Monday, January 10, 2011

The Book of All Things New

This is Zebulon  bringing you the word from Philadelphia. The pilgrimages continue. Actually, they've really just begun. People report cures. Physcians are 'skeptical' since they can't figure out a way to grab the spotlight and collect money for it all. But know this, the cures are real. Fender  benders are down too. Mindless schoolyard fights and frenzies are down. And the people on the bus are so damn friendly, so damn friendly, so damn friendly. Life is like a song. Everything is kiss-kiss, hug-hug, good hot soup filled with roses and puppies. Our immortal threesome keeps filling those little miraculous blood vials and the elves and cherubs go right on delivering them. Investigative reporters criss cross the town searching for angles (angels too) and stories. Fistfulls of glittering lucre from the vampires treasure cache find their way into deserving, needy pockets. Bag ladies rent luxury apartments. Poor kids on food stamps suddenly have ten thousand dollar bank accounts. Best of all,  no one feels compelled to ask any troublesome questions. And 'urban grunge' becomes the look of choice at all the best tables in stylish restaurants, at least until the diners find the time to purchase an assortment of fashionable outfits. This is a quiet time for the vampires. What,  did you think they do not have them? Well, they do. It is not always high drama, clenched jaws, flaring nostrils, butt cheeks pinched together and other forms of soap opera madness. That stuff only happens on the lesser TV networks (both free and cable) and in teen-between, 'I'm so misunderstood,' blood sucker mall movies. Real life is completely different. So there is plenty of time for our vampires to explore their world and their feelings and each other. Baylah has a boyfriend. He visits her at the piano bar. They spend the night as his place. Didn't I tell you about him already? I could swear I did. He's what we called a merchant-banker. Now they call him an equities trader. He has a seat on the Philadelphia Stock Exchange and a fine, carefully tailored, red brick, Center City, petit palace, not to mention a magazine worthy weekend/summer place 'down the shore.' Does he know about her unusual condition? I don't know. But he must know something. True, it is a dangerous game telling mortals. But Jonathon's familiars know about him, so why should this fellow be any different? Still, he does not know she is 'Our Lady of the Olive Garden. But he does know a lot. I can tell. I have a feeling. Speaking of feelings.....Sarah and Jonathon are certainly getting in touch with theirs. They've taken to wandering naked through the dim and shuttered galleries of the Art Museum.... a pair of regular tableau vivants. Why? Why not? And (in the same condition) they made love right on top of the polished, granite slab dedicated to the unknown soldiers of The Revolution in the middle of Washington Square. Did anybody see? They must have. No one said anything. It was three thirty in the morning. True, a lot of cats started vocalizing, but I don't know if the two events were in fact connected or not. Most of the people living in the high rises around that way have fairly steady incomes, so they were probably snoring away in preperation for  next mornings's trot on the tread-wheel.. Then, when they get tired of that (Jonathon and Sarah, I mean) they sublimate into the zoo, where they ride the magically liberated great, white, arctic bears through the deserted, cobbled lanes. And according to the residents of monkey island, it is quite the show. Want to hear something else I know? Hitler and Liberace  have a big, hit show in the neather world.. No, they're not exactly neighbors. Hitler gets a work pass to commute up for the show. What's it called? I told you...The Hitler and Liberace Show! Look, I'll see if I can get you tickets when you die. No, really, I promise.. So, don't say I never do anything for you............

No comments: