Friday, January 24, 2014


There is no narrator tonight and Billy (also known as wilkravitz) is at the cinema attending a showing of 12 Years A Slave. Edith is at Bingo. Some games go after midnight here. Leo and Conrad are off doing Leo and Conrad mischief . Are they killing someone? I don't know. They don't tell me and I don't ask. I suppose I could use my powers to find the truth... but I don't want to.  And the elferinos and elferinas are off with my companion, Dona Sarah (she laughs when I call her that) giving blood gifts to the poor and preserving the innocent. 

I, Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea am home alone. I hear the deep, steady, quiet ticking of the long clock . And the late news is on, but I don't care. It's not news. Nothing ever changes. People don't care. I can only go by what I see... And I've seen things for a long time. 

You know me as a vampire. Indeed, I call myself a vampire. True, I do not like that word. 'Life Eater' is the correct term, if you care. Whatever you call it, it's but one example of what, I suppose you'd call 'the magic.' We reflect that force in various ways. And it fills creation. The witch-folk have it... Lucid Wanderers... Shape Changers.... although I've really never seen a Shape Changer. Other night-folk have. There might have been one or two last year during those nights in London, but I wouldn't swear to it. 

Scientists delve into this thing too. They say (at least now they do) the omniverse is an infinite collection of ever smaller 'points,' each vibrating to its own particular frequency. Atoms are not the smallest thing. Electrons are not the smallest thing. They are just among the smallest things to be named.

Artists have 'the magic.' Well, we all have 'the magic.'  You do too. Artists merely recognize it. They see and feel and taste the texture of it. While most people shut tight their eyes and feign it is not there. What thing do they fear? I do not know.

They want me to go to that place, the scientific labyrinth beneath the Navy Yard.... Doctor Franklin's place. He has that thing... the reembodied vampire spirit called Grigori Usipov. He has it locked into a new body, but a blind and deaf one.... What a perfect prison for an evil vampire.

Will I use my blood to cure him, or to free him, or to, in some way, improve his circumstance?...(sigh)... I think I will.

Don't you ever feel it, that visceral, deep, rich, good 'thrum?' Search not for the source. It flows from every place... from every point, however small set by God's hand, like a tiny mosaic in a Byzantine mural.

Do my words sound strange to you this night? Are the rhythms different? Is the cadence frightening? Know that I think in Vahmperigo.... the 'vampire' Western Mediterranean, Romance dialect, if you will. I am alone now and no one else here understands it, so indulge me. 

I see the screen above the hearth. The news is over. Now it's the talking people in that dark, dark room. Charlie Rose, I think it is. And he has an actor who once played Dracula. Not my favorite illustration of a vampire... but, so many of the rest are just heaving, panting posers. They talk about life and art and perception. Charlie Rose and the actor, I mean. Frank Langella. His name is Frank Langella. 

Do you know I saw Shakespeare in the flesh? Vampire blood preserved him. But for those few drops he'd have died in his youth. The blood was mine and it was a good thing .I played Oberon once too. Not in The Globe. That house, open to the sky, framed daylight plays. But great men, magnates and nobles, sponsored mummery in their halls....  great spaces, bright with torch light.... Well, maybe not bright, but at least not dark. And in such surroundings I was that magic king. I said Shakespeare's words. ... Perhaps one night I'll do so again. (smiles wistfully.... snuggles down into the couch... hugs a big 'throw' pillow... hits the remote and watches Jimmy Fallon .... and we're struck by the fact that he inhabits the body of an eighteen year old.... but knows so many things.)


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