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Saturday, July 26, 2014


Tomas sat on the white marble steps. He liked watching the nighttime sky, but this world had none, just a sparse twinkling of ersatz stars blinking in the void. Clouds passed over head.  Leaves rustled in the breeze. Conditions were more or less 'normal' in this vast, artificial habitat. They even had mosquitoes and crickets. But through the clouds, far, far out there, he could just barely see the hazy image of the opposite side. Green. (a forest?) Lights. (a town?) Humans? Monsters? Benevolent, or threatening? 

And where did the gravity come from? Why didn't they all fall in toward the manufactured, sun-like thing at the center? He didn't like this place. So he closed his eyes, breathed in the nighttime air, or what passed for it and dreamed of home. But not Philadelphia, his real home.... the fragrant, sun kissed valleys of Al Andalus. After a time, he could smell the warm, dry perfume. He could taste the dates and olives. He could hear the cantor's prayer. Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea was at peace. He leaned back against the stout, maple door of the shuttered inn and hummed a street song learned in the bazaars of Cordoba. If he only had an oud, or guitarra . How he loved to play.

So he never heard the thing as it approached. It's high pitched whoop? Perhaps a night bird. And it caught him by surprise. Nineteen feet in length it was. Fat like a walrus, humping along on small foot-like protrusions. Thick, wrinkled hide. Two heads. Elephant heads, they were, but earless and mouthless, each ending in a short, thick trunk. Large, black, front facing eyes... Spider's eyes... Eight of them... Four to a head. And this 'thing' brought here from another world was curious. What would a human (though it did not know that word) taste like? Should it masticate the prey, or swallow it whole? The left brain, in the left head, being the more logical of the two, opted for 'whole.' Three heartbeats later (human heartbeats, I mean) it reached out with a trunk-like proboscis and kissed his ankle. Tiny lancets mounted just inside the lose, mouth-like opening, perhaps remnants of long ago, arthropod mandibles, pierced his skin, injecting a cool, numbing, fluid. The other trunk, belonging to the other head, caressed our thousand year old, transplanted youth from Al Andalus, positioning his body so it's twin could suck him in. Tomas screamed. But it was a silent scream. His voluntary muscles no longer worked. Yet he was quite conscious of being eaten alive.

Luna, fresh from her first, Moon-World tryst, gazed through the mullioned bedroom window and saw it all. She gasped, crashed through the glass, vaulting down like an arrow, as her naked body instantly 'sublimated' right through the flaccid beast, shredding it to bits. Gray-red, gobbets of livery flesh flew everywhere, a feast for unseen crawly things. Then she dragged herself out from under what remained of the carcass and gently pulled her one time lover free.

He was just this side of death. And for the second time she quickened him with hot, little, blood-tinged kisses. Vampirinas can do that.

Doctor Franklin and the inn keeper raced 'round from the back, rifles at the ready. Takes time to unlock the gun cabinet and all. They immediately carried him back inside. Sarah, his consort, took over, helping him to a wash room, where she carefully bathed him and made him clean. Luna, now wrapped in a sheet, watched from across the hall, til Sarah quietly reached over and closed the door. Then she wiped her skin with a wet rag and got back into bed, where mister whoever he was still waited. 

Tomorrow, God willing, they'd enter Baby Philadelphia...


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Friday, July 25, 2014


Got company tonight and I got to get up early.They don't understand 'creative' endeavors like blogging, writing or knotting lanyards out of gimp. Think books come printed from the factory and films come sealed in the can.


But here's an easy way to have a (hopefully) fun Vampire Wonderland scavenger hunt.

Google ANY WORD OR TERM YOU LIKE... then type 'by Billy Kravitz' after it... See what weird and pixilated hoo-ha's pop up.... From the ridiculous to the (some have said) sublime.

No, really. some DID say 'sublime.' I don't think English was their first language, but they DID say it.


Boiled Pasta by Billy Kravitz well, I just tried it and this one didn't work, but the other two did... make some up.
False Teeth by Billy Kravitz
Eleanor Roosevelt by Billy Kravitz 
SPONTANEOUS HUMAN COMBUSTION by Billy Kravitz <~~~ this one works real good. just tried it too.

try it. like Six Degrees Of Billy Kravitz..
boy, who'd a thunk it?

gotta go try some more.

also gotta go upstairs now and rouse one of the guests from his night terrors... Eerie in a dark house. (I work in a little sitting room, in a small pool of light from an old, iron floor lamp)

good night.
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Thursday, July 24, 2014


A person looking out across the twenty one hundred mile diameter of the Lunar interior would see things with amazing clarity. Polities on the opposite side appear finely etched and crisp. Cities raised by strange hands shine like filigree. The view is occasionally hidden by clouds, near ones above the observer's hear, or more distant manifestations far away over kingdoms on the other side.

The resurrected former vampire, known as Tomas, or Jonathon is one such observer. But he looks out into blackness. The small, sun-like thing at the center of this hidden world is dark now. A few star-like pinpoints of silvery light shine here and there in the globular void. Doctor Franklin says they have no mass, but are very real just the same.

Everyone else is inside, the inn locked snug against the night.
Sarah reads old volumes in the small, circular library, many brought out from old estates in The Home Counties, or The Mainline. She loses herself in Edith Wharton....The Age Of Innocence and all that. Vampires appreciate the timeless dignity of it. The other comely vampirina, Luna sleeps with a human traveler. Not a newcomer from Earth, but a native descended from the First Crossing, brought by Franklin approximately one hundred and seventy years ago.... a businessman of some sort. She enjoys him. He lets her take little drinks.... not too much. Mustn't stain the sheets. The blood tastes good... not a full measure... not a true meal.... no one dies. Luna makes due.

Doctor Franklin sits by the glowing hearth with the landlord. They sip brandy, an old decanting brought from Spain during The Spanish Civil War. The landlord is a tall man. Most of the Selenese (as people from Selena, the inner surface of The Moon, are called) are tall. Low gravity does that. Bones grow straight and long. The man wears knee britches and a full, white shirt, though with Gucci loafers. Franklin introduced eighteenth century garb in the middle of the nineteenth century, but small mutations violate the norm every now and then.

FRANKLIN - How goes the hunting hereabouts?

THE LANDLORD - Two last time. What do you think you just ate?

FRANKLIN - (chuckles) That's why I asked.... Any 'two heads?'

THE LANDLORD - Skull drying out back. Gave the other one away. Had a ninety pound Labrador in its gut. Swallowed with the eyes open and everything. You should have seen the look on its face. Ribs intact. Not crushed. Breathing, it was. They say one down by New Chester had a fresh, whole fat lady inside. Kin knew her... a bit bleached out and shiny, but otherwise OK. Dead, but OK... Like she had a real strong facial. That's all. Want to see? (fishes out phone) I,I,I got pictures.... 

FRANKLIN - (takes phone) stares at image for a while. nods. hands it back.

THE LANDLORD - None 'round here. Not yet... too close to Baby Philadelphia. Got to go 'cross the river... Look for 'silver tracks,' slime trails. Got to listen too....

FRANKLIN - For what?

THE LANDLORD - Like a hiss. Like a hiss. Like how an old fashioned, cast iron radiator goes. And sometimes a high pitched whoop thing too.

FRANKLIN - Lord, I haven't been back in years. A whoop? What kind of whoop?

The Landlord - Like a whoop. Like a whoop. Like how Prince goes.

FRANKLIN - (shakes his head) I...I, uh???

THE LANDLORD - Like a whoop. Like a whoop! Like a...

They hear a 'whoop' in the distance, outside 

THE LANDLORD swallows. FRANKLIN listens real hard.

THE LANDLORD - (whispers) that...

FRANKLIN - (whispers) shit... Where's Tomas?

THE LANDLORD - (whispers) outside...

They hear another whoop.

THE LANDLORD - (whispers) Jackson, I meant Michael Jackson...


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Amy Winehouse - Tears Dry On Their Own

Sorry I haven't posted new narrative in a few days. 

Heat's been very bad here. Bit better today but it's

coming back. 

Very much appreciate everyone who visits. Will 

try (no, not 'try'... do) to post new material tonight.

Thanks for putting this site over the 200,000 hits

mark. (couldn't believe it).

If you haven't poked around yet and would like to,

as always, click on ..

or google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz

or BINGO BOY by Billy Kravitz.... Bingo Boy is a basically non

paranormal weird romance between kids working in a rough, 

below the 'el' tracks, grubby, walk-in bingo hall.. strange pixilated

characters. Gee, I'd like it to be an 'indie' film... (I really would) That's all. Won't bother you anymore. Let me go stand under some cool water.

Please drop a card (comment)

Enjoy your day. A lot of people like this Amy Winehouse video. It's up there if you want to see....

Tuesday, July 22, 2014


Doctor Franklin may have been ferrying colonists to the moon since the later part of the nineteenth century, but humans do not control much of it. He has one ship. Commodious as it is, The Poor Richard is, really, rather small. You know those yachts you see docked at Monaco? Well, it's like that. Maybe six state rooms. Crew quarters for a like amount. A hold. A galley. An observation 'deck.' A propulsion room. Yadda yadda. Badda bing. Some heads. That's it. And those early colonists wanted to bring farm animals. You know the old reprobate wouldn't go for that. But he did let them bring embryos. Most didn't know what he meant. Got the necessary technology from the same place he got his ship. One dark, winter night, deep in the bowels of an early incarnation of The Anti-Enchantment Bureau...(in a sub-basement of The Walnut Street Theater back then) he tried something new with his 'armonica.' This was by no means as huge or technologically advanced as later models, but still apparently capable of great things. He was experimenting with frequencies... adjusting the crystal discs... moistening them... spinning them... zapping them with tiny, jittery boltlets of electricity. Wintry drafts of frigid air snaked down the narrow, creaking steps. Hurricane lamps flickered. And 'Highwayman,' a semi-domesticated raccoon, covered his eyes and jabbered away behind a stack of old scripts and playbills.Some animals are quite adverse to scientific exploration. Horses positively run from it. But Franklin gave him a plump smoked oyster from Kelly's On Mole Street and that made it all right.

On a whim he added another chord (via manipulation of the discs) based on an old cantorial heard at the Spanish Rite synagogue nearby.... Six part harmonics.... Da Vinci wrote about six part harmonics, but 'died,' or in some fashion 'vaporized' out of this world to God knows where before acting upon it. The sound is intricate and (even at low volume) quite powerful. The air positively vibrates. 

There was a large, heavy, bell jar, maybe two feet high and eighteen inches across, formerly used to keep dust off a stuffed marmoset. Franklin fixed taunt copper wires to its exterior surface with daubs of horse glue carefully applied on the end of a bamboo chopstick given him by a sea captain big in the China trade. Then he pumped the floor pedal, adding a bit more energy, and set it all in motion, infusing the low ceiling chamber with a symphonic cacophony unheard in our solar system since Creation.

A golden mist began to condense on its inner surface and a strange, little, metallic automaton materialized right where the marmoset used to be, resembling nothing so much as a miniature Wizard of Oz tin man, by way of 3CPO. Franklin gasped. Then the creature turned, leaned forward and peered through the cloudy glass, looking right at him . Franklin froze. After a bit the intelligent machine, deciding the old scientist was of no importance, returned to whatever it was doing before being rudely transported.

Franklin watched, transfixed by the magic of it, as the little metal man uttered words through lips that were almost biologic in their movements. With each pronouncement small, complex components popped out of the ether, settled to the floor of the tiny, glass domed, chamber, patiently waiting til their number was sufficient. Then, via magnetic, or electric attraction, they quickly snapped into place, forming a minute version of what became his space craft, The Poor Richard. The hybrid tin-man said something else and the little craft rose from the 'floor' (in this case, an old, maple table) and effortlessly crashed through the thick glass dome, shattering it into five hundred and sixty four pieces. The raccoon peed on the cold, stone floor, as the obviously incredibly advanced contraption buzzed 'round the room like a wasp, before punching through the ceiling and the four ceilings above that, to disappear in the darkness. The metal automaton crumpled down upon the table and moved no more. I believe he rests in a toy museum to this day.

Within two months Franklin had the first of his chambers under the Old Philadelphia Navy Yard, a huge armonica and an almost hangar sized space to accommodate whatever the 'winds' blew in. He meticulously reproduced the harmonies in every way and one night, just before the dawn of a late March day, the metal man came back, only this time much taller (seventy nine inches to be exact) and the ungodly flying machine he pulled from the air was proportionately bigger too.

Thus, via the unwitting pilferage of alien 'magic' The Poor Richard was born. Lincoln wanted to use it against the Confederates, but his generals said such a huge advantage would be most ungentlemanly and quite improper, though I'm sure the wives and mothers of Union dead disagreed.

In that way it began.

Next time we return to the moon.


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Monday, July 21, 2014

What Is A Dyson Sphere?... Doctor Benjamin Franklin knows... 7/21/14

The Poor Richard pivoted 'round til the underside faced the interior surface of the moon and touched down at a little port roughly where forty degrees north latitude would be. When the passengers, both vampire and human stepped out, Doctor Franklin began his spiel..... What you see is very old. The trees and all the other vegetation comes from Earth. Apparently here for at least seventy five thousand years. We know by comparing genetic divergence. Species here are essentially the same as Earth counterparts, however there are slight digressions and by measuring the rate of those digressions, or mutations we arrive at seventy five thousand years. Animals stem from seventy five thousand year old transplants too. (gestures across the void). There be mastodons there and saber toothed felines. But they're in preserves. Seems the original creators didn't fancy being trampled or chomped up, so they put them over there. We'll explore some of their early dwellings later... homey, in a not quite human way... not quite vampire too. And don't ask me where the gravity comes from. I can't explain it. Nor can I find a reason for that vacillating baby sun over there. You'll note that all points on the interior of this lunar shell enjoy the same climate, since all receive identical measures of 'sun' light. But the amount of heat and illumination varies over the course of a Selenial (our name for this inner world, based on the Greek word for moon) day. The central starlet produces everything from palest dawn to high noon and back again. Full night is hypnotic. It dims to a velvety black, though thin, deep, orange lines snake across the surface, from time to time. And tiny, pinpoints of twinkling light that seem to be a type of umpteenth generation hologram, appear at various coordinates in the void... special effects starlight, I suppose. Clouds form naturally, as they would in a terrarium  It rains here. Occasionally we endure soft, juvenile hurricanes and light snowfalls all keyed to the rhythms of the days, nights and seasons of that far off world. A day equals twenty six and a half hours and each season is six weeks long, leading us to believe their home world went 'round a smaller sun. Perhaps an orange dwarf. 

Sarah said - How is it that the light from that little sun doesn't burn us? Luna and I, I mean. We're vampires. after all..... Well, it's not a sun. Not a real sun. Something causes the light. Something creates the heat. But it's not nuclear fusion. Maybe that's why. I don't know what it is. - said the Doctor.

Tomas (staring into the orange glow) quietly asked - Who knows about this place?..... Doctor Franklin considered for a moment and said - I do and all my people of course. A few friends and associates around the world. We've been bringing settlers since The Crimean War..... I never knew - said Tomas..... NASA never knew either - said The Doctor. I suppose they will when they return. Imagine. We have a land area equal to North and South America combined. Those glassy looking shapes you see scattered about are lakes. Wait til you taste the prawns. You can have them now, Tomas, not being vampire and all.

Luna didn't say much. She'd been there before. And Billy was dumbfounded by that Crimean War remark, though he was conscious of a gentler gravitational pull. Back aches are rare around this place. After a bit, they got into a large golf cart, driven by one of the crew members, and bounced off toward a nearby town. 'Baby Philadelphia' they said it was called.

Franklin continued his running commentary as they went along.... We believe this is a rudimentary Dyson Sphere... A scale model, if you will, fashioned from an errant Jovian moon. Why they built it here, I don't know. Buckminster Fuller had his theories, but they were just theories...... Then they came round a bend. Franklin gestured toward a comfortable looking, gray stone house set among the trees and said - Ah, look! The Bluestone's open! Pull in, Geoffrey. We could use some dinner. 

So they entered a traditional, Pennsylvania inn... warm wood floors... creamy plastered walls.. long oak bar... mullioned windows... crown molding... small, cozy fire. The innkeeper, a second generation transplant from Hait-Ashbury, led them to a table (did he know who they were? well, he recognized Franklin.) and they sat down to a wonderful meal. The two vampirinas made do with thin, flavorful bisques, which they thoroughly enjoyed. The human sort savored rich, goose pie, pepper-green salad and blueberries over homemade ice cream.

Everyone had wine.

And the little sun-like thing in the middle of this world went from orange to red to violet to black.

The first day was over.

But the first night had begun...

<more next time>


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Saturday, July 19, 2014

PROGRESSION TOWARD LUNA .... our unusual band visits a strange place..... 7/20/14

Space is quiet. When worlds collide there is no sound. And space is dark... an endless frigid void sprinkled with tiny, orbs representing various degrees of insignificance. Tomas sat by a window gazing at pinpoints of light, the distant hearts of remote planetary systems. He was silent, almost meditative.... a post-vampire lost among the stars. Such things he's seen... The exquisite tinkling fountains of the Caliphate of Cordoba... Elizabethan London.... dhows off The Yemen... Carnival in Venice. He was a vampire for roughly one thousand years and mortal for eighteen years before that. Now adrift... No trim, leather bootkins.... No finely tailored white shirts, black jeans, or other trademarks from those days. Vampires are vain, you know. Iberian aristocrats are too... Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, presently in a large, midnight skinned, triangular craft floating toward the lesser sister in our Earth-Moon binary system.

He thought about Philadelphia and all his plans... A better world... A spiritual place.... Magic and the mundane reconciled... An enchanted existence where science and the ethereal plane intersect. But now it was over. Power must be controlled. Magic is power and those immersed in it must be contained. Governments and the people behind them demand it. 

He was too vain. Not satisfied to be dead, or whatever that state was. So now Doctor Franklin's Anti-Enchantment Bureau is in adversarial hands. 'Enemy' wouldn't be the right term. They're our government after all and the self absorbed scion from Al Andalus refugees toward Luna..... Not the vampire-physician-protegee of Doctor Franklin, but the world she's named after. 

Crew members padded about, outfitted in those attractive, yet strange, trim, navy and white, Early American uniforms. And were they all really named Jedidiah, or Lucas, or Absalom? Doctor Franklin liked such conceits. Where'd the fresh flowers come from? And the 'Spanish Ladies' (goldfish)? Tomas picked up a decorative trinket from the dark, polished table beside him, some silver shape, maybe it was pewter. Then he opened his hand and let in drift back to the fine, ebony surface. There was gravity, just enough. Franklin never said where it came from.

The others were off somewhere. Onboard timepieces read 7PM. Perhaps they were dining? Sarah and Luna, being vampire, might ingest clear broth, or wine. They could have that. The blogger, Billy, is human. And although Doctor Franklin is a three hundred and seven year old, scientifically preserved 'Founding Father,' he's still essentially human too.

Odd that Tomas wasn't with them. He's human too now. But he has to think. You know how spiritual he is. There was a momentary hiccup. The ship changed direction... just a minute correction. But now he could see the Moon, a large, gray-silver globe... so sharp... so tuned in and precise. The ship drew closer. Where would they land?

He motioned toward a footman... a 'Rupert.' or an 'Eli,' or something and quietly asked - Where do we land? How will we live?..... But the well trained factotum just gave him a cool drink (in a spill-proof, sterling, sippy cup) and smiled.

They passed over the rim of a large crater... like a scene from Kubrick's 1968 epic. Tomas loved that film, even if his part in it was thirteen years too late. But the floor to the crater was not there. He still had a vampire's keen sense of perception. He knew where the surface should be, but it just was not there.

The space-faring craft, The Poor Richard descended down through the lunar crust... through a cylindrical portal round as a Mayan cenote ... flat and steady, like a giant elevator, finally entering into an impossibly immense expanse more than eighteen hundred miles across. And Tomas saw the green, moist, true face of the moon. Rivers traced lacy paths through ancient forests. There were towns. Well, at least he saw the lights. An orange radiance... a miniature sun occupying the space where the core should be, bathed all in a late day glow.

W-what is this thing? - whispered Tomas.....

Your new home, sir - said the Rupert, or Eli.

But the former vampire, who'd seen many things, just stared....

Not even Byzantium came close to this...

<more next time>


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