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Thursday, October 30, 2014

LIFE IN THE the human food lives ... 10/30/14

Every great house had them. They were like mushroom farms. Special facilities for the propagation of foodstuffs. And in this world the caviar was people. Only few thought of them as 'people.' They didn't talk. None had names. Young ones among the civilized, giant canine things might occasionally keep a few as pets. But they were only 'sea monkeys.' If they died (and they did) there were always new ones waiting in the cellars. 

The trays were stacked fairly high, maybe fifteen to a 'tower.' Each tray required five or six inches. That meant one inch for the soil mixture, two and a half inches of 'air space' so the mushrooms and fungi could grow and the people could stand up and walk around, plus two more inches taken up by the thick, wooden base and sides of each tray. 

Remember, these are 'inches' on this world. On ours that two and a half inches of 'air space' would be equal to ceiling height in an average room. Individual towers, to the civilized canine giants, might be roughly six and a half to seven and a half 'feet' tall, equal to a fifteen story building on Earth. And many cellars had four to six towers.... Cities of the doomed.

There was only the tiniest bit of light. Most believed 'the crop' grew better and matured faster in the dark. Imagine living out your life on one of those trays. Grazing on mushrooms and other varieties of fungi. There might have been a few, straight, metal lined troughs serving as streams. Some for drinking. Some for bathing, when they thought of it. One for a latrine.  Humans were animals, after all.

Junior kitchen help,  perhaps a stable 'boy' or two took care of it all. Sprayed water in with hand pumps... Picture old bicycle pumps, or bug spray pumps. That's what they were. Humans dove for cover during 'wet downs.' They shoved them metal tubes in all the way. Some got hit hard. People died... got torn apart. No need for burials. Just fall down and lay there. Dirt and what grew in it ate them up real quick. Some life.

Matured in about seven years. Reproduced a few times. Slide out a tray. That was a chore. Each tray was about six 'feet' by ten 'feet.' Pluck out the 'bigguns.' Carry them up to the kitchen. Dump them in the glass tank and serve 'em up. Some houses drowned 'em first. Some houses served 'em up alive. Some pinched the heads off. Other places let 'em keep the heads buy chopped off all the limbs. Guess their recipe called for that.

Juveniles left behind had it rough... Little ones... Toddlers. ... Just sat there, all huddled together. You know how lobsters do in lobster tanks? Same thing.

No words... No language... No nothing.

That's who Tomas wants to galvanize. That's who he wants to save. Them and the 'pampered' dollhouse humans upstairs.

Only Tomas. Only a vampire... Lemme tell ya...

<more later>


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Tuesday, October 28, 2014


He hid her from the light. The new vampire, the girl Tomas created last night, writhed when the sun came it. He saw the welts and smelled the oxidation, so he scooped her up and threw her into one of the tiny, dollhouse closets. She shivered and cried.   

Tomas told them when he went down for breakfast. The Australian man understood. Being from Earth, he at least knew something of vampire lore, if not the nuts and bolts reality of the thing. And strange as it was, no one let on about the missing 'uncle'... Not the maid, nor the 'mother,' or the children. The other one they never saw, an 'aunt,' or a 'grandmother,' continued to stay in her room. But they knew. Tomas could tell. Maybe it was due to all the sublimation, but his 'sixth sense' was coming back. The thing is, they saw him as a champion. Who else did they have. 

The Aussie spoke first - So you think she means to kill us, that giant afghan thing over there?..... Yes, I do - said Tomas - Maybe not right away. You're not that important, but she mentioned it and the others laughed..... You knew the words? You understood her? - asked the Aussie... No, but I felt them. I could tell - whispered the vampire.... The stranger from Down Under sighed.... If you stay as you are, you'll die. But I can offer you something - said Tomas... A vampire? you want to make me a vampire? You want to make us all into vampires, even the children? -asked the skeptic.... Tomas nodded. Then he said - Would you like me to show you the cellars? Do you want to see the kitchen? The glass tank on the counter?... The other man didn't answer. 

Six acres away, across an expanse of patterned 'wool' carpet and polished 'oak' floor, the giant dog-woman stretched and yawned. The dollhouse humans froze. But she rolled over and went back to sleep. snuggling under the coverlets on her four poster bed.

The boy and girl resumed eating.... tiny sweetened rice cakes, broken up into droplets of milk.. at least it tasted like milk... They had some kind of juice too, plus minute shavings of bacon. Tomas had hot, weak tea. He could manage that.

Across the table, the 'mother' woman watched. She appeared to comprehend the basics. People are like that. They understand before they speak. Maybe she knew something about vampires. Maybe they had such beings on her world. Who knows? She looked at the children. The little girl waved playfully. The 'mother' woman smiled and waved back.. The boy stuck out his tongue, but he didn't mean it.

From her place, by the sideboard, the maid heard it all and she picked up a few words too. The Aussie mumbled to himself  in English all the time. Although she didn't know what 'vampire' meant, she instinctively knew what Tomas was. Maybe not exactly, though she knew he was more than mortal... and that scared her.

Vampires have a talent... a certain ability that might give them the upper hand. Could they drink dog blood?... No. But they could do something else.

And that, in itself was lethal...

<more next time>


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She had no name and no real family. Just stable mates. She was raised up on a vast underground tray... a giant, dirt filled platform.. all stacked up, one atop the other.  Two thousand head on each. Fed 'em on mushrooms and bean sprouts. They laid in it... naked, little (to the dogs, anyway) dazed, mindless humans. 

Kept the place warm. A cellar it was, dark and buried deep beneath the kitchen of a great canine manor house. In the language of the giant civilized dogs they were called 'pinkies' for the color of their flesh and they were a great delicacy, usually eaten live, or just south of life, like clams.

None dared escape. Indeed, they never thought of it. Hungry, red 'snappers' (crabs) roamed the 'depths' ( earthen floor), eager to shred little fugitives in their hellish oral openings. But the girl with no name was different now. She knew things. She knew it was possible to get out. She's seen it that night, when Tomas crept into the kitchen. She saw his eyes through the thick, green glass of the tank. He watched from a hidden niche, squeezed in behind the terrarium, pressed up against the cold tile wall of the 'back splash,' as canine cooks and kitchen girls scooped up handfuls of 'little pinkies' from the excelsior bedding. But one terrified human was over looked... a grape, so to speak, left on the vine. And now she shivered there under the soft, straw-like covering, pressed into an icy corner. Her thoughts were images... some fleeting... some not so fleeting.  Could she scale the glass? How could she, without even the words for it. But the scared, young female laid there and she endured.

Sometime later the canine kitchen girls came in to do their chores. One scraped and washed down the baking counter. One swept and mopped the floor. Another emptied the 'pinkie tank' ... Big, strong thing, she was, like a Boxer. The dog kind, I mean. Shook everything out in a dustbin. Girl fell in too, a bit bruised, but she was alright. Shredded paper and banana peels took care of that. One of the others, a dumb, clumsy thing, kicked it over. Leader yelled - Lord God in heaven (civilized dogs got religion too) you clean that up, you dumb bitch!... And she did... But the little 'pinkie' girl had a chance. She dashed into the covered place where the lower cabinets hung out over the kick board.  That's how she got away. Almost broke her spine on a mouse trap. But almost don't count.  Almost got all squashed and cut up by the rough, sharp broom. Night chores are serious business. Can't leave no dirty kitchen. Gotta be clean in preparation for the next day's breakfast. Big House jobs are scarce. Nobody wants to be sent home.

So she ran, naked through the shadows.. and that's how she saw him again. That's how she met Tomas on his way back up to warm the others. He sees how scared she is, puts his arm around her and pulls her under a chair... Big old thing... a club chair... got a skirt and everything... Real private, like an Arabian tent. He scared off some bug, laid her down on the rug and did it right there. Drank up all her blood and gave it back. Not having much in the way of smarts, she don't fight much. Follows his lead. Drinks from his wrist. What's she know 'bout night-folk and all? She don't know nothin.' Little while later she's almost there. Still got the skin-shedding and all, but she can do that upstairs. Tomas got plans for her. He got plans for the whole mess a them. Don't know if he's gettin' home, but they all gettin' out.

That's when he stands her up, crushes her against his chest and sublimates right through the chair... right through the springs (his energy shoots out and sublimates her real good too. looks like she likes it. must tickle or something), up through the air and one or two ceilings, back to the boudoir of the giant, blond, afghan looking canine woman. Pitch dark in there... No light. Stink from that toilet water she likes. Doll house dark too. Takes her in through the door. It ain't got no lock. How they gone keep anybody out?

She smells the greasy stain left from the killed-up 'uncle' guy. He know she hungry... 'vampire' hungry, but he don't let her kill nobody... not yet anyway.

Beds her down in the room with him. Don't know if the sun they got here gone effect her. Don't know if it gone burn her up. So he cover her like a baby, all wrapped in a bunting and lays down tight, right next to her. She cry a little, 'cause she wanna eat some bastid. But he rock her and whisper in her ear. She like that too. Goes right to sleep.

But he thinkin.' He figurin.' He rememberin.' 

Vampire got weapons and soon he an' that gal not gone be the only ones...

This your favorite disembodied spirit, Old Mister Never-You-Mind, narratin' these festivities. Long time no see.

Ghost get homesick too you know...

<more next time>


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Sunday, October 26, 2014


Tomas wandered the exquisite doll house mansion. How real it was.... the wall paper... the sconces... He began to think that maybe it was real. Perhaps worm holes are like tornadoes. Maybe they can touch down anywhere and suck up whole domiciles? Who knows? Maybe even planets? Maybe even galaxies. We might all be in the wrong place and not ever know it.

He found the room where the 'uncle' person slept and slipped in. The shades were drawn against a low, amber radiance from the fireplace in the dog-woman's boudoir. But vampires don't need light. The man slept, covered in a fine quilt. He looked drugged. Maybe they gave them something? Maybe it was in the food? 

Tomas bent low to feed. His touch was oh, so soft. He made not a sound. How easy it was to pierce the skin. The man never stirred. His blood flowed smooth and warm. After two hundred heartbeats it was over. The man was dead and his body disappeared into 'cool' blue flames. Nothing else burned, not even the quilt. In the morning they'd find the greasy residue. But canines have a superior sense of smell. He didn't think of that.

The meal strengthened him. His night-folk abilities flickered back. He sublimated through the walls of the doll house, levitated down to the floor, slipped under the door and ran to the stairs. He heard sounds. Not human sounds. Beings were conversing somewhere down below. Giant canine beings. Tomas climbed down, holding onto the nap of the carpet. that went on for maybe three treads. Then he felt it. He knew he could do it. He climbed over the edge, stood between two spindles and looked down. How far the hall floor was. Sixty stories. Like jumping off William Penn's statue atop Philadelphia's 'wedding cake' of a city hall. But he'd done that too. So he leaped out, closed his eyes and flew. Now vampire sublimation is not true flight. They do not float on air. They pass through the very molecules of the atmosphere and are upheld by magnetic resonance. Why didn't he pass through the floor? He didn't want to. It's as simple as that.

There were beings in the dining room. Candlelight shed a romantic glow. Dinner was over. The males had gone off to discuss canine politics, or some such thing, but the females remained, chatting quietly, as they engaged in crafts. He climbed up the velvet draperies to get a better view, careful to stay hidden in the voluminous folds. They chose leftover humans from the large serving bowls. Some mature. Some just children. Each was lain on a cotton wool pad and completely covered with a similar cotton wool 'blanket.' Then they passed around a small cruet of some camphorous fluid and dowsed each victim til dead. After that each tiny corpse was carefully dressed in detailed garments taken from a small pile next to each 'artist.' Upon completion the dead bodies were arranged on special backings. Small straight pins held them in place. Each sealed under rectangular panes of glass. Like mounted butterflies.

Tomas watch transfixed by it all. Then he saw one, the blond, Afghan looking bitch from upstairs, say something and gesture toward the ceiling. The others looked and nodded.

They went back to crafting til all the people were gone. If one wasn't exactly dead from the camphorous compound, the pins took care of that. Juveniles have such strong lungs you know.

Tomas raced upstairs to warn the others. Even amorality apparently has it's limit.


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Saturday, October 25, 2014

Sad Episodes can be good ones... Listen to ALL the MUSIC down at the bottom at the end. Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: From "On the Town" - Some Other Time! - Eileen Far...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: From "On the Town" - Some Other Time! - Eileen Far...: She gave then scarves and mittens. Every year she made them new ones. And they sat on the floor of the little caretaker's cottage liste.... I'll put up a new post after we do our #realSNLtalk after #SNL goes off, but til then, revisit this episode from almost a year ago. Everybody sees night-folk differently. Tomas is having a crisis of faith. And (in our story) the civilized world is in chaos. But the circle turns and seasons change... We do too... Please enjoy the music...


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Friday, October 24, 2014

JUST ME, Billy, the one who writes this ... 10/25/14

I've been tired lately. Longer autumn nights do that to me. Get my laptop all ready (who'm I kidding? it's 'ready' all day) sit down. Tweet a little. Start the brain juices percolating. Go to tap that key and BAM, Seth Meyers does something, or Carson introduces somebody and it's over... My jaw slacks. My eyes glaze. I breathe like I'm snoring and all them blog ideas go straight to hell. 

Think I want to wrap up Tomas in the Land of The Giant Dogs Who Wear Victorian Get-Ups and Eat Shrimp Sized Naked People They Raise Like Mushrooms ... Eh, you know how it is... Been there... Done that. Not that I won't finish it. I will. But can't wait to bring my favorite vampire back to Philadelphia so he can clean up all that 'almost' apocalyptic stuff
and go back to being a reverent, caring life-eater. 

SPOILER ALERT ~~~ Think he's gonna spread vampirism among the shrimpy folk and they'll use their new powers to fend off the towering canines and race with him through a worm hole back to Philadelphia. Then he'll lead his vampire army against the local exploiters and warlords. Once Philly's cleaned up, contingents of life-eaters will fan out to other cities to kill all the bad folks in those places too.. After that, they all get pilots' licences, or create pilot 'familiars'... fly oversees and destroy social/political nastiness wherever they find it.

Then, once Earth is real nice again (as if it ever was), Doctor Franklin comes back from the Dyson Sphere-like world inside the moon.... And he brings the first half human-half alien baby back with him... Little Winky.
Man, those Little Winky dolls should sell like crazy.

What I really want to do is go back to EL RANCHO TEXACO. I know I always say that. If I was making them as movies, EL RANCHO TEXACO would be first, then EMPIRE OF THE JADE ORB.

I got a lot of scripts.. PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, the coherent vampire saga that started this all. Different than Vampire Wonderland...Smaller and more dramatic...Sad too. In my mind people dab away tears and clap at the end. Hey, I'm allowed. 

Other scripts not so paranormal. I'll talk about them another time.

HEALTH-FITNESS TIP--- do chair crunches to fight Holiday Spread. Sit in sturdy chair. Lean back. Grip arms and raise knees toward chest (at least up to waist level). Do twenty reps to start. If you have to do less, do less. Fifty is ideal. Then do a set during every commercial. This really tightens up the whole corporation. If chair lacks arms, grasp the seat. Easier on the tailbone than floor crunches and just as effective...

I don't know why I said that. Just go with the flow, I guess...

And make sure to wash your hands all the time...Get your flu shot...and if you kiss a lot a babies, or one in particular, get that adult - whooping-cough shot too.

Now the 2AM Meredith Viera rebroadcast is on and I'm getting hypnotized again.

Excuse me while I slip into catatonia.

<more next time>



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Wednesday, October 22, 2014

THE DOLLHOUSE but not Ibsen's .... 10/22/14

The maid brought in a decanter filled with wine. A tiny, delicate piece of art. I don't know how they made it. And the vintage within was much like Mediterranean 'new wine' I remember from my mortal boyhood. Who knows if they even have grapes here. But they obviously grow some fruit suitable for fermentation and it tastes good. Even the children got some. What difference could forbearance possibly make here?

After that she brought in a miniature brick of cheese. I'd say it was similar to a sweet munster. We each had some. I asked the little girl her name. She didn't understand me. I knew that. But sometimes children sense things. The father figure told me to call her Sheila. I did. She giggled. The boy just played with his napkin. Odd how the fabric is so fine and supple, considering how large the 'hands' that make it.

The mother figure said something in her tongue, got up and retired to another room. Then the little girl stopped grinning and rolling her eyes, pushed out her chair, went to the little boy, took him by the hand and led him off.

What do they all do? What passtimes can they have here? - I asked...... The father figure Aussie shrugged and said - There's a harpsichord. Well, I call it a harpsichord. Primitive thing it is. But it works, after a fashion and you can play tunes on it. Keys are arranged a bit different than ours. I can manage a few old hymns.... Waltzing Matilda? - I said... But the Aussie didn't know what I meant. Waltzing Matilda came after his time. 

A tardis sized (to us) ormolu table clock chimed the hour. In that way this place resembled Earth... seven o'clock. A towering (might as well have been Godzilla) dog-maid came in, gently roused the blond, afghan looking thing and helped her prepare for dinner. Now I was told, if we were in a townhouse, there would have been gaslights. But out here in the home counties oil lamps were the rule. Tiny ones for the doll house. Oak tree sized ones for the dog creatures.... They shed a cozy glow. 

In a still small voice Tomas said - What do the children do? Where do they go? Do they play?....The father figure said - There's a playroom, a nursery of sorts. Dolls. Soldiers. Board games. They must be like miniature petit point is to us. The toys, I mean. I saw it in Sydney once at a fair.  They work under magnifying glasses. Metal thing holds it. Remarkable. Them dogs must do something like that..... Tomas said - Maybe the people in the cellar do it?... But the man just shook his head. He didn't want to believe that. Said - Tell me, if they're real, if they're down there, why aren't we down there too?..... Tomas looked at him and said - That's easy. You talk.

Then he watched as the maid helped the blond female change into a formal dinner dress. She smoothed the fabric and added a necklace, studied herself in a huge cheval mirror and left. Both tiny humans breathed a sigh of relief when the tall door clicked shut.

The Aussie showed Tomas the music room and played a few songs on the harpsichord. Then they retired to the library. The books were large, more like artist folios. The script indecipherable, like medieval, block German meets Talmudic Hebrew. But the illustrations were exquisite... fine and detailed. Canine pirates scaled the rigging. Guard dog soldiers knelt before kings. Heroines pined by garden walls. They discussed a few. The Aussie went upstairs first. The maid kept vigil in the hall. She'd lead Tomas through the shadows and show him where to sleep. Til then he sat by the fire (tiny cinders of long burning coal) and thought... How would he survive? Whom should he devour? How would he live, hiding in the walls like vermin? And the spiders. Were there other spiders, other creatures, other things? There must be. And worst of all, even the sun couldn't kill him here.

So he went upstairs. The maid settled him into a small room with a dormer window. Dog-woman couldn't see through that. And he slept under a tiny, satin duvet.

But the hunger gnaws hard on a life-eater. Two hours later he woke up and prowled the darkness... looking for someone to kill.

<more next time>


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