Saturday, November 12, 2011

NOT EXACTLY TINKERBELL, MORE LIKE A TINY, LITTLE GINGER FROM GILLIGAN'S ISLAND

Doctor Franklin has his theories. If you remember the time he experimented on Jonathon. If you can recall the nights our 'young' Andalucian hung suspended in the magnetic web of the Great Armonica. If you can visualize the instant when the cloud of butterflies materialized out of the ether and fluttered into our world, then you'll know. For what the eternal scientist did was access another universe. He knew it. A few of the agents recognized it too. And that key may unlock the door to our salvation. You want proof? Well, I suppose  you had to be there. But if you were, you would have seen it, because those gossamer little creatures weren't exactly card carrying butterflies. Not Earth butterflies anyway. Oh, they still had the real long, juice-sucking tongues. It's just that some of the other details were a little different. I know almost all of them died, or dematerialized back where they came from, but a few didn't. Look in the mermaid-hag enclosure. See the tropical plants? See the colorful, flower-like jewels flitting about? Now here's where we zoom in for a close-up. See?! See!? See!? That one. The blue one. The opalescent one. Focus. Pay attention. Shhh, shhhh. Now say hello to Tinkerbell face to face. Boy, Disney's was only a joke compared to this one. You wanna know who she really looks like? Not like Tinkerbell. Not like her. Ginger, the tall one from Gilligan's Island, that's who she really looks like.

Franklin can't do anything constructive with her world. It's too different. He's searching for some place a little more copasetic. A realm exactly like ours, save for maybe one tiny detail. And I do mean tiny. Like maybe a place where soft pretzel vendors don't pee in the bushes, or the top score on S.A.T.'s is 2200 instead of 2400, or like maybe their Justin Bieber started out with  another kinda haircut. It has got to be a place where we could live. If it's close enough, we'll all have duplicates there. That could pose a problem.

Now this is pie-in-the-sky, but the best solution would be finding a parallel universe with a solar system just like ours, but without an Earth. What, you're saying we could never transport the whole planet there? But with all due respect, you don't know how harmonic theory works. All we gotta do is get the ball rolling and the rest  goes right along with it.

If the place also has traces of a certain molecule, even better. For scientists from that Israeli desert installation made a discovery. They got a hold of some enemy DNA and tested it. You know how an allergist tests for reactions? Well, that's what they did. And a particular variation of what we would call common table salt 'neutralizes' them. They go phssst! Bye, bye, just like a puff a smoke. Hows did they get this elusive crystal? Well, they don't call this The Land of Miracles for nothing..........

Speaking of that desert installation, the vampire-human get-together is winding down now. Sarah's collapsed at a table with the Resurrected John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Yusef Islam (you know, Cat Stevens). She's high from her cat-nip-like aroma candle. The formerly dead Beatle is likewise intoxicated from too much of some kind of an orange-chocolate liquor drink they make around here. He's singin' Michelle' to her. Don't even remember all the words. Islam sleepily drums a beat on the table and Dylan's schmoozin' with some scientist about the possibility of life on the sun.... I don't know what he was drinkin'. Seems to me most of them could use a little Tea From The Tillerman (Stevens reference). You know, the caffeine might wake 'em up.

Jonathon's outside talkin' to some Reformed Rabbi. I don't know. He might be a Unitarian Minister. It's dark. They look up at the Firmament, all silvery spangled. Our guilt-ridden, eternally hopeful and reverent, immortal Spaniard sighs, He asks a question. He gestures toward the star-strewn skyway and says - What is the meaning of all this?.... Then he turns toward the carefully arranged desert shrubs - Why is it all here?..... The dapper spiritual guide exhales and says - Have you ever seen a toddler spill a cardboard drum of Legos on the floor? Well, it's a lot like that. It's not about the Legos, but what the baby does with them .Jonathon smiled. He nodded - I knew that.......... Then why did  you ask? - said the clergyman. But the 'young' vampire simply shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the sand.......

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DANGEROUS ALLIANCES AFTER MIDNIGHT...... A CAFE WITH MAGGOTS

Potentates have known about other islands of life in the sky for centuries. Hammurabi knew. Ezekiel knew. Julius Ceasar traded Saturnalia baskets with them. Your president, sitting in the midst of the Imperial American Capital knows too. So did the Bush ones before him and the Clinton Super Friends as well. They all knew.... They all KNOW.  Look, if we can all accept the fact that they knew about and exploited vampires. we can swallow this one too.

But most of the 'funny-folk' we had truck with were  sorta friendly. They might play a prank every now and then, steal a baby, sprinkle us with zitz (I think they did that to generate human pus. It has industrial applications on some worlds.). Only this crew happens  to be different...... extremely different. They don't want to rule us. They don't want to convert us. They don't want to eat us........ All they want to do is make us disappear. Look, I'm trying to be nice. 'Disappear' is just a cozier way to say 'kill us.' Ever 'put down' a dog? Well, then you know what I mean.

Actually, here's where I'm a little bit lucky. They can't do shit to me, 'cause I am already dead. Zebulon burnt up like twenty five centuries ago. But I know what the fire feels like. And I can imagine what they have planned for all a you.

Most a they vampires are out at the desert facility. Look back a few weeks. We blogged about it before Jonathon left Jerusalem the first time. Are you familiar with the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau installation buried under the old navy yard in Philadelphia? Well, it's a lot like that. They ain't formulated no plans yet. The vampires, I mean. But it just may be that the space cadets we got comin' (not countin' the ones already here) can't do nuttin' to them, at least not to the ones who can sublimate. Right now they're havin' an aroma candle social. The humans are eatin' cherry-cheese kugel (sort a like a bread pudding that thinks it's a cheese cake) topped with ice cold sour cream.. Claim it's very satisfying and refreshing. But I don't know. They didn't have nuttin' like that in my time. Our big treat was like baklavah. You know what baklavah is? It's got honey and filo dough pastry. My mama and my aunts used to make it. One a the kitchen slaves used to make it too

Right now you're probably sayin' - What the hell is this God damn, son-of-a-bitch, disembodied spirit talkin' about!? Who the hell cares about cakes!? We want creatures and vampires!!

Well, OK..... Gimme a heartbeat to collect myself.......

CUT TO - A  tiny outdoor cafe deep within the Old City souk (marketplace).

Lailah and Jean-Michel (two vampires) are seated at a small table far back from the artificial illumination. They have a 'guest'.... a third being. Any passerby caring to give him a look sees a perfectly nondiscript human. He wears tourist clothes. He appears to sip tourist-blend coffee. Could be some guy in a food court at your favorite mall.

But the two vampires see something else. They see a sticky, eight foot long, cyst covered, giant maggot struggling to keep its seat on the small, white, plastic chair. And he drinks not the aromatic, tourist blend kava brew from far off Sheba (Zebulon meanders through his mortal life), but munches on a generous portion of smoked human ass he's brought from home. Granted, they don't want to eat us all, yet an occassional exotic delicacy is quite understandable.

The aliens seek raproachment with the vampires. We don't step on their 'toes' and they won't step on ours. Maybe a few of the 'noxious' ones might bite, but the 'nobles' won't. Somehow they don't get that. I mean what are vampires? They're different. But they ain't shapped like pressure cookers, or French Poodles, or nothin'. They're humans, just essentially a  group of jazzed up, zhuzzed up humans.

Jean-Michel wants to throw up. He can't stand the way that space freak's mandibles operate. And the eyes look like two yellow-green mangos sruck onto a wad a sweatin' spoiled coconut-custard Jimmy Dean sausage links.

Lailah eyes don't say nothin'. She just sits. They want her to go back to one a the out posts. Maybe she's gonna be like an ambassador or something? Or maybe they're just playing games. But she knows what 'it' wants to do. They say she won't die. She's a vampire. How could she do that? But it's the way all non-native travelers are transported back with them. So she lets him do it. She gets up, hugs the Chevalier Jean-Michel and walks back into the dark alley. The maggot goes in after her. And the thousand year old French knight stands guard, as it arcs up over her trembling body, opens its oozing mandibles and swallows her down, inching along like a fat, disgusting, mostly decomposed boa contrictor.

And her tiny, bare feet kick and tremble a little, as the creature throws back its 'head' and 'gulps.'

The small table is empty. The plastic chairs rest askew. But a waiter comes over and rights things for a friendly, smiling couple from Vermont.......

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