Monday, November 4, 2013


I don't know how the drivers do it. I think they have a way to triangulate positions. Tomas has a chip too. I forgot about that. He forgot about it too. A lot of vampires have chips. Some luddites among them know nothing of technology, preferring to wallow in the primitive realities of their past. They keep to the shadows, make bug eyes at buxom damsels and sleep in specially made 'dead boxes.' Like Dracula. That's what they are. Not the new one they got on TV. He's just a rehash of our own (and presently missing) dashing Muscovite-oligarch- vampire known as Grigori Usipov. Regular readers know that. No, I'm talking about the real Dracula... the one Bram Stoker wrote about. And let me tell you something else (a digression, but bear with me). The first draft of that 'novel' was penned here in Philadelphia while the esteemed author played house guest to the prominent Rosenbach family. Their vast, Center City, townhouse mansion has since become a rarefied shrine... a museum... brimming with unusual treasures and quasi-miraculous what-nots. You can see the hand written 'fictional' account there, within the pages of a large, pale green, late Victorian ledger.  Well, researchers can see it. They have a room for such things... a small space, with hardwood floors, Persian carpets, heavy draperies, second empire moldings and a large, polished library table. Oh, did I mention the fine, old, tall clock? Tick, tick, tick it goes. And the soft, rich chimes are so mellow. Some say the book is cursed. Some refuse to touch it. Others are less fearful. Some of them are dead. For what appears there upon those pages is not the same as what was published. Secrets flicker there. And our own Tomas keeps even more within the vellum pages of his also hand written (though not by him) copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo. We've referenced that tome from time to time, but best to leave it alone, for the magic within (if magic is the right term for it) details more than just life-eaters.. Indeed, the vampires we speak of may be but one manifestation, one facet of 'the dark jewel.'

Whew! Some digression, eh?

The car arrived. More like a luxury S.U.V., if you will and the the two young filmmakers, plus their vampire savior got in. The driver, a well trained functionary of 'the bureau' said not a word, as he ferried them out of the woods and down a highway into the city. How it sparkled at night. Dense, thickets of towers all alight, as charwomen and char-men too, I suppose, moved about the august offices preparing them for a bright, new day. Dulcet jazz tones filled the cab all the way down the great length of Market Street, 'crossed the Schuylkill (school-kill) River and on into midtown, passed the huge, illuminated, wedding cake spouse (the city hall and not a copy, for both were built 'round the same time) of the Hotel de Ville in Paris. They cruised by the convention center and the nineteenth century cavern that is The Reading Terminal Market Place and larder to the knowing gourmands of this place. Last comes the Historic Heart, America's Vatican, or The Tower of London, if you will. What splendid ghosts 'live' there. Then the N.C.D. (night club district) where twenty-somethings overpay for table service and well heeled tourists dine in establishments known to Jefferson. 

In case you're wondering, wilkravitz the one they call Billy narrates tonight. Usually I just type, but our disembodied helpers are somewhere else, so I do double duty. Tomas, the night-folk, 'star' of our tale, loves his adopted city, thus the travel log, in case you wanted to know. 

Doctor Franklin's underground compound lies at the edge of the city, just passed the tight little red brick streets of South Philadelphia, home to cheese steaks, trattoria and the immortal Ninth Street Market where Rocky trained... The hidden resource is accessed via nondescript tunnels scattered about The Navy Yard. They pulled into a clean, low-lit parking garage and got out. Two agents, rather Men In Black and mysterious, led them through a thick, metal door and into the storied corridors. After a time they heard, or rather felt a sonorous hum, like music from talented whales, or well schooled 'spheres.' A portal opened and they were there... the hall of The Great Armonica, as Doctor Franklin (Benjamin Franklin, if you will) hung naked and suspended within a spider web of magnetic 'music,' as his greatest invention bathed his aged, though well preserved body in carefully regulated pulses of restorative energy. 

He spotted Tomas and waved. The vampire waved back. Then he and the two young filmmakers sat down at a table and read magazines ( I think a couple old Crate and Barrel catalogs... maybe a Readers' Digest... a People) til their unusual host was through..

The newly minted filmmakers, needless to say, were thoroughly impressed.

Next time I'll tell you more...


link~> SNOOP AROUND. WE ONLY PRETEND IT'S FICTION ... Twitter~>@wilkravitz ... please leave a COMMENT and a link so I can reciprocate. thank you.   

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