Friday, May 27, 2016


Doctor Franklin speaks -

Let me tell you something, my vampire friend. You ask me if 'slavery' or something like in exists in 'Baby' Philadelphia. Well, let me tell you this. They are all my slaves. Every soul you see here has been marked and counted. You and your friends too, I might add. Have you slept? I mean since you've been here... Have you slept? Don't answer! It's rhetorical. That's when we 'chip' them. And no one has a clue. Should one misguided 'Spartacus' attempt to speak out, he will immediately die. Harmonics can be focused. Waves can be sent. People can be killed. And don't search for the chips. You won't find them. I say 'them,' for there are more than one. Who helps me? Wouldn't you like to know.

Oh, this can't be so surprising. You've known me for centuries. How blind people are. I, who never once held elected office, shaped and created the nation, as much as I did Philadelphia. Universities are there because of me... fire companies... security forces... insurance consortiums... hospitals... vast publishing concerns... self-help groups... no, not 'self-help,' mutual promotion. You think the Bilderberg Conference is something new? Ah, I see a look in your eye. You understand now.... Be my ally.. and I'll be yours. Not just friends. We're already that, but something more. Be to me what those vampire bodyguards were to certain senatorial families in ancient Rome.

My power came too late. I was eighty four years old. That's how old I was by the time 'they' ratified the constitution. People were wondering about my longevity. Few reached eighty four back then, especially an old reprobate like me. So I faked my 'death' and the rest, as you know is history.

I'll be a benign dictator, but will not suffer opposition. I already have 'helpers' in certain pivotal positions. Your place and indeed those of your night-folk brethren will be important. Think about it.....

You want me to get rid of that 'born-witch.' Do you think she's the only one? You need me, my 'young' old man... and you owe me for past favors. ... So, Jonathon ben Macabi also known as Tomas de Macabea, what'll it be?

You don't want to stay here forever? I could disappear and leave you behind... all of you. So chose well, my vampire friend..

Now have a bit of the wine. I know you like that... and sleep on it.....

(he smiles menacingly, raises his glass and says 'cheers')

Jonathon sits in silence....

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Thursday, May 26, 2016


They say the BORN-WITCHES began on a remote sea crag, a barren island betwixt the Hebrides and Iceland, yet in a time before names were names and words were words. Sentient beings talked mind to mind then and all who drew air had a bit of the magic in them.

He who we call Loki tarried with mortals then, spawning little godlings and godlingas all about the Northland. He set them up in rude, raw, rocky castles, the keeps of which can still be seen set down upon the Western Marches of what ye call 'Highlands.' though no true mountains be there. Mortals love to exaggerate. They are as chessmen who whine. And those who bored us were thrown to the cearban and died in a most grievous manner, ripped to shreds in huge frowning, razor toothed maws. We watched and laughed as they cried.

Who are 'WE' ?... We are the LIVING ETHER, eddies and rivulets in the universal presence... not the GREAT GOD nor parts of THE GREAT GOD for we were made by HIM and have memories of what came soon after our birth. Sometimes it rained for days on end. Roses grew tall as trees, pollened by great, furry bees, like flying ponies.

What was I telling you? Oh, yes, where born-witches came from. Well, to be truthful, they came not from one place, or one particular event. Rather they accrued over time and coalesced into what we have now. Some early ones lived their whole lives in caves, conferring with sister witches and thinking thoughts that went out like radio waves. Maybe it's wrong to say they actually died. They go back to the ether and after a time they come back to us.

Some condensed on that rocky crag. Just stone. Just seawater. Nothing grew there, even the crabs stayed away. They waded into the sea for food, grabbing big fish for sustenance. Some liked whelk and clams too. Some liked cold, drowned mariners. A few weren't so drowned.

They rode six-gilled Greenland sharks. The witches, I mean. They thought songs, odes really. Not so much verbal, as tonal. They stared at the sun with impunity and threw their basic mind spells like hurricanes.

Loki brought them gifts, startled talking heads, twisted from the shoulders of Neolithic cavern painters. Some stayed quickened for days, jabbering away in a basic, human language known to all. They stuck out purple tongues and made faces. Then they died and were eaten.

My poem is done... not the tale, but the part I feel like telling now. Please let me go. Tornadoes need stirring and I'm very good at that...

My name is my name and not yours...

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Wednesday, May 25, 2016



When Pig Blood Annie's mother's water broke, what came out was pig blood and it came out in torrents, till the root cellar of the shotgun shack was fill up to the canned tomatoes and pickled brassieres. Mama-woman look at the dark, red flood an' grins. She say - Hey, baby-girl, where you be?... Then she start slidin' her feet through the qsteamin' gore like she feelin' for clams, or sand crabs. Goes real slow. Don't wanna miss nothin'. Ain't no tellin' how big a born-witch is when it come out. Some are like little lima beans, but with a mouth full a tiny sharp teeth and small, beady red, red eyes. They got itty-bitty, sharp fingered hands (not arms.. just hands) bustin' out a that lima bean skin, which they use to dig in and climb up mama-born-witch's belly to nurse. Some nurse wherever they want. All it gotta do is bite through the skin and draw out some blood. But that only the lima bean kind.

Pig Blood Annie something different. She was more dramatic like. Come out like a little, white squiggly worm (tapered at both ends, so head and butt look the same). Don't know where mama get all that extra blood. She like drama too. Once fought a salt water crocodile over some water buffalo. She also a communist, but that not part a the story.

Annie rise up out a that pig blood like steam off a bludgeoned Christmas ham.
She not all filled out like her normal self. She more narrow and flaccid. You know, flabby and skinny at the same time. Born-witches ain't fussy that way. Mama take one look at her and go - Pig Blood! I gonna name you Pig Blood! ... Just then the radio go on. She keep a cheap little, wood cabinet table model down there to keep her company when she canning stuff or skinnin' enemies. Guess her witch aura set it off. Opera music come out. Lady warblin' like she bein' tickled to death. Mama know that voice. It Antoinette  Farinella, famous Italy singin' lady. She listen for a few seconds and go - 'Antoinette, I gone name you 'Antoinette,' NO, not 'Antoinette.' I gone name you 'Annie.' PIG BLOOD ANNIE! That is who you are! ..... The newborn, mouths the words.... Mama say - Come upstairs. I gone take you outside and hose you down, me too maybe. Gotta get you fed and all nursed up... So she leads the witchy-baby-lady-human thing (say it fast) up the old, wood steps, turns 'round and belches (the blood-flood gets sucked down into the dirt floor. Then she belch again (light goes out... radio fades). All is dark.

We see a rickety house, in a little forest clearing, under the soft, silvery light of a high, full moon. A lamp burns in an upstairs window. We pull in close and peek inside. A cleaned up Mama tucks a cleaned up Pig Blood Annie under an old quilt. Then she takes a moldering, brown-yellow skull from a drawer and puts it on the night table. The newborn witch watches.... Mama says - Here, Chester will keep you company..... Newborn witch looks at Chester's smiling face. Mama says - Good night. Then she turns down the lamp and leaves.

A pack of wolves slinks into the clearing and sits beneath the window. The alpha turns and studies the camera. Then he stands up, walks toward us and morphs into a man, who says - And that's how Pig Blood Annie came to be.... After that he walks passed us and disappears ...

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Sunday, May 22, 2016


After the others were settled into their rooms, Jonathon went out to explore this place known as 'Baby Philadelphia.' The sky seemed normal. The sun was bright. It didn't harm him. He didn't try to eat yet. Just because some things were different, doesn't mean all things were different. His fangs were still there. A woman sold 'pasties' (meat pies) from a pushcart. They smelled fresh. He asked what kinds she had. She said goat and lamb. Jonathon bought a lamb. The preferred currency in this place was quarters. They had Franklin's image, after all. He gave her two. The pushcart woman said 'thankee' and passed them to her little daughter, who stowed them in a metal, bank-like box. There were no napkins. Franklin eschewed litter and he was, after all, the grand poo-bah of the place. But they had a type of waxed paper. The woman gave him a few, one to wrap the pastie and two for clean-up after. God knows they were useless on grease. Such is life in a blended eighteenth and twenty first century polity.

Jonathon took his lunch and spotted a narrow passageway, a tunnel really, running between two brick townhouses. He asked a boy where it went. The urchin told him it led to a small 'pocket park,' the perfect spot for a quiet lunch or peaceful introspection.  So he thanked the boy and entered the tight, dark alleyway. If another person was coming the opposite way it would have been close, not belly to belly close, but still... That's why ladies avoided the place.

After sixty feet, he came out into the light and his eyes did react to the renewed brightness, but apparently he was still able to withstand it. Before him, beyond the walled gardens  of surrounding houses, lay the park, a manicured landscape of carefully clipped green grass, small boxwood hedges and potted rose bushes trimmed into low, round topped 'trees.'  A pavered walkway traversed the space from east to west. It's sister did the same from north to south. He sat down on a traditional, teek, garden bench and began to eat. No problem there. His vampire nature still at bay and the meat pie tasted so good, savory and salty and peppery and rich. Jonathon cleaned his hands the best he could. Waxed paper only did so much. Then he sat and watched as another man, obviously a gentleman, came in from the opposite side, took a seat across the walkway and nodded, as a well dressed, turbaned little black boy cooled him with a large, leaf shaped fan woven from palm fronds. The gentlemen didn't say a word... no thanks... no acknowledgement. He just sat, looked through a carefully bound book and fell asleep. The little boy stopped, picked up the book, put it on the bench and went back to his task.

Jonathon tried to engage him, but the young fellow would have none of it. He put his finger to his lips and went 'shhhh.'

It was then that the 'changed' vampire knew. The little boy was a slave, or something very much like it. Jonathon took a few quarters out of his pocket and quietly gave them to the child, who responded with a small bow, as his 'gentleman' snored on.

The vampire got up and left.

He continued exploring this artificial place that he half knew, but only half.

Then he went back to Franklin's big stand-alone house. Little Bastid Annie was teaching the parlor maid to play Black Jack. Everybody else was taking their afternoon nap. He sat down in a big wing chair till Doctor Franklin came back for dinner. Then he said - Old man, you've got some explaining to do...

Franklin knew something was up. It was only a matter of time. He said - After dinner, my boy. Let's eat first. So they washed up, changed their linen (shirts & neck cloths), joined the rest and went in... Had a good roast beef dinner too.

After that, they talked....

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Thursday, May 19, 2016

Conditions of RANK & SERVITUDE in BABY PHILADELPHIA.. 5/18/16

When last we met, the Philadelphia vampires plus certain mortal friends were with Doctor Franklin in his more than likely trans dimensional orchestrated small city known as 'Baby Philadelphia.' They were on their way through the busy 'colonial' municipality and seeing the sights.

Every street was picture perfect, grey, gently pillowed cobbles, red brick buildings, mullioned windows, marble steps. Fine ladies sailed along in opened sedan chairs. Children played with little terriers. Edith said - Doctor Franklin, was old Philadelphia like this?... The three hundred plus year old Patriot smiled - After a fashion, I suppose. We did have poverty and there were certain alleys where no lady would go..... Edith asked if there were slaves..... He quietly responded - Yes, there were. Not as numerous as towards the south, but we had them...... They rode in silence... Edith, the mortal witchy-woman housekeeper cleared her throat and asked - Did you have any?.... The Doctor said - Come, come, hasn't he (meaning Jonathon) ever told you?.... She shook her head. Jonathon didn't say a word. Franklin pulled back his wispy white hair with an elastic 'scrungi' thing... not 'authentic,' but that was Franklin. He said - You have to understand the times. That's an avoidance. I know it, but please let me talk. Miners in Scotland were held like slaves. Some wore iron collars. They couldn't do anything else. They were born to that position. Granted, families usually stayed together, though their wives weren't respected. They were never called 'missus.' Many weren't legally married. In Ireland it was worse..... She didn't respond... Do you want me to tell you about Russia, about the serfs? They were slaves. The only difference was they were sold in family groups. Some nobles had all nude, female orchestras. Young boys, children, were sent out to kill wolves. Do you know where the expression 'all dressed up with nowhere to go' comes from? From Russia. There was one day a year, Saint Michael's Day. Dissatisfied serfs would dress in their best clothing and stand by the road, hoping some landed gentleman would ride by and purchase them. Nobles made trades and that was it. If no one passed by, or showed any interest, they had to stay where they were. 
Lost on the endless plains. Some were sold to the army. Guess who got shot first? Not that it excuses what we did here, or there, I mean. I forget we're in 'Baby Philadelphia.' But the Americas had no traditional peasant class, so we created one. And as to my personal arrangements, after hundreds of years, let me say this, I don't want to talk about it.

Jonathon wanted to know why this sun had no effect on him, or the others, but he kept his mouth shut. He moved his tongue around his mouth. Obviously, his fangs, small and discrete, were still there.  Their Annie, Little Bastid Annie, not Pig Blood Annie, saw a vendor selling hair ribbons and notions and asked the coachman to stop. He ignored her, but when Franklin said - Here, Geoffrey... he did. Coins changed hands. The little vampirina had her scarlet ribbons and they were off.

The domestic who let them into Franklin's house, a commodious, detached, mini-manor on it's own small lot and a rarity in either Philadelphia, was a bi-racial woman in a carefully pressed, calico dress, starched white apron and a crocheted snood. Whatever business arrangement she had with the old patriot, if any, was hard to ascertain.

Apparently there were things about this place they didn't understand...

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Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Neon Trees - Everybody Talks (It started with a whisper) ..TONIGHT ITS ALL YOURS..Go See.. 5/18/16

An experiment. No story tonight, BUT if you want, YOU can write a story, or just about anything for that matter. Leave comments. Talk about YOU and YOUR sites.

We get at least 200 hits a day, sometimes more.... not 'viral' but still enough to draw some attention. Plus, we get a large number of readers who follow via our RSS, so people will stumble on your comments for a long time. Include any links you'd like people to know about. SELL YOURSELF. Just please no obvious porn, hate, or bias.

I can promise any comments will get a lot of talk on Twitter. All you have to lose are a few minutes and who knows?... YOUR little comment-story might take off or some readers might become aware of your own site who might not have otherwise discovered it.

Big things start from tiny whispers.

Try it...

Say something....

Here's a tip. Don't edit yourself too much. Just start typing and go.

Take a chance.. Click down below where it says - no comments... That doesn't mean you can't comment. It just means there are no comments YET. As comments appear, it will list the number of comments or just say comments.

Even if you've never blogged or had your own digital presence, this can be the place where it starts. So many people think 'why me?'.... Well, that's a bunch of bull. Why NOT you?

And why not NOW?

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Tuesday, May 17, 2016

How People & Witches & Other Beings Snap From Place To Place.. 5/17/16

OK, so last time, PIG BLOOD ANNIE found a portal... Was it THEE portal? Who knows, because if you want to be honest, the omniverse has a lot of portals. You know what they are? They're voids in the space-time matrices. You see, every possible point in creation is occupied by a place-keeper. Place-Keepers can do a multitude of chores. They can resonate with the frequency of any subatomic particle and even tinier (down to what passes for 'infinity') components of subatomic particles.

But sometimes a point goes unoccupied. No one knows why. Is it part of a plan? Are they cosmic escape hatches to be used in the event of titanic disasters? Your guess is as good as anybody's.

Them what uses 'em calls them 'snappers.' Einstein knew about them. That's how his hair got so fancy. So did Ethyl Merman, only her hair just stayed plain... Well we assume she knew about them. She learned anyway, 'cause once during a Wednesday matinee halfway through her run as Mama Rose in Gypsy, she missed her mark and winked out right in the middle of 'Have an eggroll, Mister Goldstone.' Baby June started yellin' - Mama! Mama! What the f#ck happened to our God damned Mama?! (she was supposed to be around ten years old)..... Then the audience starts buzzing. The orchestra starts playing. Kaye Ballard, the understudy, comes on stage suckin' hard boiled egg from her teeth and fixin' her wig.... Baby Jane don't know what to do, so she bark - Mama! Where the hell were you?! ..... Kaye Ballard goes - Where do you think I was?! You know Chinese food always do that to me!..... With that, everybody on stage, the kids, the 'Hollywood Blondes,' Herbie (Mama's boyfriend) ... the boy dancers starts laughin.' Kaye Ballard yells - Cue the music!....and they go right on with the number as if nothing ever happened, but one little Hollywood Blonde girl did peek under the bed just in case Miss Merman was only hidin'.... Four days later the queen of the belters shows up in the back of a honey dipped chicken truck from Quebec City, minus her bridgework and dressed like a lady, lumberjack waitress... She was lucky. She just 'snapped' to a different place in her own dimension... wasn't pregnant with no 'alien' spawn or got permanent duck feet (not just web toes, real duck feet), or a talkin' voo doo, snake husband.

Pig Blood Annie, on the other hand, got sucked into a long standing portal. We know that 'cause the pancake house manager told the cop he hates when that happens, 'cause apparently it happened many times before. He didn't mean to say it, 'cause he know he gotta get that toilet fixed, but it just blurted out.  Long standing portals are more powerful. Everybody knows that. Once read it on the back of a tattooed lady in a hurricane, or had a Castilian matador puppet on the shelf in my bedroom 'splain it to me during the German Measles.

Yeah, Mister Never You Mind ( your disembodied spirit narrator ) know lot a stuff. Creole-Cajun folk always do.

I not never was no man-witch...  an' that ain't no Sloppy Joe... 

But I still had 'the touch.'

Next time we learn where that Pig Blood woman got her ass sent too..... I hope her whole ass got sent to the same place... 'cause that not always a given ....

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