Blood-red

The sun went down blood-red, and, in its dying glories, the crescent moon shewed first pale, then glowing; […]

Founded by a 16th century Turkish buccaneer, every house roof in the old town a vantage point from which to watch for sails, every dungeon walled with tragedy and roofed with despair. Algiers ought to look like one of the world’s blood-reddest spots. Now—Algiers the white, Algiers of the gorgeous gardens, Algiers that rises tier on tier from its crescent bay—no city could be fairer than this great, gay “Paris in Africa” that was born because Napoleon issued a fiat that piracy should be no more.

Also the candles flickering in the blood-red sconces are black and the body on the crucifix is that of a full-breasted woman.

Salome was given in the [Gustav] Klimt-style sets and costumes of Jürgen Rose, lit alternately to their moonlight-bluest and their blood-reddest, and int he smoothly-moving, eerily-sleazy staging by Boleslaw Barlog[…].

Well up Hades from Blood-reddest Fissures / And let the VVorld’s Carcass lie below: / Killing off the angelheaded Hipsters / And burning down the starry Dynamo.