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  Praise for ANONYMA:

  "Farah Rose Smith’s Anonyma is both passionate and despairing, showcasing a distinct point of view and a powerful aptitude for the relationship between content and form. Smith’s writing evaluates the darkest possibilities of artistic narcissism and self-loathing, bolstered by bleak philosophical insight and gorgeously lyrical prose. Essential reading for admirers of dark literature.”

  – Mike Thorn, Author of Darkest Hours

  "With Anonyma, Farah Rose Smith has produced a powerful decadent phantasy, rich in pain, loathing, eroticism, and ecstacy. It is a work of emotional complexity at once grotesque and beautiful. Smith is a powerful emerging voice in the literary weird."

  -- K. H. Vaughan, Author, Editor, Emeritus, Hellnotes and Dark Discoveries

  "Formidable would be an understatement, if one were talking about Farah Rose Smith's recent narrative ANONYMA, which retains a reality of its own, singular in that Jacksonian sense, and perpetuating a personal mythology that speaks of haunts in several senses. You better get this before it gets you."

  —Duane Pesice, Author of Before Crazytown and Itinerant Editor

  ANONYMA

  Farah Rose Smith

  ULTHAR PRESS

  Warren † RI

  ANONYMA © 2019 Farah Rose Smith

  Cover Design: Narmeen Khalid

  Title Page Art: Jaelani

  Interior Illustrations: Extracts from Choregraphie by Raoul-Auger Feuillet

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-359-23948-1

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

  https://ultharpress.com/

  For my daughter,

  lost in the mist of creation.

  “Everything softly hums, the same.

  The wind stops blowing, the night advances.

  Day begins and I exist, anonymous.

  But what happened was much more than this…

  -Fernando Pessoa

  Prologue

  There are precious things that live outside the body. I have known them without knowing myself. Memories – once shattered, now reconstructed—seep into my conscious mind. Terrible altars. Standing deep in black vaults. The dark leisure of twisted animals, running their teeth on my legs. The liquids of life falling freely to the mouths of tortured souls. Garish orange mushrooms, caked in ice. My broken legs. My broken body. The stinging water of the blue lagoon. The dark design of madness. Reaching the depths of his dominion as deserved, so thought I. I remember his lips upon my stomach. His hand on my thigh. A quiet weeping over the womb he could not own, no matter how he fought to claim it. He hated me for this resistance. I aged beyond the confines of clocks and bodies.

  Here I am now, at home. What a relief it is—this moment of boredom to replace shame.

  It was much of nothing that made me turn from him. The things he desired became separate and hostile to me – together, a silent abyss of evil and disappointment.

  I sit in quiet contemplation by my window, and here I know I am alive. It dawns upon me that it was a cult, and I can book no pride within such a horror.

  I am, and have always been, myself.

  Men write songs about girls like me, and then they kill them. I still think of him that way – his songs were ice-in-photographs. I should have been the girl who lived in the way of everything, jumping around corners and speaking far too loudly—to awaken, to rise. A girl made woman in a cage.

  It is her bath time. The yellowed envelope sits on my desk, unopened for over a decade. Picking it up with a delicate tilt, an old print slides into my hand. A stone grows in my stomach, lurching back and forth as I glance to the bottom right corner of the picture. NB, scraped in gold. And on the back in faded ink—Anonyma.

  The great I-AM.

  I.

  Nicholas Georg Bezalel sits in his office chair—a throne of sorts-- peculiar in height, with cushions upholstered in black velvet and sharp metal spires – pure onyx, he clarifies—rocketing out towards the ceiling. Formidable would be an understatement. Being in the building alone is an exercise in artistic endurance, far outpacing the cognitive dance of a day at any museum in the city. Bezalel is pleased to hear this, as it is a direct validation of his design manifesto.

  “Modern † Gothic starts with a feeling,” Bezalel says. “To describe those initial emotions with words would make no sense logically, in the grand scheme of allowing you in on the process. The act of creation, of production, of endurance. These are all my secrets, you see. What I can say is that the style has permanence. It is art, but more importantly, Modern † Gothic is a way of life.”

  Bezalel has been working on this building, nicknamed The Noctuary, for twenty years. A 190-floor work of wonder, it’s his most elaborate architectural construction to date, three times the height of his famed 2013 construction in Sedona, Babel. We asked him about the origins of that project. “A domed chamber of voices, an installation, that is all. That is in the past. Let us speak of the now!” He laughs when asked if he is aware that the media still calls him the Echo-man.

  “Of course.”

  From the time Bezalel began the original sketches of The Noctuary in ‘91 until its completion (still ongoing), Bezalel says that he was (and is) the subject of a peculiar dark fanaticism, which he channels into his work. “I saw the building itself in a childhood dream, not long before the death of my parents.”

  For twenty years, the façade of what was originally the location of the Hegland building caught Bezalel’s eye. “I found myself in a state of mourning for it. Like an open wound of paint and mortar. Cracked, crumbling walls and the decay of colors, too-bright and grotesque. Unsightly would have been an understatement. I’ve always detested the brightness of the modern age. The sentimentality, the robotic warmth of it. But there was something there, to be dissected, if nothing else. A voice of sorts, begging for resurrection. The space itself, alive, striving for breath.”

  When the owner of the original building, businessman and curator Dalton Hegland, passed away after a sudden illness, Bezalel found himself in the position to purchase the lot.

  “It was a dream. One that grew from tragedy, I would add. Dalton was a great man. An advocate for the arts, always present, charitable, lively. We had our differences, but we came from different schools of thought. This happens. And many lively discussions breed from such dissension. This is food for any artist, these disagreements. Though I think even Mr. Hegland would be in awe of what has become of this space.”

  Bezalel resides on the top three floors of the apartment building, in a sprawling loft that goes above and beyond the decadence of the lower levels.

  “It was my opportunity to go a bit mad.”

  His liberal use of plain crystal and texturized ornament adds dramatic contrast to the stark walls and marble floors. That is a function of the first floor only, he explains. “Sparseness spurs innovation, but one cannot do without entirely.” The art collection in the ground floor entry hallway alone deserves an article, ranging in the dark and decadent works from symbolist Belgium to the dark and dreary machinations from the pages of Modern † Gothic: Sorcery In-Design . When asked about his feelings after the movement took hold in various other mediums-- including literature and fashion--he is modest, but pleased.

  “I feel I played a role in invigorating a style that was already deeply-rooted in American culture. Hibernating, perhaps. But certainly living.” Modern † Gothic could be described to the layman as an updated, polished, and decadent variation of gothic architecture, with interior design aspects that incorporate the aesthetic sensibilities o
f Symbolism, Surrealism, the Avant-Garde, and goth subculture. “It started with a dream, as all things do.”

  In regards to The Noctuary, Bezalel began by making all of the walls black. “With master works, there must be consistency and integrity.” The dark palette would allow for elaborate furnishings and décor in various modes of decadence, depending on the room. The palette barely strays from black, white, red, and silver.

  “Here we are, in New York and somewhere utterly indescribable. That is the gift of Modern † Gothic.”

  A robust man with impeccable style, Bezalel’s platinum curls take the shape of a falling tower. His bright green eyes are piercing, though sunken-- suggesting that sleep is a rare occurrence for him. A curious figure in a black turtleneck, long leather jacket, and black trousers, he is nonetheless immediately visible in the sea of shadow ornament. Despite his overpowering presence, he is jovial and warm, welcoming us into his office. Along the farthest wall hangs a collection of images archiving his 2000s architectural and interior design works in pictorial form. His assistant-- a young, decidedly Victorian-looking ginger woman in all black-- carries schematics and sketches in from his enormous archive room. He leads us through a hallway to the projection room to talk through his design process.

  “I stole from the greats, naturally. I’m not so vain or idiotic to feign pure originality. But I would hope, as my mentors have said, that enough of my DNA is mixed in there to make it mine.” Bezalel cites G.E. Von Aurovitch as his idol. “Von Aurovitch was the godfather of Modern † Gothic. Not myself. Without him, there would be nothing. I would not be alive today if it were not for that man. His influence, and his works.” Bezalel became accustomed to designing these rich, experimental interiors from his decade-long residency in an area he refers to vaguely as ‘Northern Germany.’

  “I can tell you that there was a great deal of study done in Thuringia, in obscurity. An attempt at refining the style before returning to the States.” He goes on to tell us details of his apprenticeship that have not yet been told to anyone. “In Thuringia, on the banks of the Unstrut, I embarked on excursions that were tantamount to walking in the steps of Von Aurovitch. A privilege for any artist.” He is less forthcoming about his philosophical discoveries during this time. “Those must stay with me, I’m afraid.”

  Bezalel was born in Berlin in 1972, an orphan. He never found out who his parents where. “Unlike other children in that situation, I felt no intrinsic desire to seek them out. Why go looking for someone who left you?” When Bezalel was 9, he was adopted by a banker and his wife who were visiting from London. “They were kind people, though distant. My adoptive father had an extraordinary library where I was left quite often, to my great delight. I didn’t complain.” When asked of his adoptive mother, he is more reflective. “There was a sadness in her that I could never quite put a finger on, though I suspect it had to do with his countless affairs. He was a profound man, but an absolute rascal.”

  After his adoptive parents tragic deaths in a house fire in 1987, Bezalel used the fortune left behind to emigrate to the United States. He attended New York University, with the dream of becoming an architect. His time there was filled with complexity. He describes an environment that was not so much hostile, but indifferent to his work. ‘It was a comprehensive education, but comprehensive in its lifelessness. Frank Lloyd Wright idolization gets pretty fucking stale after the first dozen lectures, though I can reflect on his work in kinder terms now.”

  Despite his discontent with the curriculum, he doesn’t regret attending school. “It was that discontent, that persistent melancholy, that served as the birthplace for Modern † Gothic. I immersed myself in the dark designs of failure, of missed opportunity, and alienation. Swirling in dreams brought on by that very anxiety, I found my purpose.”

  After graduation, Bezalel was faced with a choice. Return to London and accept the job he was offered at a small architectural firm, accept an even more pitifully-paying job at a firm in New York City, or go to Berlin to retrace his roots. “It wasn’t about family, or finding myself. Who I was, who I had become, was very clear. It was the sense of existing without refined purpose that haunted me. I felt I could find out more about that purpose in Germany.”

  He spent a year in Berlin and an additional five traversing the villages and landscapes of Thuringia. “Seeing the places that inspired Von Aurovitch and Friedrich meant a lot to me. I learned to see nature as art during those years.” We asked him if he considers himself a Symbolist. He takes several moments before answering.

  “To say I started as a Symbolist, there is merit there, I suppose. In fragments. I did a lot of writing while I was out there. I certainly am not opposed to nature. It’s power, particularly the unknown power that we cannot ever really see. I immersed myself in that, tried to understand it. There was an energy there I could never quite capture, obviously bigger than myself. That’s true horror, isn’t it? But that’s not what I wanted to explore, or display. You can’t create or control the natural. At least that’s what I discovered. The decadent power is booming. Art as life. Art as power. Art forging its own reality. I have long-admired the illumination of other worlds in all manner of design. This, of course, is dripping with the lifeblood (or deathblood) of Von Aurovitch. Here, in architecture, in interior design, in natural installations, in fashion, either directly or indirectly, I was able to mold and maneuver with a specific energy that, in a way, bridged the gap between the Decadent and the Symbolic by getting to the philosophical nerve of coexisting opposites, and honored those I drew from. But I still think it isn’t representative of any one movement from the past. It is, quite simply, Modern † Gothic. It is its own movement, its own improvement, its own reality.”

  In late 1999, Bezalel moved to an even smaller flat in Berlin-- dirt-poor, but re-invigorated. “I was closest to knowing what I wanted to do with myself at that point, though the discontent still weighed heavily.” His apartment was above a small gallery, which proved to be synchronicitous. “The landlord saw some of my sketches and brought them (without my knowledge) down to the “curator,” his wife. She fell in love with them. She invited me down for tea and asked to see my portfolio, which was nothing but a taped-up notebook at that point.” She took a liking to him and offered to exhibit his work, provided he could get presentable works ready in a month. “I survived on sausages and crackers and didn’t shut my eyes for weeks. By the time I’d finished, I thought I’d be in the permanent state of a waking-dream forever. I still wonder if that’s what is really going on.”

  Another peculiar act of synchronicity brought good fortune to Bezalel. Though now a disgraced figure in the United States, the then-lauded Dr. Brague Collins, medical researcher and noted art collector was passing through Berlin with his wife Marcella, a notable scholar of Von Aurovitch’s works. “They were, obviously, both devoted admirers of Von Aurovitch. I think that’s why they were curious to stop by, since I noted him as inspiration in the leaflet I taped up in cafe windows. We ended up having a very nice chat at the opening gala.” When asked if they had any further correspondence, Bezalel waves his hand. “Nothing more than trivial encouragements and niceties. And my condolences after the loss of his wife and daughter.”

  Despite his hesitancy to speak about the matter, it is assumed that this interaction with Collins spurred him on towards a new trajectory which include a return to New York City and the opportunity to show his work at the Neue Galerie in 2003. “That exhibition was the beginning of a monumental shift in my fortune.”

  By that time, Bezalel had accumulated a body of work consisting of paintings, etchings, drawings, sculptures, and small-scale models of curious structures he had seen in his dreams. “I had enough to go around and pitch things without looking like a complete ass, just barely.”

  Bezalel became recognizable in art circles fairly quickly after the exhibition at the Neue Galerie, prompting a level of excitement from both industry legends and newcomers to the art world. “There was a degree o
f theatre, there. In the mind, I mean. Sartorially, as well. There wasn’t a lot of careful planning, but by then, I had lived a strange enough life to be intriguing to these people.” His reputation grew as a mysterious figure, rarely present at events himself, though actively producing new material. He maintained focus on his idol, Goethern Ellis Von Aurovitch, as a source of motivation. “Whenever I’d get exhausted, or discouraged, I’d remember the enormous adversity he faced, and how most of his works were never even finished. Yet he lives as a legend, a sorcerer of literature and the arts. One can only aspire to such heights in modern times.”

  Bezalel became inordinately famous in the New York City Avant-garde circuit by the time Babel was erected in the Arizona desert. In 2016, he attended the Met gala and was introduced to his current fiance, supermodel Coreya Witciewicz. When asked about their first meeting, Bezalel smiles and clasps his gloved hands together. “Leland Moller had dressed her in one of his outfits based on Alfred Kubin’s sketches. When he introduced us, I expected her to know very little about the design. Turns out she was a fan of Kubin, Von Aurovitch, various other fantasists and artists I had known and loved since childhood. She is unlike any woman I have ever met before.”

  Witciewicz lives with Bezalel in The Noctuary. Now retired from the runway, she is at work on her own fashion line, which is said to be deeply rooted in the philosophies of Modern † Gothic. When asked if she serves as his muse, he laughs heartily.

  “She is my darling. I don’t think I ascribe to the practice of having muses, per se, as I have found it often to be too exploitative, too direct. Coreya helped me move along the aesthetic into the realm of fashion. In the beginning, perhaps had she been there, there may never have been Modern † Gothic. I would have been far too distracted to be productive at all in that arena.”