Wednesday, July 11, 2018

THE VAMPIRE JONATHON SPEAKS Renaissance Music in a Castle. Ancient Music in the Loire Valley.



I had a refuge in the north of Italy. Please ask me not its exact location, for the descendants of my familiars then still inhabit the place and shun such notoriety. It was actually a castillo, a house built in the waning years of the fourteenth century. The medieval mind set was beginning to lose hold among the higher levels of society, thus the structure was as much palazzo as fortress. We had glass in the windows and an interior room for bathing. There were marble hearths and polished, stone floors warmed by Persian carpets. Some such residences still used rushes... but not mine. And the dogs about the place where greyhounds or whippets, no gross mastiffs or rough coated wolfhounds. Indeed, we had four designated 'shit boys,' whose job it was to whisk away errant turds and mop up, or scrub out the pee. Don't ask me their names. No one ever bothered with names. We yelled - 'Shit boy!'... and one was there. Most times even that was unnecessary, for they hovered behind the dogs like acolytes and they did their job very well.

I went abroad in daylight then too. Of course it was an illusion accomplished via a double. They found him among a group of mummers performing at a fair. Money changed hands and he was mine. We dressed him like me... exercised him till he had my form.. styled his hair like my long, dark wavy locks and that was it... Being a mummer, he learned my speech patterns very quickly. His cooperation was assured via tiny but regular infusions of my blood. Not enough to make him as I, but enough to keep him in a state of permanent enchantment.  No one suspected a thing. Granted, attendants followed him everywhere, though considering the rough nature of the times, bodyguards were a regular accessory. All the best people had them. His carried small vials of my blood, lest he was killed, or struck dead before the eyes of others. They knew how to quickly revive him and carry him to safety. Thus I appeared to attend daylight masses and hunt with the other young bloods. Was I the first vampire to create a daylight double? No, of course not. Though I share more night-folk truths than most.

Do you know why I haven't communicated in anything like a regular basis recently? I am plagued by doubt. The current political atmosphere depresses me. I mean the things you mortals (or the less enlightened ones) grapple with! Look, let me ask you a question. What STOPS you from living as conservative a life as you please?... The government is in no way bound to force others along the same path. I can see demanding a fiscally careful regime. Fine, do that... But all the rest? Don't compel society to sanction your biases. Forget this reborn Bonfire of The Vanities so many lust after. These things never end well. So I sit in my chair every night silently absorbing vintage films and rehabbed lofts... when I'm not out patrolling the midnight streets, that is. I 'cull' my monthly blighted soul and play with Sylvia and Aura in their long forgotten realm under the city. A vampire abides.

But I meant to share my most favored years in Italy with you. Permit me to regain my composure. (bows his head and squeezes the bridge of his nose)..... (sniffs).... I kept a pleasure barge on the river... and when we were sufficiently downstream, beyond the town, my liveried oarsmen would dowse the torches so I might enjoy myself in total darkness. Please know that by the standards of the time, my 'subjects' were far from abused. Each went home  with a polished opal or two, plus my sincerest compliments.

Vampire 'personalities' change over the years.... and that identity beckons me.... boy, does it ever.... (cue the recorders and lutes... as he grins mischievously and offers a curt, little salute toward the camera)

The naughty Jonathon is back.....

< more tomorrow... I promise>

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there was supposed to be an atmospheric video of Renaissance music at the top of all this but somehow it got dropped... sorry.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Mike Oldfield - Music of the Spheres - Aurora be inspired by its resonance and behold THE BOOK OF ALL THINGS... the 'b.o.a.t.'



All who see this are already connected. We are united by an energy as old as Creation and as new as the devices that bind us. And these 'things' are more than weekly 'specials' vended in 'big box' stores. They are, when wielded properly. portals transmitting thoughts, truths and possibilities. Use them not simply for games, or to silently ingest the art of others. Give birth to your own digital nuggets and send them flying through space and time, beyond the here and now... and out into forever.

That bit of electro - magnetic entertainment you hold has been called a computer, but to the truly prescient,  it is so much more than that. It is an ever growing collection... a book of all things... a b.o.a.t. ... and we are all helmsman. Choose your course and steer wisely. Waste not your time... explore... produce and shape the world to your end.

We had inklings of this far back at the beginning, in the early days of Vampire Wonderland, when it was called The Book Of All Things New. The vampires graciously lent their reality to the furtherance of this message. The noble members of that long misunderstood breed always see light in the darkness. Indiscriminate killers they are not.

But they were just the lure. Night-folk tales were popular back then and many read their words. Years passed and the universe changed. Will the night-folk vanish? No. How can they do that? They are real. But you are real too... and many souls wait for what you have to say.

Say it.....

Take off the gag and speak.

I am not 'Billy' who lives in the townhouse with the night-folk. I am not one of the disembodied spirit narrators. I am the same as you... and we deserve to be heard.

If you want to be heard, but find it hard to start, follow Billy's site on Twitter. click on THIS .... Start small. Share insights, or retweet.... whatever.... Just do not go silent into that good night.

Tell us something...

and, as always, should you want to wander our night-folk labyrinth, click HERE and pay attention. There're almost two thousand episodes and it's easy to get lost....


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there was supposed to be a video too, Mike Oldfield's  Music of The Spheres... but our enemies toy with us and it never posted... that's alright... search it on Youtube... You'll see... thanks

Friday, June 1, 2018

THE VAMPIRES HAVE A PLAN TO SAVE THE ROSEANNE SHOW ... 6/1/18

It's been a long quiet spring here at the townhouse. Everybody just minds their own business and keeps to themself. Edith runs back and forth to The Jersey Pines. Seems they got two or three new little Jersey Devil foals and you know how she dotes on children. Sarah loses herself in the bookshop. They redecorated PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK. Still looks all snug and old timey with them wing chairs and pin-up lamps scattered 'round for reading.... the narrow aisles... the collection of tick-tock clocks and 'small game' taxidermy specimens posed on little shelves behind the old (and discreetly, newly refinished) seventeenth century work table-counter. Folks take pictures of the mullioned windows and the dark green wood trimmed facade with the gold lettering all the time. Say it looks real Harry Potterish. Damn, lot a little streets in Society Hill look that way and always have.... brick sidewalks.... scaled down trees. Ghosts love the place. It is a regular ghost resort. They don't have to blind themselves to the future, 'cause it ain't there, 'cept for the cars and narrow streets don't see many a them. Folks walkin' through got that 'modern' look. Guess you can't have everything, 'specially being basically dead and all... But are ghosts really dead? They run around without no fleshy bodies 'cause them fleshy bodies wears out. Yet they still the same as they always was. And a old place, like Philadelphia, got whole bunch a ghosts. Folks who say - nah, we ain't got no ghosts... ain't got no idea. Not every ghost is a show-off. Most just were not brought up that way....

I forget I'm a ghost. I recognise folks know me as Mister Never You Mind, an old Creole gentleman from the French Quarter. But I forget about the 'dying' in a vat of acid, or burnt up tied to a chair and doused with gasoline, 'cause that recollection is just a who mess a unnecessary pain. so I simply let it go.

Jonathon, the main vamperino in this tale (well, at least he thinks he is) still do his nightly rounds, walkin' all over the place. Vampires think like big jungle cats and Center City is his territory. Oh, he fine with another vamperino or two, just so they know he 'alpha.'

Doctor Franklin gettin' active again. They up to somethin' at his scientific installation under the Navy Yard. He not a vampire. He just a scientifically preserved, three hundred and twelve year old, self centered founding father. I don't mess with him much. He got this device that detects us spirit folk and I like to be discrete, bein' a true Southern gentleman and all...

Jonathon got an idea for that Roseanne fiasco. He says they should get Bette Midler ('cause she can be loud and brassy too, you know) to play long lost Aunt Toots.... name's really Aunt Betty, but she always been called Toots... She got some money too... Used to front for a Bette Midler tribute group.... One dark and stormy night when the rest a the Conners is sittin' around talkin' 'bout how could Roseanne be so dumb to let herself get snatched by 'the Gypsies?' (that is somethin' the real Roseanne might say) the front door at 714 Delaware Street SLAMS open and a drenched Aunt Toots (really Bette Midler) holding two stuffed trash bags yells - Well?! Which a you fat asses is gonna help me with my luggage?!.... Thus the show goes on.....

Jonathon wants to get one of his 'familiars' (mortal helpers) with Hollywood connections to call somebody...

Vampires are always thinkin' stuff up.
Night-folk are actually very creative....

<more next time>


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Friday, April 27, 2018

The VAMPIRES Binge watch The Outer Limits in their sleeping cubicles.. Season 1 Opening and Closing Credits and Theme Song

 

How can paranormal beings not love these tales? Please remember that few are born paranormal... maybe some 'born witches' and in their own ancient, quiet way the Red Paint People. But vampires and lycanthropes start out as mortals... regular human mortals. As such they are quite aware of the magic and transcendence of it all. What must it be like to become a life-eater.... or a human  who sometimes escapes into a feral world of moonlight and luscious flesh?

Everything is everywhere. Perhaps 'reality' is just the part timid sorts are willing to see?.... an idiot's delight of the safe and mundane..... Artists know that. Surrealists let themselves 'see' what's out there. Some of those we call 'insane' are merely just aware....

What do you see?

What holds the meat to your bones? Why does it not slide down and pool at your feet, contained like vomit in your bloated skin? And why does that skin not tear and rip at the crown of your skull and roll down from the bones, leaving them bare and naked... A slug has no bones. yet it lives. What locks your soul to your body? Does it fly free at night exploring Creation via dreams? Is magic a fundamental violation of nature, or merely a scientific reassembly and repositioning of what is just there waiting for direction? Is it proper for us to play 'conductor?'.... How about 'director?'... What separates the priest from the wizard? What is fitting and what is not?

Every instant of creation finds us at a fork in the road. Every instant of creation offers us the 'right' or the 'wrong.' The clock never stops till the end. We can't turn away from the game. Play, but play carefully...

Shhhh.... the clock is ticking.....

A shepherd's daughter watched from the bushes, as the king's daughter went by, raised up on a fine liter and resplendent in costly linen with sandals of softest deerskin. But the simple girl's eyes saw the golden diadem upon her brow and thought --- If I only had that selfsame shining circlet  for my own. Soon after a ram began to speak. Now please know this was in the early times when such things occasionally happened. The shaggy beast said - If it is your true heart's desire, it shall be yours...... The girl asked --- How?..... But the creature just smiled in an alarmingly human fashion, revealing fine, cat-like teeth. A certain power emanating from the ram's eyes made the girl forget his words. A few heartbeats later, she fell asleep embraced by the soft mossy earth, between the roots of an old oak tree,  surrounded by her slumbering flock. Though the ram was not among them.... Those nocturnal life forms with eyes and minds capable of understanding saw him staring at the moon... just staring .... frozen like a statue mounted on a small hillock .....

The girl woke with the faint, misty light of dawn. She gasped to find the circlet resting firm on her brow and ran to see her reflection in a small, still pond.... There it was, the exact diadem .... the princess's gold circlet.

She scrambled to her feet and shook the water from her clothes.... A large fat white salamander with red eyes and gill frills 'round it's head finished swallowing a naked little pixie (head first) with dragonfly wings, licked its chops, spit up a bit of blood and something else and said --- It suits you.... But she wasn't listening. Her image was too alluring..... Even the sheep seemed to notice. And the small, biting flies so common during that time of year left her alone and made do with the still living mutton.

Now the flock hated her. She killed their children and sold their little lifeless bodies on market day. Some stout burgher-wives liked lamb slaughtering and preferred to do it themselves. Others were cognizant of the fact that live lambs come with a fleece. Look, everyone has their reasons.

That evening, after her prisoners were adequately watered and quietly resigned to the tragedy of their lives, she sat under her favorite tree, preparing to rest. She took off her shoes and rolled the stockings from her feet. When she lifted the gold circlet from her brow it did not come easy, leaving an exact indentation of itself upon her soft, clear skin... But she could not see that. Oh, the pond was still there, though in the darkness it only reflected the moon...

The shepherdess wrapped the diadem in her shawl, placed it in a small hollow (just a slit in the tree-bark) quite safe from prying eyes and readied herself for sleep..... In all her hours of sweet slumber the exact indentation of the gold circlet refused to disappear...

I guess it had its reasons too....

<more to come... hopefully tomorrow>

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Monday, April 16, 2018

STRANGE PEOPLE ... 4/16/18

There's no featured video tonight and no apropos music. The vampires and other night-folk I blog for are not into it. Sometimes it happens that way. They go into a stupor. Usually it starts with one of the old ones. In our case, that would be Jonathon ben Macabi, or Tomas de Macabea. He's known by both names. A long life will do that. 'Papa' doesn't count. He's so incredibly ancient. Different laws apply.

Little Bastid Annie, our twelve year old vampirina in six a year old body, plays Barbie's Dungeon for hours and hours. I think it started as a nice, doll house castle, but she got bored with it and painted in all black and gray... the floors... everything. Then she found a place on line that sold genuine hand forged scale model torture devices. They were already made for eleven inch fashion dolls and twelve inch army-guy figures, so she bought the whole sixteen piece, Ivan the Terrible deluxe set.... with pieces of coordinating dark, heavy medieval looking furniture to go along with it. Edith, the Jersey Pines, witchy-woman housekeeper let her put in on one of the household credit cards. Old established vampire households have lots of cards. Nobody cares. Now half of her sleeping cubicle is taken over by the five and a half foot tall 'castle of death.' That's what she calls it. The dolls all have these goth outfits. Actually, they're the Maleficent Line from Disney. The army-guy dolls are the 'torture guys,' another Annie term and she dresses them in Thor outfits, only they don't have Thor hair... She pretends it got cut off in a war... Annie sets up these elaborate tableaux spanning four stories of the castle. Then she sits there and stares at it by the light of a dollar l.e.d. flashlight Edith got from Boscov's. The rest of her sleeping cubicle is dark. Edith gets her lots of batteries too.

But Tomas doesn't say much. He still goes out roaming the city every night... Just walks... in his black jeans, white shirt and leather coat. He has all kinds of leather coats and jackets... big warm ones... trim quilted 'space cadet' types... scarves... knit hats. He has all that. The cold can't hurt him. He just likes to feel warm and secure.

Edith says all 'hoo-doo' types get like this. 'Hoo-doo' is a Piney term. It means them what's tetched by magic. Not just vampires. They got a whole menagerie. Tends to manifest when seasons change. Been going on a long time already here, 'cause seasons don't know which way they want to go. Sometimes he'll sit in an all-night coffee shop nursing a hot tea, pretending to read one of those free Center City papers they have by the register. Waitresses all know him. They come over and say - Yo, are you all right?... He don't even pick his head up. Just flips them a twenty, or like a couple of twenties if there's two of them. In waitress-land, when you give out a twenty or two, that means you're all right, so they top off his hot water and give him another tea bag and leave him alone..... He rides around in taxis too. Has a few regular drivers. Knows their numbers. Flags them down. Gets in the back. Pulls his knit cap down low over his eyes. Rests his head on the top of the seat and just stares out the window. When he's had enough an hour or two later, he says - Stop here... Pays and gets out. Drivers think he's a nut. Oh, some people around town know he's a vampire, but not everybody.

Once spring really hits they'll all snap out of it. Leo just sits there looking at the TV and chuckling like a maniac. Doesn't make a difference what the screen shows. He's not 'seeing' that anyway. Just laughs and shakes his knee up and down a mile a minute. Looks like that actor Sam Rockwell does when he plays mental cases....

And that's it... Sarah does her thing. Baylah mostly stays down the shore and Conrad just acts like a regular, pudgy school teacher guy who happens to be a vampire. Wears Docker pants and everything.

Real cold and dark and rainy out there tonight.... Two guys found a severed head under a bench in Fittler Square, but it was still talkin' so they left it alone. Scrunched a newspaper around it to keep it warm, but that was it.

Drunk guy says - Don't you say 'thank you?'..... Head says - Go to hell.....

<more tomorrow>

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Friday, March 30, 2018

The Honeycombs-Have I The Right (Shindig) 1964 inspire a new cable vampire series



OK, OK.... here it is.... The early 1960's.... a grungy pub somewhere in Manchester... a cross section of working class youth downs pints and socializes. The place goes dark.. BOOM! The lights snap back... and in that instant an intriguing rock quartet appears on the little stage, tearing into the song featured above.... Guys feign disinterest. Girls watch mesmerized, stomping their feet to the beat.

Meet THE SPIDERS, Britain's newest sensation... Peter, Tom, Luke and Billy (I always put a 'Billy' in my stories)... four slick dudes, just a little bit too irresistible and a little too bit self-assured.

After the set, the guys do nothing.  The girls scream, rake their fingers through their hair and jump around like ... well, the local press calls it 'the Manchester Mania.'

One bush league Judy Geeson   climbs over the bouncers and fights her way onto stage... The girls go absolutely wild. Frontman, Peter, grabs her, leans over and plants a deep hard kiss right on her neck. She swoons... The windows rattle from the pandemonium.

Two bouncers take her limp body and carry her away.... The guys are having none of it... I suppose, as this is Britain, they're actually 'the blokes,' but this is just a quick visualization.

Out on the sidewalk, cops fight to keep a sea of TO SIR WITH LOVE extras rejects from stampeding into the already packed establishment...

More screaming... More window rattling.... Every light bulb in the place shatters throwing all into blackness....

Then an instant later the garish security lights take over. The stage is empty. The Spiders are gone...

Off to the side and wedged into a tiny booth, the Judy Geeson reject fights to breathe, as a girlfriend mops perspiration from her face, throat and arms, plus a little bit of blood from her neck.


THE SPIDERS..... Britain's first mega boy band.... and how they conquered the entertainment world... and how a globe spanning industry kept 'the vampire part' secret

Besides that 'vampire' part, everything else is played straight... battles with managers.... groupies.... record companies... all of it.... A high quality reproduction of the early '60's... the clothes... the cars... the glossy fun house crass of it all...

and the foot stomping, ground shaking beat goes on...

In a sense, the story of every group that shoulda woulda coulda been The Beatles, but was a little too 'bad boy' for the times....

<got to work on this one>

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Thursday, March 22, 2018

Our Vampire JONATHON loves this music -- Erich Wolfgang Korngold - Kings Row (1941): Suite of 1968

 

In the later part of the 1800's, I'd climb into a crawl space up above the ceiling of The Academy of Music and stare down at the audience, while losing myself in the wondrous sounds, through the intricate open naturalistic design surrounding the huge, magnificent chandelier. The small, swirly holes were designed into the motif so workmen could see down into the orchestra seats when they lowered the elegant crystal structure. The lights were originally candles. Later they went to gas. The chandelier didn't move then, but the crawl space was still there.

I'd gaze down at the formally attired patrons... ladies in off the shoulder gowns... gentleman in white tie and tails. When they lowered the lights (to my vampire eyes) the dazzling collars and shirt fronts seemed to glow.... so did the ladies... at least the parts that showed. Sometimes I'd pick a couple. I'd lock on.... Night-folk can do that. Everyone has a vibration. Each is unique and coupled with their scent, very easy to remember.

When the music stopped and the applause was over, I exited that crawl space and climbed down. Those in the know instructed their coachmen to drive around all night and return at the proper time. Can you imagine how long it takes carriages to exit a livery stable? And before you feel bad for the coachmen condemned to wander icy streets on cold winter evenings, please know that most left their conveyance in an alley somewhere behind their favorite taproom, while they sought shelter, plus beer and oysters, inside....

Then I tracked my special couple to their home. Some lived in the newly popular Rittenhouse district to the west. Others in the huge brownstones flanking North Broad Street, or the environs of Washington Square.... You know I like Washington Square. The streets and houses are thick with ghosts.... Maybe for some paranormal reason they're just easier to detect. Adepts claim underground granite 'shelves' reflect ectoplasmic emanations. One such 'shelf' runs under that part of the city. Who knows? But I ran through the shadows of the city, keeping up with their closed brougham, and saw the couple as they ascended the steps and entered a new (for those times) brownstone on a street just south of Rittenhouse Square... A few heartbeats later I sublimated through a cellar window and waited for the house to grow quiet.... Just me and a dressmaker's dummy with a painted on face and a wide brimmed bonnet, plus a neat, little bullet hole just to the inside of her left breast... right where a heart would be...

OH! Did I ever tell you I never ate chocolate?... Not once... by the time they brought it back from the Aztec Empire, I'd already been night-folk for like five hundred years.... So that's another experience down the drain. I did once get a victim all liquored up on some kind of chocolate cordial drink before I had her... Sort of got the essence of it, but it's not the same thing. Funny what pops into my brain.... If I still have a brain. Do I need one, or does my spirit simply keep everything going... (sinks into a silent trance)

(sighs and wakes up) Forty minutes later the house was quiet. She had a mild laudanum concoction He had a big glass of madeira. The new maid girl turned down the lights, pilfered a few bits of truffle from the kitchen and settled in for the night in her maid-bed. I slipped her three ounces of twenty four carat gold. I always give the most put upon servant something. Just how I am.

The husband was who I wanted. His people had rice plantations in the low country (coastal South Carolinas). Kept them after The War too. Ran them on a share-cropping system. Slaves kept right on going... Same cabins. They filled in the chinks, hung little curtains... patched most of the leaks.... put in a few outhouses instead of just a latrine ditch... And nobody made enough to get out of there, or get themselves doctored up when the yellow fever comes through. But the big house folks got theirs... And Mister Upstairs with his madeira got this brand new Townhouse on Rittenhouse Square in Old Philadelphia plus a whole drawer full of equities in northern plains railroads and a seaside 'cottage' mansion on Belleview Avenue in Newport. Please know, he was only the second son. Used to pester all the field girls when he was a young buck. Still does all the housemaids now that his daddy got him all set up as a 'gentleman' lawyer in the city. Folks still dying from Yellow Fever back home. Big Daddy  says it gets rid of the trouble makers... 'Cept some of those trouble makers only nine years old. And nobody even thinks about it.

I went upstairs, silently passing through errant moonbeams sneaking in through slits in the draperies. Vampires dance so quickly upon the stairs. Dancers in the dark, we are. A small Pomeranian dog woke from its slumber and saw me on a landing.. I went 'shhh.' The dog just stared. Animals know magic when they see it.

The mister and missus had separate rooms. Many did in those times. Besides, dalliances with servants felt so much naughtier. His door was locked. The custom was for ladies to have double doors. Gentlemen made do with one. But I tracked by scent and vibrations and sublimated into the right chamber regardless of the doors.

Shall I tell you about jaws ripped off, eyes sucked out, or hands stripped of flesh? These things and worse are common. Some gnaw through the belly, bite through the diaphragm and drain the beating heart. Such pure indulgence. Nothing richer. Stuffed with oxygen and nutrients. Tapping the jugular is nothing compared to that. Just know that I am quite the gourmet.... and the 'meat' certainly deserves it. Do they scream?... No... They tremble and twitch. The eyes open wide. Sweat pours from every surface. When it's done. When they die. The 'cool' blue fire ignites till all is consumed and only the ashes, plus perhaps a grease slick remains.... When I pull out my hair, my face, my ears, neck, my shoulders are slick with blood. That's when I fly away and hide, waiting for the blood to dry. After it does (and that happens rather quickly) a vigorous shake (like dogs do) sends thousands of scab-like particles flying everywhere, till my hair, my skin and clothing are completely clean... Then, I might continue the evening or return to my domicile. That's how it happened one night during the pentultimate decade of the nineteenth century..

Strange, but I was listening to a favorite piece of music. The one featured at the top of this tale... and I wanted you all to know... I've experienced many things, though the flavor and texture of chocolate is not one of them...

<more to come>

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