The Iron Rose ★★★★½

eros and thanatos in the putrefying, lovely memory of no one in particular, a parable of when real and fake flowers ought to be given. bellicose and predatory lust, a fearful and then manic-triumphant chase, just as much an aesthetic companion to Scooby Doo as it is to Ovid, "you dead, we alive" echoing Alucarda's distinction between the worship of life (and the body) and the worship of death (and the immortal soul). truly there is nothing of substance for me to proffer here: this is an insubstantial, transubstantiating text: in our mouths it turns to ash and loam. they really fucked on top of all those bones?.....

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