agrippahipsta

[agrippahipsta]

Dear Frankenators,

It is with a heavy heart that I announce to you the passing of my mother. Since I wrote to you last, Elizabeth made a full recovery, when suddenly my mother took I’ll in the evening with the same burning fever that Elizabeth had. She struggled all throughout the night with the doctor sending myself and Elizabeth out to gather snow to cool her. When the doctor said she should be administered the last sacrament, I never left her side. She did not live to see the morning. Oh, cruel, power drunk God! Mother, I thought I had known this world’s darkness, but the absence of your light makes it infinitely blacker. A great sadness has descended on my life, readers, that I fear I will never be able to escape - it has settled into the bones like the cold rot that dismantles the house. I don’t know how much longer this scaffolding is to hold.

V.F.

[agrippahipsta]

Dear Frankenators,

I have terrible news! Elizabeth has come down with the most wretched of sicknesses. She’s been burning up for days and I’m being driven into the depths of despair with worry. The doctor has been administering poultices and a variety of other remedies, but nothing seems to be able to get her temperature down. How unfair this God is if he is to murder one of his brightest and most beautiful creations! If only there was something I could do! I do hope she is to recover soon, I would do anything, give up anything if it means she is to live. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers.

Yours truly,

Victor Frankenstein

[agrippahipsta]

I’ve just finished reading Paradise Lost by recommendation of my father and what an utter waste of time! And what a babbling old fool that Milton is, just like my wretched father! I would like the record to show that Vic does certainly NOT recommend this pick. 

[agrippahipsta]

[agrippahipsta]

[agrippahipsta]

The Forgotten Leaf

I wandered over the hill,

On a frosty October morning,

Where maple leaves did spill,

The children gathered, foraging.

Rushing to the tree’s red leaves,

Like tending to the soldiers fallen,

They harvested with dirty sleeves,

Their loot into the basket went all in.

But as I approached the greedy bunch,

Where they circled around the tree,

The leaves underfoot made a crunch,

As they all moved to flee from me.

“Scary boy!” and “Sickly ghost!”

I heard them all tauntingly squeal,

But what really did hurt the most,

Is that they thought I could not feel.

As I looked at them running with joy,

Those maple leafed thieves,

I realized that it was I, the haunted boy,

Who was the most forgotten of the forgotten leaves.

V.F.

[agrippahipsta]

Hey Frankenators,

Victor here. How this autumn sunshine does drone on and on! And how sick it makes one when one’s mood is in the darkest throws of winter! Alas, I digress. Many of you have written to me asking more about my poetry, I thought I would go ahead and share some of it with you all. Okay, I cannot tell a fib, no one has written to me asking about my poetry, but I thought I would share it anyways. This one is called “The Forgotten Leaf” and I wrote it after one of my morning walks. You see, I was out just after the sun had risen and was coming up over the small hill by our house where there is a large maple tree. Over the mist I could just make out a group of children hunched over by the tree, gathering fallen leaves into a basket. As I began to approach them, they scurried away in fear and I heard them whisper, “There he is, the scary dark boy, the one who always looks so sad!” I stood there in shock with my head hung to the ground. Could this really be? I had, on occasion, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and remarked on how ghostly I often did appear, how my pale face lacked the colour that seemed to effervesce in Elizabeth’s face, how the purple circles under my eyes seemed to darken like Dante’s rings, and how the hollows of my cheeks seemed to show I was far older than my years in comparison to the lovely plumpness of my mother’s cheeks. Was I to be, as these children made of me, the villain out of a fable? Was I fated to be the monster they made of me, their boogie man? As I looked down at the leaves they left behind I saw not the blisteringly bright red maple leaves that pooled in their basket but the old, crumpled bunch, all sad and scoured over. The leaves that, having been neutered from the old branches, and passed over by the chubby hands of the children for a spot or a blemish, an asymmetric vein, a stem not intact enough to be satisfactory, would stand there in the blood black soil, the autumn dampness engulfing them until the insects would finally make their claim.

[agrippahipsta]

Reblog if you belong to the Vivaldi fandom too!

[agrippahipsta]

Here is a sketch of our family tree, pre-electrocution :(

[agrippahipsta]

Dear Frankenators,

It’s Victor. Last night I was up late reading Three Books of Occult Philosophy, when suddenly a terrible storm came on. It raged and raged on like nothing I’ve ever seen before. As I watched from my window at the harsh winds and terrible rain, a lightning bolt struck a tree and cut in clean in half! I watched, both in awe and horror at the smoking carcass that the lightning strike left in its wake, its smoldering embers still burning, the once glorious tree that had been in our family for hundreds of years now the collateral damage that this electric plunder left in its wake. This poor victim now reduced to ash. Seeing this pitiable and heartbreaking sight – and knowing that I am no longer a boy but a young man, I now understand that the course of my life must diverge from what I once had planned. Instead of dedicating my life to studying natural philosophy, I must study the more practical, logical elements of life like mathematics. Alas, I will never be an Agrippa, Paracelsus, or Magnus, as I had always hoped, but am now destined to be a Pascal, Pythagoreas, or Newton. Anyways, enough of my complaining, my father has been on my case about what he calls my “incessant whining”, the bloody blunderbuss! He thinks of me as fragile and girlish – what a load of utter poppycock he talks! Anyways, things have been rather testy between us lately, but luckily mother always takes my side. Thank goodness I’ll always have her love and golden kindness to rely upon! Well, I suppose I’ll just have to stifle my dreams and suck it up, like the man father expects me to be. Hopefully, some Vivaldi’s Winter in F Minor will help to soothe some of my sorrows. :(

Your friend,

Victor Frankenstein

[agrippahipsta]

“Now the instrument of inchanters [enchanters] is a most pure harmoniacall [harmonic] spirit, warm, breathing, living, bringing with it motion, affection, and signification […] And therefore Magicians inchanting things are wont to blow, and breath [breathe] upon them the words of verse, or to breath in the vertue [virtue] with the spirit, that so the whole vertue [virtue] of the soul be directed to the thing inchanted [enchanted], being disposed for receiving the said vertue [virtue].”

-Agrippa, Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Philosophy

[agrippahipsta]

Here are some of my sketches of the great Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa! Really proud of these ones! :)

[agrippahipsta]

“For to be wise and love

Exceeds man’s might.”

-Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida

[agrippahipsta]

Found this book about Greek mythology today in the library and was reading about this figure called Prometheus…two words: BO-RING! Anyways, this painting is quite moving! 

[agrippahipsta]

What I’m rereading today...reblog this if you want to join a book club I’m starting, it will be called Vic’s Picks!

[agrippahipsta]

This is so 

[agrippahipsta]

My beautiful mother, Caroline Beaufort Frankenstein and I as a baby