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In the bizarreness that lives in Edna W. Underwood's "The Painter of Dead Women", our happy serial killer, Count Ponteleone, captures beautiful women in order to paint them in their perfect immobile state. He might even be a necrophiliac, since he notes "when I love, I love only dead women". Jung and Freud would've both sat up in their crypts and started taking copious notes at that one. Ponteleone's id is in full control of his actions and his superego is a deflated balloon tucked into some far dusty corner in an unused corner of his brilliant brain. 

When Ponteleone drifts into "death is the thing most to be desired by beautiful women", he's strayed into pop culture of modern times by telling us women should die young, stay pretty. Indeed, the idea was good enough that the music group Blondie even recorded a song about it by the same name.

Perhaps there is a bit of an Oedipus complex where the good Count Ponteleone can possess women he desires and do with them as he wishes. They remain beautiful and unable to move or speak, although he insists that they can perceive what is happening because "(Countessa Fabriani) hears every word we say" when they see her in the room where he is painting her. He does what he wants with them and they cannot resist, acting as a faux necrophiliac while keeping them lovely and ignoring their terror of understanding what is happening. This is truly a tale of horror.

Iron Noder 2017

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