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Vampires, which many misjudge to be an all-out crapfest of epic proportions, was, in actuality, a stirring essay into the fears nestled deep within the shared truths of humankind. Jack Crow (James Woods) stands as a monument to the archetypal hero, destined for glory, but conflicted with unorthodox opinionations. His partner, Montoya (one of the copious number of Baldwins) illustrates quite clearly the proverbial Adam, who is, by Eve, brought to corruption and eventually begins a descent into immorality (or, in this case, immortality) which he finds inevitable, as should we all, for it our reflection upon which we look. The vampire prostitute lies dormant for explanation, her mythological overtones and subtext far too tiered and complex to explore in so crude a forum such as this. Suffic it to be said, Vampires tells not a tale, but rather states what is already locked away within our very souls, the poignant and oft-heartbreaking facts of our own mortality and fallen nature. A destined classic, some say. A modern-day Illiad, others. All I know it that the fire it, within my belly, stoked, has resulted in this poem, which i hope you shall enjoy.
So sour sits a simple song,
Within the love-lorn's chest,
And bites a bitten hand along,
The potent ocean's crest
In hollow vain, the heart contracts,
A sickly mat of meat,
And darkly dims the dour acts,
In constant, humming heat
(Sniff).....
Thank you for your time.....
PS: Does anyone else think that James Woods is gay?
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