas and lacerate the nearest boy to appease her.

    Noting that down now...

  • At 10:57 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    You are not the first Ice queen I have heard of. Are you all related? Can there be only one at a time or any number moving about the globe, freezing things with their icy glare? Is it a hereditary line? Perhaps to become an Ice Queen one must slay the incumbent Ice Queen. But if that were the case, who would become the new Ice Queen in the case of this story?

  • At 11:48 PM, Blogger Ari said…

    Your stories all seem to have a hidden meaning which just eludes me. Still, I love them, whether they love me or not.

    Also, my links fell to pieces but you are now restored to my link list!

  • At 3:37 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said…

    Mmm, Mr Nik, I'm not sure what implication you are drawing. Do you scorn me? Do you dare to scorn me?

    Why thankyou Ma am Sam.

    And same to you Andy Ex pat

    My darling Ultra, it is with great affection I hereby scold you. What melted my heart was the noble brave self sacrific of the weak and humble child in defence of one to whom he owed nothing but common humanity. Had he lived I would have been more pleased.

    The Peregrinating Record returns! I dispute your hypothesis. "Ice Queen" is more of a psychological description rather than a title, and as your tramp/saint predicts, the sexual selfishness of men may cause whole glaciers of ice queens to block the valley of humanity to a grinding halt. Phew, I've quite exhausted myself with these fucking metaphors.

    Thankyou wise and gentle Ari, I find your comment very pleasing. It seems that you are aware of a meaning without knowing what it is, a paradox! I'm not sure if a story can love a person, and whether the author can make a story love a person, but if so, then all my stories love you.

  • At 5:42 AM, Blogger Brooklyn Frank said…

    muchos kudos!

  • At 10:30 AM, Blogger Zen Wizard said…

    Well, I have found a way to melt an Ice Queen's heart which does not involve child sacrifice--you need to bust her balls ever so slightly in a humorous fashion.

    Every other guy is saying, "Gosh, you are so beautiful!" and even more pathetic, "What is a beautiful woman like you doing with Macho Boy, your current boyfriend?"

    No--you need to take the road less traveled. Walk up to the Ice Queen and say, "Gene Simmons called. He wants his makeup kit back, when you are done with it..."

    Will it work? Who cares? Every woman--even Betty Lou next door--probably has some hangup or daddy issue or fucked up goal to be "America's Next Top Model" that is going to make it impossible for you to have a relationship with her, anyway, and that is "The Zone" you need to get your mind into, which is the opposite of what every other guy is thinking: Which is how much it will impress everyone else when the Ice Queen and him are married, and what their children are going to look like.

    If you melt the Ice Queen's heart, by the way, don't say I didn't warn you: More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones. You will curse the day you melted the Ice Queen's heart one day when you have just come home after a 16-hour day, taken a well earned dump, washed your hands...and can't find a towel to dry them on, because the Ice Queen won't let you use the "good towels" that are out that you paid for; those are for her stuck-up friends when they come over and remind her that she could do better than you.

  • At 4:39 AM, Blogger Ultra Toast Mosha God said…

    Indeed, but tragedy is so much more interesting, don't you think?

    This is why I hated 'Rocky Balboa' in which I assumed the protagonist was going to die.

    As it was, he just seemed to grow old gracefully.


  • At 8:19 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said…

    Thankyou Zen for your wise remarks. That I managed to spit my thanks through gritted teeth just shows how humble I am. What from the outside might appear to be snobbishness is from the inside a wretched scorn for all things. However you rightly criticize me for indulging myself, in a weird thirdpersonal way which makes it clearer than a direct affront. Be careful what you wish for, and the ice queen wishes for the unachievable.

    Ultra, I shall use your comment as a piece of advice if I ever try and write commercially. No cop show that has Von Porno in the credit roll will have any characters that survive an episode. Now there's a format.

  • At 5:51 PM, Blogger Zen Wizard said…

    Oh--I didn't know you were the Ice Queen, sorry. My metaphor detector was dropped over the holidays and it is still not working right.

    In that case, Jean Simmmons called, and she wants her makeup kit back when you are done with it.


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