Friday, November 4, 2011

LIFE IN THE COLD, DAMP, LONESOME PINES......weird folk style, with pin-heads, albinos and everything

It's cold in the pines. whatever power we have (not magical, I mean juice) comes from two small, old, smelly generators. Edith's husband takes care of that stuff. And I'm not sure this is the same husband she had the last time we hid out here. Even the vampires are more conventional than some of the people they got out here in the Pines. Most are alright, but they got these colonies of individuals just itching to be in a banjo-playin' movie. Funny to think this all goes on about an hour and a half from Philadelphia and New York City. They say the Pines make up one of the largest swaths of woodlands east of the Mississippi. People been hiding here for centuries. Some were moonshiners. A few were nonviolent types during the War Between the States. Throw in a passel o' cruelly rejected albinos (I'm talkin generations back), sprinkle liberally with 'misunderstood' not-quite-razzle-dazzle-enough-to-be-circus-freaks young ladies and gentlemen and you got yourself one right lively rural community.

The state put up some fire-observation-decks years ago. Rangers come out every so often. They climb to the top of these little, rustic, Eiffel towers and look for smoke. Forest fires can be mighty troubling 'round here. They've had some big ones. A few were so massive, whoever was interested could see 'em wavin' yoo-hoo from outer space. Locals trot up to those tree-top look-outs to see how the geese are flyin', or maybe at night to gawk at the huge celestial vault of intimidating, icy stars. Timber goes on for miles. Looks like a northern version of The Amazom, 'cept nobody got bones in they noses (well, a few might) and almost all the tah-tah's stay under wraps. It gets COLD here. Tah-tah's ain't dumb.

We stay round the cabin mostly. A few other 'families' live close by. You can hear 'em when they start beatin' on each other. That's how we know who's home or not. They say the Red Paint contingent's been 'round here since forever. Some mixed in with the paleo-Indians. Others just lived like prehistoric hippies, I guess. If you see 'em up close they look 'normal' enough. The men bear a striking resemblance to Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Star Ship enterprize and the wimmen-folk favor well-known-downhill-Olympic-skier, Picabo Street. But I think we told you that a ways back.

This is me, wilkravitz, tappin' everything out. Couldn't tweet much today, like I usually do, 'cause them generators keep throwin' they legs up in the air and goin' dead on us. Did learn how to skin a muskrat though. Man is that a slippery, slimy operation.  But Annie likes doin' it. Can't eat 'em, but she loves the killin' and dressin' part. Ain't had none yet, myself, but I hear one a the 'Paint' wimmen cooks up a mean muskrat parmegiana. Talk about your cultural cross fertilization.

Papa, Jonathon,Sarah and the little ones snuggle up together down in the root cellar. We got a real deep one out here. Good place for hiding homemade whiskey AND vampires. Don't know where Luna is. Baylah's still with Doctor Franklin. Could be that Luna's there too, but I don't know.

Look, of course you know I don't always talk like this, but we're all going a little Pine-Barren-Crazy. Guess it's a reaction to all the uncertainty , what with them scary, soulless (by our standards anyway) aliens sniffin' 'round them outter planets. And they DID shove that 'glass' shard in my eye. Baylah was almost all burnt up. Shit... what do you want from us?

The vampires are gettin' hungry. It's that time a the month. Not to  many wicked, evil people for them to gnaw on out here. That's gonna be a problem.

Gotta stop now. Time for me to trot through the bracken and play parchesi  with Pin-Head-Mel. Damn he takes that game so seriously. Purt near bit part a my ear off. Good thing them Pineys knows lots a heap a doctorin'........

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