It seems that the myth of the vampire was born three centuries ago in some villages of the Bohemia-Moravia, based on witch tales and peasant gossip. Often, though, poets have taken their inspiration from both universes at the same time.Īmong all the poetic manifestations of the occult universe, the myth of the vampire is the most fascinating and awe-inspiring. But the two universes – the universe of the scientists and the universe of the occultists – still are diametrically opposed. The occultists have tried to dominate this liminal universe, just like scientists have regulated the movements of the stars and codified energy sources. I won’t talk about the supernatural because the topic disgusts me: it could well be that this mysterious universe is nothing but an unexplored, so-far unconceivable aspect of that small area of our bodily life that we very briefly experience – that area that man has been trying to tridimensionally define while every day it breaks laws that until that moment appeared intangible, immutable. There are people among us who have sensed, glimpsed, guessed this universe, if only for an instant. V.’s explanation and think that it was all a coincidence?Ī strange, complex, indefinable universe exists at the margins of our life, and sometimes this universe expands itself and overflows. A premonition? Or shall we be content with R. The man told me that he lost his little finger in Japan, during the war. But I will remember him for a long, long time: the little finger of his left hand was missing.

I went there and I was introduced to a man whom I had never met before. However, that very night I was invited to a cocktail party. I never got to know the unsuspected developments of my friend’s interpretation of my dream: I think that, in that very moment, the waiter brought us our spaghetti alla carbonara. I didn’t even realize that my little finger had been cut off!”.

I look at my hands and I discover that my left hand is missing the little finger. The floor is covered with bits of iron that look like a strange vegetation. The seats have been pulled out from the floor and piled up in the orchestra, so that they form a gigantic, messy pyramid. (we have the same initials), is an uncompromising rationalist, and he takes a particular pleasure in giving Freudian interpretations of people’s dreams. On that occasion, I narrated to one of them – a brilliant writer and Goncourt-prize winner – a shocking dream that I had the night before. A few months ago, in December 1959, I had a meal with some friends in a restaurant in Rome.

Roger vadim