EPISODE IV 'MEDIEVAL WITCHCRAFT'

1518, Strasbourg. Dance, they dance without ceasing. Their feet bleed and their flaccid, yellowed meat shows the strain of tendons, the hardening of muscles. Their limbs bend at graceless angles, spasmodic gestures distort their human guise and make them seem like demons, incubus. Their forceful movements have shattered their very homes, filling the floors and streets with shards and splinters, and their bodies with cuts, bruises, and broken bones. They have not ceased. Many, possessed by the fervor of their own movements, have perished from turning their heads too swiftly, falling into wells, or from lack of food and slumber. Fallen, immobilized in positions of inexplicable suffering. There is no word of the Lord, no human explanation. The priest doth writhe not far from the butcher, the blacksmith and the headsman emit animal-like sounds, kicking the air in a knotted embrace. Few among us have retained our sanity and control of our bodies, and those who were spared did flee to seek aid from nearby villages, from the holiness of the Lord's house. But I did remain, I stayed to witness their misfortune: for I do remember. Fifty years have passed since that infamous night, on the date I lost my first milk tooth. Since then I have had the wounds on Her body imprinted on my retinas, the stench of Her burnt flesh in my nostrils, Her last fatal words in my ears. In a tortured voice, the Lady of the Poppies, the Witch of the Woods screamed: I curse ye. With these words, I do seal your condemnation, and naught, not even repentance before God, shall protect ye from my wrath. Ye have torn down my house, drowned my son, violated my body, and now ye do burn me and damn my soul. I am a fatherless woman, a woman of the woods, a refuge for those who did ask, a solution for those who did seek it. When the cherry trees bloomed, I did open the door to the one who begged for asylum. Filthy serpent, he forced his seed into my womb. I drove him away with scratching nails and throwing stones. He returned, the eyes of a madman in the fog, with the red leaves of the dying trees. No! My scream did darken the sky and tear through the wind Now the cherry trees are in bloom again. The word of your lord saith: "the last shall be first." And ye have made the lowest of the low the first among your ranks. These words whispered to your ears in hatred were enough: Witch! Daughter of the Devil! Mother of Satan! Tied at this pole I tell ye: Three generations shall pass and fifty times the cherry tree shall bloom again. But when ye have forgotten your crimes my vengeance shall come. As ye have torn down my house, ye shall tear down yours with kicks and punches. As ye did kill mine, your children and the children of your children shall die of your guilt. Your bodies shall be covered with festering wounds but the pain shall not cease. I die because ye do say I danced with the Devil: my soul, cast out from the Lord's side, shall have this single obsession. I curse ye. The morning after I put a poppy flower on the ruins of Her house, because once in the woods She taught me to dance.

SUBURBIA Presents OBSESSIONS w/ Chalice Is a Witch [29.07.24]

Amsterdam-based British DJ & radio presenter, Chalice, combines ‘found audio’ & vintage recordings with eclectic music to create soundscapes that tell stories & explore themes.

SUBURBIA Presents OBSESSIONS w/ Chalice Is a Witch [29.07.24]

Mutant Radio