Saturday, September 16, 2017

A Letter from Lorenzo & Kadeema 9/14/17 Primitive Kiss (really cool vampire song)

 

We've met these two. Jonathon and Sarah came across them during a vampire pilgrimage, deep within the Carpathian Mountains. The old continent of Europe has many nooks and crannies. Some hide forgotten clans of Neanderthals. You know them as trolls and ogres. Others shelter various witch hybrids and shadow people. Who knows what else.

I suppose since night-folk had to make a conscious decision to emigrate and come to the New World, we have less noxious, animalistic types here. Compulsive, visceral specimens tend to stay where they are, rarely moving on till chased by a shrieking, murderous peasantry.... Lorenzo and Kadeema are noxious vampires. A condition usually caused by a hard, vampiric 'birth.' Maybe they were buried too deep, or the soil was excessively heavy and clay-like. Escaping the grave is horrific... Being trapped, or almost trapped is maddening in a very real, dark and damaging way. Some never heal.... Some never escape. God knows how many conscious souls lie bound within the earth.

Now our two were buried the same night, in a remote wooded, damp corner of Wallachia. Each had an opened Bible placed over their face. Each lay upon a hard, jagged bed of faith symbols.  That's what they did to suspected night-folk in those parts... Oh, some had their bottom jaw hacked out. The town butcher did it, thus mercifully killing the innocent and assuring them a place in the world to come.

Before we go on, allow me to clarify something. There is little room for movement in the grave. Think of the casket as an individual cigar case. The human remains are prepared and positioned. Survivors take a look... and then the heavy lid comes down, leaving perhaps two fingers worth of space between the nose and the interior surface. Should the occupant wake up, repositioning, or movement of any kind is futile. Stories of blood stains and frantic scratches on the inside of the lid are fiction. No one turns over. In the case of Lorenzo and Kadeema, they also had those thick Bibles resting on their faces, not to mention the sharp, pointy bed of religious charms under them.... And something else... the dirt packed down upon a coffin weighs more than one thousand pounds. The lids usually crack and cave in. Even the metal lids buckle. Exhumed bodies, for any reason, often have shattered faces. Corpses don't care. The soul's long gone. Newly made vampires, with all the left over fears of mortality are another story, for they're conscious through it all. They scream and shriek and rail like babbling fools in hell... Kadeema did.... She was a tavern girl, you know... and one night in a blizzard she slipped and cracked her head upon the icy cobbles of the town....and she lay there in the storm, half way between this world and the next. The rats never came to taste the feast. That's how cold a Wallachian winter can be.... But in the doorway to a small, shabby handful of flats crouched a 'noxious' vampire silently washing the blood from his face with handfuls of sleet and snow. He inhaled the rich, dense scent of the almost dead 'she meat' laying before him... thought for a moment then crept over. Noxious types are often gluttons, so he tore off her scarf and ripped into her throat. She barely moaned.... He pulled back from the font and thought for a moment, as the blood dripped down from his chin onto her smooth. white skin. Then he quietly chucked a bit before soundlessly dragging her into an alley...

True death never claimed her, but the dark burden did. Kadeema was a vampire now...

We'll witness her ordeal... Lorenzo's too, next time....

Ah, how the nights grow long. Autumnal Equinox is almost upon us. Night folk revere that event.   September twenty first is special to them, for after that date, the night overtakes the day and the pain of spring and summer temporarily ends.

A rich culture they have. The night-folk, I mean...

A whole other world...

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Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Jonathon Remembers Emotional 100,000 Attend Selichot at the Western Wall

 

Jonathon speaks -

In fiction we read about vampires who shun their mortal faith, replacing it with bleak distortions. In real life few actually do that. Most cling to their creed and desperately try to make sense of it all. We pray for divine understanding. We pray for acceptance and forgiveness, just like mortals do... And we search for 'reasons.' Why do we kill? Who do we kill? What purpose does it serve?

You know me. You know what I believe and what other life-eaters with other faith histories believe too. We 'cull' the wicked and help the worthy live... Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog... That's what we say. I hope it's real. I think it is. I believe it is. What else can I do? And this time of year, with the advent of  Rosh Hashana (literally head or start of the year) I, along with many mortals, attend midnight penance services for forty days, culminating in the great spiritual rebirth on Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). The penance services always start at midnight, or perhaps a few hours later... for it's always darkest before the dawn. A perfect liturgy for vampires. I take advantage of it as often as I can. Some see me, sitting in the back, at an old Sephardic (Rite of Spain) synagogue in Society Hill, the ancient, red brick, Center City district in Philadelphia. There are little brass, rectangular frames, each holds the name of a family, mounted on the back of every pew. Mine says 'de Macabea.' That's my Spanish name. I represent a long line. From time to time I hear of a mortal kinsman. That makes me feel good. Life goes on in all its forms.

As the forty days go on, things begin to change in the sanctuary. The rabbi, cantor and choir wear white robes. The sacred Biblical scrolls in the Ark are dressed in new, white sleeves. Some congregants now dress in the symbolically new and pure color too. For it is not just the 'next' year that is coming, but a 'new' year that is coming. In Ezekiel 36:26 it says - I will create in you a new heart and a new spirit. Many feel that in a most personal and visceral way, especially those who know they receive those things via grace and not, strictly speaking, in return for their own thoughts or actions.

Why does this promise happen yearly? Why is it an annual renewal? Because God never forgets. A promise is a promise. A covenant is a covenant. And that's what I, Tomas de Macabea, or Jonathon ben Macabi, take your pick, experience at this time of year.... I'm sure other life-eaters with other faith histories experience similar things according to their own spiritual calendar.

I know sometimes we fudge a little and post blood drenched tales of death and horror, because according to the numbers that's what readers like. But this isn't fiction and sometimes (most times) the truth comes through.

Vampires are not all monsters. We're just people with a very particular collection of issues.

I hope you understand that.

__________________________

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Friday, August 25, 2017

Vampire Jonathon Shares Parts of His Life -Steely Dan - Dirty Work 8/21/17

 

The life-eater known as Jonathon ben Macabi and also known as Tomas de Macabea speaks ---

The nights grow longer... not by much, but a bit. Darkness comes at eight thirty... I mean the still, cool blackness. It used to be like that. Artificial light was rare. What did they have?... Candles?... Torches?.... Perhaps a nighttime auto de fe?... People stayed locked inside at night. Guests sheltered till dawn. All exterior noises were suspect. A lose shutter tapping in the breeze could be a thief, or something worse. Il Castillo de Moresci was once attacked by demons. I knew they were leprous bandits, though some were so frightful the mortals sheltering within saw demons and so the legend grew. Could I have killed them? I suppose it would have been possible for me to sublimate through the moldering, fetid bastards, though I did not want to 'blow my cover' as they say. Naples was special back then. So they carried off a duke's virginal daughter and a cask of jewels. I can only imagine the horrors she endured.  Four of de Moresci's men at arms fought valiantly. Six ran away and hid. The de Moresci nobleman ( I forgot his rank) had them welded into iron maidens, stored in the crypt and left to die naturally. The four stalwart warriors showed signs of the loathsome disease within months and were rightfully banished. An old nurse, charged with the care of the duke's daughter, also fell ill. They told her she was going to a nice, little cottage, on a picturesque off shore island, owned by the duke where she might live in seclusion with an afflicted nun. They told her she had to be transported in a small, bronze verdigris cage (carried on two, long poles) to prevent others from suffering. The cube afforded little room. The loyal old woman couldn't even stand up or straighten her legs. And they left her on said island (still locked within her prison) where the 'unclean' nun might find her. It seems the unclean nun had a key and was told she'd receive a companion as soon as one became available. She'd searched the beach every day for four years, till dying from a bee sting. No one came to free the old nurse, so she waited seven days in the middle of a tiny meadow right by the beach, then she died. The chickens went wild. The rabbits did too. Nuts went ungathered. The orchards were alone.

But I digress... You know that by now....

(this is far from complete but I am tired and wanted ppl to know I am trying... political situation has me in knots..more tomorrow... appreciate everyone)

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Go see Arnold Schwarzenegger Twitter post.. Think about the last week.. check out the links.. Thank you 8/18/17

 

First link goes to Arnold Schwarzenegger's post.
You might have to scroll down a post  or two.
Twitter.com/Schwarzenegger

Second link goes to two paragraph's worth of
TwitLonger where I report actual experiences of
'free' German Christians who experienced life in
'The Reich' first hand  .. >> tl.gd/n_1sq4c2f

Not a regular episode tonight. Vampires weren't into it.
There are monsters...and then there are monsters.

Hate is not a toy.

Thank you ... Billy

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Bob Seger - 'Hollywood Nights' Live in San Diego 1978.but RESTORATION VAMPIRE STYLE 8/11/17



I fancied myself a rake and played the part very well. My digs were a discretely sized, though still impressive homage to Hampton Court, somewhat removed from public view, down a winding alley flanked by large, dense oak trees. Chelsea was quite the place in those days, filled with, jewel box estates for the well born and what the French would call the haute bourgeois ... le tre haute bourgeois... A Hollywood on the Thames two hundred and fifty years before that California enclave was born. But more about local atmosphere later.

We tore down dark suburban roads on the fine Arabians 'borrowed' from the Asgood stables. I led the way with a torch snatched from the entrance to some public pleasure ground (usually a park with fountains, a concert stand and beer garden). My mates fell in single file (aristocrats do know to ride), as we snaked down the path toward my place...[if anyone sees this now, please know that I don't have time to post the whole thing at once and am putting it up when I can.... clicked the wrong button... it should have remained a draft... but I ain't so button smart.... Jonathon (whose story this is) paces back and forth, lecturing me --- Don't I know how to do it right after all this time?!.... I say - Don't make me nervous... He gives me a look, takes an iced vodka and stomps off to his 'dark room.'.... We're in the cellar below the basement. .. no natural light here.... finished off little rooms and cubicles... juvenile vampirina, Annie, comes down to play Vampire Barbies and video games.... Jonathon cruises Google and listens to music... What?... you think they sleep all day?... they don't.... Sarah watches HGTV.... Conrad (the vampire who like Dockers 'slacks') is hooked on Game Show Network...It's a mental hospital.... Edith, our Jersey Pine Barrens, witchy woman, housekeeper is mortal like me (Billy)... She sits upstairs in the kitchen at the granite breakfast bar doing seek and find puzzles and eating tuna fish... Conrad says -- Jeez, what's with you? You're the tuna fish queen.... She goes -- Yeah, it's my 'blood.' Leave me alone...... Now I have to take a break and do some chores and errands. More posting later and #ff stuff too.... Wow... How'd I find enough time to post all this red stuff?]...

As we approached the entrance, I vaulted from the horse, threw the reigns to Mudo, my telepathic groom of indiscriminate background. The Brigands did the same. Mudo whistled. Their mounts froze till other stable boys appeared to lead them away. The torch, lying on the ground, instantaneously vanished (I can do that sometimes). Molecular manipulation is not that hard. Of course that term did not exist back then, but we managed.

My staff prepared everything for wee hour returns. The lights are low... a few candles here and there... bottles of gin left to chill in ice-filled silver buckets, placed where I can find them... dried apple blossom petals sprinkled onto the grate in the 'little' salon to scent the room... The 'little' salon was our place, a dim, octagonal, library-like space. Book shelves lined the walls, save for the expanse above the hearth. A portrait of some Tudor gentleman hung there. I think I culled him once. I can't remember.

We collapsed into the chairs, large, upholstered 'Roman' thrones. If you've seen what President Lincoln occupies in his memorial you know what I mean. Each 'Brigand' had his favorite place... five seats casually arranged around a small table. I found the bucket, grabbed the icy bottle of gin, a new distilled spirit, originally intended as a balm for the poor, but eagerly guzzled by the rich as well and poured five libations into the heavy, pale green glasses.

Sir Jeffrey downed a mouthful and began to laugh. His father, a baron, had no secondary title to give him, but managed to buy the young blood a baronetcy, thus the 'sir.'

He said - The noise. The chanting. I can't shake it. That sound. Is that how they do it? Just the sound? Just the vibrations? I saw a castrato shatter a goblet last season in Venice. Is that what it is?

I just shrugged......

Tantric magic - sighed Master Jeremy. Did you see the body? No, of course you did.... Then he retched and vomited all over the inlaid stone floor.

Two housemaids instantly appeared to clean up the mess, as we sat there in silence.....

 

Sunday, August 6, 2017

Wouldn't it be nice if benevolent vampires really could restore the sick & aged? Sweeney Todd - Not While I'm Around



 

The posts on this blog haven't been as frequent as before. Billy, the one who records the goings on around here, has been busy. His 93 year old uncle was sick. Then he was in hospital. For the last week he was in a hospice. Earlier tonight he passed.

He was the last of his generation on both sides of the family and now he has gone on.

I am one of the spirit narrators many of you know from this place, which one is not important. This is not about me. I just wanted you to know

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Friday, July 28, 2017

I Saw a Mortal Sublimate ..7/26/17 ..Tibetan Buddhist monks chanting in monastery in Nepal during a special puja

 

The life-eater Jonathon speaks ~

His name was Kahan, pronounced with a strong and somewhat lengthened second syllable. It means Lord Krishna, or Warrior's Son, or Beautiful. I never knew if he was born with the name. Perhaps it came when he disembarked at that seventeenth century London quayside? The City does that to people. Even then it was unique... theatres... coffee houses.... clubs... brotherhoods... cat houses and cathedrals. My God, it was wonderful. Urban manor houses in Chelsea were all the rage. Most were smaller representations of the palace of Saint James. Some not by much.

That's where I had my adventures with The Brigands, an informal group comprising curious risk takers with, at times, more gold than sense. Spoiled sons from the landed class were like that. We saw live pigs fed to alligators imported from Spanish Florida. We sampled magical mushrooms from God knows where. I liked the moonlit cat hunt. Where they got genuine Arabians, I don't know and I know genuine Arabians. Those horses were fast. We pounded 'cross the moors after a beautiful matched pair of black panthers brought over from what used to be The Inca Empire (rightly called Tee-wan-tan-su-yu). I'm sure they were jaguars. Certain specimens exhibit extreme pigmentation, thus the rich, glossy black coats. I led the charge, being vampire and all, I could see in the dark..... Did we get the panthers?.... No, I told you, I led the charge. Night-folk have a feel for nature. But we had a good gallop and I paid for ale and meat pies at the inn, so everyone was happy... Did they notice I abstained?... Well... 'vampire eyes' can cloud the keenest mind.

One night we went to a stylish salon at the petit palace of a newly minted baronet. They had a reputation for the finest meals and entertainments of the first rank.... so eager to make their mark. But who doesn't like good drink and a savory grill? So people went... and after meeting that Nepalese monk I mentioned earlier... they went again.

Tantric magic will do that to people...

It's an early form of enchantment that made its way into the world of dharma. Hindus and Buddhists know it... many avoid it due to its bad reputation... a slight tinge of black magic, though true adepts know better. You see, magic of the tantric variety accepts all facets of the human organism. It recognizes our hungers and addictions, but looks for benign ways to satisfy them. Will social distinction, public acclaim and casks filled with silver ducats keep you from becoming a cruel, perverse autocrat? Well, this form of wizardry plays to the 'need,' for a craving sated is a crime forestalled.

The monk in the manor house did this ...

Tantrics manipulate the universe with sound. They chant. They repeat mantras. They create vibrations and thus cajole the universe.... Look at the video up above. You'll see....

The baronet and his consort ,who hosted that salon, were known as Sir Henry and Lady Asgood. He wore curled shoulder wigs of the finest Persian lamb and the fabric for her gowns came from the looms of the fabled Silent Nuns of Wallonia.  Many tried to learn their secrets, but as they never spoke, all one could hope for was a very dirty look. The thing took place in Asgood House, a Palladian masterpiece at the end of a long, crushed gravel drive. They say it was bought on the backs of slaves. Asgood owned majority shares in three ships well know on the Cameroon - Jamaica run. Oh, it was all supposed to be hush-hush, but this was London... and people talk.

The night of the sublimation (passing through solid matter) the place was festooned with great names of the nobility and gentry.  As cognoscenti know, a fair share of gentry families actually out rank many peers.. They have more land... more money.... longer histories... comelier daughters and finer stables. Everyone makes way for a Redmond, or a Castile. Shakespeare, if he were more than one hundred and ten years in the flesh, would dedicate plays to them.

Ladies in sumptuous attire and gentlemen in rich brocades graciously acknowledged each other across the wide, candlelit, parquet expanse, as they fed tiny mouthfuls  of smoked eel to the pedigreed 'toy' spaniels on their laps. Some brought little monkeys. I told you about the monkeys. (Remember, this is vampirino Jonathon speaking) But simians are not as regular in their toilet habits as canines and most were left home where any shite balls they might fling at shrieking maids really didn't matter.

Social niceties went on for perhaps thirty minutes, then the monk appeared. They all went silent. A shaved head, coppery skin and a well formed body in a rough silk toga had that effect in these parts. Four disciples in lesser weaves took up compass points 'round their leader and began to chant in that low, rolling, vibrating fashion peculiar to their homeland. The 'ingles' (Jonathon often lapses into Spanish) were transfixed. Footman discreetly padded about the hall extinguishing three candles in five, lowering the illumination to an appropriate and mysterious level. Then the monk gracefully snatched a small songbird out of the ether and sent it flying up to the ornate, crown molding...In quick succession he conjured and released five more... People began to applaud.. The monk known as Kahan, who never opened his eyes, issued a low, guttural command and all went silent. A white lamb bleated as it tapped its way across the glossy, carefully fashioned wood floor. The monk scooped it up and hugged it to his chest. His disciples altered their resonating chant and it burst into flames.  The monk's arms, shoulders, neck and jawline disappeared behind the fire. This went on for at lease twenty heartbeats, till the chant changed just a bit and the flames vanished. Man and beast were whole, unblemished and unharmed. .. The monk bent down, released the little ewe and listened to it tap its way into the shadows.

Those in attendance refrained from any type of reaction...
The hall was silent, save for the pants of a few small dogs.
Footman bearing wooden parts to some type of apparatus, filed out and assembled what looked like a large, seven foot tall, polished wooden table right by the monk and his four disciples. The supports seemed spindly and unable to truly hold up the platform, but the monk emanated a deep, rolling mantra and all was secure.

A trim, compact young man appeared. Whether he walked out, or was brought forth by some other means was hard to tell... Tantric chanting can cloud the mind. He might have been from what was called Hindustan, or Burma, or The Great Horn of Africa. He wore a seventeenth century, British representation of a crisp, Egyptian, linen kilt with the pelt of a young leopard tied around his waist. A medium, rich brown he was. Long dark, curly, glossy tresses reached his shoulders. How perfect he looked in the low glowing light.

Kahan, the tantric master, his eyes still closed, gestured toward a spot on the floor under the wooden platform. The brown skinned young man lay down. For a while nothing happened. Here and there a few ladies began to titter.

The monk clapped his hands. His brethren did the same, till they produced a fast, intricate rhythm, coupled with an harmonic, almost electric (if seventeenth century people recognized it as such) hum. The large 'table' thing began to vibrate. Little dogs held fast on their mistresses' laps howled. Steam rose from the man in the Egyptian kilt, as he slowly left the floor and began to levitate. The aristocrats crowded 'round the hall saw him bounce against the bottom of the table and stop.

A hissing sound filled the space. The wife of a Scots laird fainted dead away when blood spurted out from a throbbing red vein in the white of her bulging left eye. Two peers spontaneously voided their bladders. Atonal chanting can do that to people.

Ten heartbeats later the form of the man in the Egyptian kilt began to pass through the platform. First the tip of his nose ... then his face... his chest... the shoulders... his toes... his groin. The skin pulled back on his face. He slowed. The walls began to shake. A huge crack ran across the high ceiling, down the richly paneled wall. Heavy slabs of plaster rained down on the crowd, as the remainder of the poor man's body, devoid of face, pectoral muscles, toes, groin, plus almost every bit of flesh on the ventral side of his being fell down onto the floor with a sickening, bloody thud.

People raced for the doors, trampling the weak and elderly. Rafters crashed down from above. Sixty one people died. One hundred and thirty five  of the survivors were questioned by Anglican authorities. Twelve were hung for witchcraft. Nineteen spent the rest of their days 'buried alive' in the foul dungeons beneath The Tower. Dead little King Charles Cavalier Spaniels were everywhere.

I gathered up my fellows, my 'Brigands,' stole four horses from the elite Asgood stables and spirited them away to my own manor near by.

When next the sun went down again I showed them what I was.

The vampire, Jonathon stops....

<more next time>

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