No lurid dreams. I hoped to be stirred again at night, but it didn't happen. I've been preoccupied with the ephemeral nature of those nightly visits. Thinking about the femme fatale archetype. As I was walking the forest yesterday, I thought of old folktales and myths about beautiful elven women leading lost men into their circle. Once drawn into their ancient magic of seduction he would dance with them all through the night, and if he had sex with one of them, it would lead to misfortune or death. I would dance with them, but could I keep myself from taking one of them? I would like to pick the most alluring of the girls, and dance with her all night. Our bodies intertwined in beautiful harmony in the mist and moonligt. Just when the desire and need to have her would be strongest, I'd have her whisper the secrets and magic of the feminine in my ear. I would undress her, literally and figuratively, and if I had the strength I would leave her there in the circle.

There are many myths of the femme fatale. Beautiful Siren song leading captains to sink their ships against the rocks. The devilish succubus, stealing the energy of devout monks at night, even though they are sworn to celebacy. And the more modern incarnation: The homebreaker. A beautiful young woman seducing a family man, like myself, and crashes his home into oblivion. Do I want to seduce or be seduced? I want magic. Spark. Allure. I want to forget about existential dread, imposing death, and to shed myself of the inherent nihilism in my psyche. I want to be bewitched by a young witch, only to turn her magic against her, and force her to her knees. I want to meet the succubus at night, rise to her level, and become an incubus.