Friday, February 26, 2016

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington-Filibuster <----- Vampire Jonathon's Favorite Political Film.. 2/26/16

Franklin said - What do the words mean?...
Jonathon said - What do they always mean? Love, altruism, acceptance, complete creation, or some variation there of. The question isn't what the words mean, but whether people want to listen...

The old patriot rang and the 'wench' robot came in with more chilled vodka. She refilled the old, collectible goblets (from Jefferson's estate, if you remember), smiled and left. Doctor Franklin nodded to her, just as if she had an actual soul.... Jonathon watched and said - Do you think she knows what's going on? Do you think it matters to her, or is she just an appliance? What does she feel like? Does she feel like real skin? And there's another problem. What are we going to do when robots really do have souls?

When will that happen? - asked the Doctor.... When they feel enough to ask if they do. When they miss other robots who've gone before. When they 'worry' about their own version of mortality. They'll know and so will we - said the vampire.... Then he continued - You know, I don't 'get' atheists. I mean I can understand how some people might visualize that on a mathematical level, but they all die so fast. Pffft! they're gone and their children and their grandchildren and their great grandchildren after them. Like onion skin, every mortal generation is like this, delicate layer of onion skin. You know how most 'worker' caste bees and ants live only one summer? How are they any different? Sometimes I have trouble remembering regular, mortal people I knew two or three hundred years ago. Do they really believe that's all there is? I mean what's the good of being Einstein, or Leonardo Da Vinci if save for a microscopic instant, for all eternity, you're oblivious and not just oblivious about 'being' Einstein or Leonardo Da Vinci... oblivious about everything? You're not dead. There is no death. There's just whatever mortal life is and then BLIP!... nothing..... Well, I don't believe that. You know what I think?

What? - said Doctor Franklin.

I think - said the vampire, that if preternatural creatures like us can exist... what else exists? I've told you about my visitations?

Yep - said Franklin, many times.... And he chuckled....

Stop it. Don't be like that - said the vampire. What about you and your 'Grand Armonica?' What about harmonics and your method of self-preservation?....

Mine isn't 'magic.' Mine is real. Mine is science - said the Doctor.

Well, there's something I didn't tell you, about what those children in Massachusetts said - mumbled Jonathon.....

What? - asked the Doctor.

The words were directed at me. Just me - said the vampire.....

May I tell you that everyone who's seen the You Tube post and everyone here who's seen it too feels the same way? - added Franklin...

Really? - asked Jonathon....

The old reprobate merely nodded...

Then the next few weeks should be very interesting - said the vampire.....

After that, they just sat there for a bit, each lost in his own thoughts, deep within the vast investigative, experimental facility that is 'The Anti-Enchantment Bureau.'

Finally, Franklin said - Do you think one of us should tell a bloody, frightening story?

Why? - said the vampire.....

No reason. Just that Luna (one of his vampire, physician, assistants) says gory blog posts get more traffic. She said you told her - said The Doctor.

Maybe I did - whispered Jonathon. You want to hear one?

Doctor Franklin shrugged.....

All right. How's this?... Once I saw a vampire, no, not a vampire, an early Russian Czar, sharpen the rim of an old, round spoon with a special stone. Then he used it to scoop out globular, bloody, gobbets of flesh from serf-girls asses. Some 'donated' one. Some 'donated' three. Each was at least an inch and a half across. Went down the line till he had a nice bowl full. A silver bowl, it was. Maybe pewter. It was tarnished. Hard to tell. Then he stomped down a stone passageway with one rough, cold cell at it's terminus. Inside was a shivering, dirty, bearded man, dressed only in the most ragged tatters. He hobbled over to the bars (due to his heavy, iron shackles and restraints) where he ooh'ed and ahh'ed at the red, soupy balls of raw meat.... The czar said - Your dinner, dog. A special feast. Enjoy it..... The incredulous, feral bastard squealed with delight, as the brimming feast was pushed through the bars by the czar's own boot.

The coterie of toadies who accompanied the brutal ruler wherever he went watched approvingly, as the starving prisoner, slurped up and chewed each dripping mouthful, till his beard and the whole front of his rib cage was wet, red and greasy.... A fitting 'last meal' before facing death by impalement at cock's crow.

And the mutilated serf-girls, since no longer suitable for the czar's 'hospitality homes,' were chopped into steaks, cutlets and knuckles and fed to the pigs, though their heads were carefully pickled and coiffed before being considerately returned to their families.

That's how it was - said the vampire....

Franklin raised his glass in appreciation.

Jonathon said - You know I wanted to discuss politics and the presidential election too, tonight?

No time - said Franklin. I have to go exercise the female centaurina. Maybe next time?

Just my luck! - said the vampire.....

But Billy, who channeled all this and typed it up, posted a real nice and very fitting political classic for you to see.

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Wednesday, February 24, 2016

A VAMPIRE RECOGNISES OLD WORDS ..Earliest surviving film and sound recording 1888 ..2/25/16

I once saw Marcus Garvey lead a parade of The Negro Improvement Association down South Street, which was then on the southern edge of Center City, thus the name. It was a nighttime, torch-lit procession with brass bands and drum corps. As far as I can remember, this was either in the late nineteenth, or early twentieth century.

Most of the white people along the route viewed it as a purely theatrical affair meant to highlight the brass bands and percussionists. Black people saw it as something else. And I knew how they felt, for I, a noble vampire, had to stay in the shadows too. It was only Baylah and I back then. We were the only true, nobles, in town. There were a few who came and went. We didn't bother with them. I had a little trinity house in a district of Center City now called 'Old City.' If you've ever been to The Betsy Ross House you know what it was like. Google that place, if you haven't.

I hid in a crypt in the basement, like a little root cellar. Union veterans looking for work dug it. Old lady who kept house for me told them is WAS gonna be a root cellar. That didn't just mean like a big potato bin back then. People put 'canned' food in them too. You know 'canned' often meant tightly sealed jars.  So they made it about eight feet deep by eight feet long and eight feet wide. The floor was covered in smooth slate tiles, as were the walls. I crept down through a stout trap door and locked it from the inside, good and tight. Did I make my bed on the cold, hard floor? No, I slept in a nest of quilts and feather beds and rather liked that place.

We had a neighbor, a woman from the land of the Turks, a woman of the Ottoman Empire. I suppose she was of their creed, although she was discrete in matters of faith and we never spoke of it. But I'm sure she practiced for I'd see her lights on during the dark hours before the dawn during Holy Month, when Muslims make the daylight fast.  As you know, my mortal years, all eighteen of them, were spent in Al Andalus during the days of The Caliphate of Cordoba, so I am quite aware of such things.

One morning, as I returned to my bower, she was out in the small side garden next to her house snipping off shoots from a tea plant. I nodded. She nodded back. But as I passed, she whispered something in an obscure dialect spoken on the western shores of the Caspian Sea. From my Byzantine days I recognized it as the word for what I am. I smiled and chuckled. She said - Please don't be alarmed. My father was a mystic. We traveled to many places. He met all types of holy men and scholars. I'd look down through the grill from the ladies' quarters, quiet as a dove and listen. My father didn't know I was there, or perhaps he pretended not to know. But there were three vampires in that place, whether local or transient, I never knew, neither did the men, though they spoke of them often. I think they were like you,, a reverent sort, not given to excess... well, you know what I mean.....

You're very wise - I said... She sighed and added - I have to be.... Then she said - My woman, my housekeeper is ill. Can you help her? I know what your 'people' can accomplish..... I nodded.....

We'd meet before dawn, always in the narrow, little side garden. It was dark back there. As a believing female, she'd never have me in the house. I'd pass her tiny vials of my blood. After a bit, her woman was well and I'd begun to remember quite a lot of that obscure Caspian language....

The children in that high school class near Boston spoke that way, but they had no understanding of the words.

Odd how things work.

Maybe I was meant to hear them?

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Tuesday, February 23, 2016


They met in the Residence, Doctor Franklins very commodious quarters in the extensive complex under The Philadelphia Navy Yard. He had a cozy library too. An eighteenth century 'wench' robot served drinks. Due to his nativity during the British, colonial era, Franklin preferred gin. Jonathon didn't care. In his youth, all they had was wine, or perhaps a mead-like beer. The glasses came from Monticello, not the heavy, round, club-room ones used for vodka and gin today, but more in the style of squat, heavy goblets. The Doctor was very proud of them. He missed Jefferson. What that mind could have accomplished today.

Jonathon liked libraries. He felt safe in them. Even vampires with their special powers feel vulnerable. Sometimes all that comes with being night-folk seems natural. And sometimes it feels anything but. That's why Jonathon believes so much. He tells himself God understands. God wants this and He'll save him. He's sure of it, but sometimes the fear slips in. He remembers Muggs. He remembers the vampire chimp. That wasn't so long ago... three or four years at most. Look, Jonathon didn't create him, but somehow he came to be. How is that possible? Did God want him to 'cull' evil chimps? Did it have anything to do with spirituality? Was it all just an unusual physical condition... a sexually transmitted disease, if you will?... Vampires, at least all 'noble' vampires think too much.

So they sat there in that safe, warm room drinking their gin... two fine gentlemen, occupying 'antique' reproduction wing chairs, facing each other across a small, round, Chippendale 'cordial' table.

Then Franklin sighed and said - I heard about another talking in tongues thing.... Jonathon looked up as he went on... It happened in Massachusetts. I'm originally from there. Did you know?... Jonathon nodded... Franklin said - I think it was somewhere on the North Shore.  A tenth grade, high school Spanish class started speaking in a language that wasn't Spanish. Twenty six young people, all in unison, eyes closed, start singing, or reciting what sounded like a hymn, or a dirge. Teacher got scared. Started clapping her hands and yelling - Stop it! Stop this now! But you know how spiritually possessed kids are? No, I don't mean that as a joke. Being night-folk and all, you really DO know. From what they sent me, she called the office. Secretary sends up two ladies who keep discipline and write kids up in the lunchroom. They barge in, chests out, long, lacquered fingernails waving around in the air, yelling - OK, room 311, do we have to start writing people up!? Then Lunchroom Lady Number two spots a kid she knows, a bad kid, but bad in a good  way. Stands right in front of him and goes - Shit-Ass ( she calls him by his schoolyard name) Shit-Ass! Shit-Ass! Open your eyes!  But he doesn't open his eyes. Then the kids, all twenty six of them, strike a chord, a strong, piercing chord. Adults in the room grab their ears and double over. They have it all on video. One girl in the back, not in the class, but a wrap-around, an aide there to keep a neurologically challenged boy on task, taped it all on her phone. She's only twenty two, so maybe she don't count as an adult. You can see it if you want. They put it on You Tube under 'Shit-Ass! Shit-Ass! Shit-Ass! Open your eyes! Already has seventeen million hits. Here, I have it on my laptop. You want to see?

Jonathon exhaled and nodded..... The old reprobate reached over for a slim laptop on a side table, flipped it open and cranked it up. Then he handed it to the vampire and said - Here, look..... Jonathon did, but the trouble was he recognized some of the words....

Franklin thought he might, so he left him alone and slipped out to go feed this creature they have in the 'menagerie' that looks like Amy Shumer, but only if she was a centaurina.....

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Sunday, February 21, 2016


Jonathon sat across from him, his leg vibrating with impatience. You know how it is when the knee bounces up and down a mile a minute? He looked at 'Papa.'.... Nothing. No reaction. No response. He nudged Annie. He said - You tell him.... So his juvenile, vampire, 'half sister' went over to whisper in her 'Papa's' ear. She asked him about Conrad. She asked when her own vampiric son might go free. And this had been going on for hours. Edith served chilled vodka and grappa, even a kind of salty bullion they liked. The big flat screen over the mantle was on. Sarah watched a paranormal show on the History Channel.... Were Merfolk Real?... or something like that.... If mortals only knew. Well, if more than a few mortals only knew.

Then the vampire, Jonathon, got up, kicked the cocktail table out of the way (Edith could get a replacement on Antiques Row in the morning), went over to the motionless, semi-entity, uber vampire, put his hands on his shoulders, glared into his eyes and said - Bring him back. It's enough. If you destroy him, if you destroy us all, you'll have no link to this era. You'll be a stationary, roiling, thunderstorm that thinks. Do you want that?... Then he gave Sarah a look.... She clicked off the TV. The suddenly quiet, dim, still room had an effect on the 'Papa' and he blinked.... But Jonathon didn't move. In a low determined voice he said - Bring him back.....

But nothing happened. The one they called 'Papa' just sat there. The refrigerator in the kitchen started to hum. Annie sighed. Edith read a magazine about the Kardashians. She drew mustaches and glasses on all the faces. That was a 'thing' with her. Sometimes she gave them butterfly wings too. Not just the Kardashians. She did it to everybody in all the magazines. Vladimir Putin looked like he escaped from a Gay Pride parade, with eyelashes and a beauty mark and all.

A few more heartbeats went by. Jonathon still leaned on the old one's shoulders, till a micro instant later, the ether filling the place shook with a piercing scream. Jonathon and Annie shot out of the room, across the entrance hall and up the stairs, all the way to Conrad's chamber on the third floor.

Annie ran in first. He was lying on his back, convulsing on the bed, eyes rolled back in his head. Jonathon grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his face. After a bit Conrad relaxed and sat up, sobbing uncontrollably. No one said a word, but Annie hugged him. Edith brought him some cold vodka. He slept. They sealed all the shutters and draperies so he could sleep through the night and the next day too, if he wanted too.

Jonathon went downstairs. He confronted 'Papa.' He said - What did you do to him? ... The old one looked up under well formed brows and said - I saved him.... and that was it.

No one said anything else.... Edith went back to defacing celebrities. Sarah clicked on the television, this time some house hunters thing on HGTV..... All they do is 'House Hunters' - she said... But she exhaled and watched anyway.

Jonathon retreated to his cozy, little library, where he lost himself in antique volumes. He'd heard about a new 'talking in tongues' case and wanted to ask Doctor Franklin all about it. Now that Conrad was back, he could.

And the night went on.....

But across the way, a certain nosy, updated 'yuppie' stopped peeking through the drapes, turned to her husband and said - That was a a scream. I know it. It was a scream..... Her husband, Lars said - So it was a scream. What business is that of yours?

Constance never listened to him. She went back to the drapes and peeked through again, but the townhouse across the street was closed up tight and quiet, though a rather gamin, elfin looking creature scampered across the roof.....

This time she remained silent and kept the news to herself.

But Archie saw. She was holding him and he saw it too. The little Yorkie knew. 'Lucid' canines understand everything with a focused clarity known only to certain humans.... Do people know about them?... No, they do not. No one does, not even other dogs...

Cats might sense something, but then again, they're cats.

Look, the world is filled with magic. Everything is everywhere.

What do YOU choose to believe?

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Friday, February 19, 2016


Thousands of years ago, I was already a life-eater. This one, the one you call Madam Shang, saw stringy, little screeching humans devoured by bears like baby Kongs. Wolves like ponies ruled the land and mortals hid from them, leaving tribute where they would find it. Eat this meat - they said. And leave our people alone. In this way noble creatures forgot who they were. They forgot 'the hunt.' They forgot 'the kill.' They lived. They reproduced and they forgot. And their great strength and great stature ran away. Thus was the coming of the dog... And I saw it all.

I saw an ice world disappear and the great, furred elephants went with it. So do not think your world is a static place. It is not. Future flavors of 'humanity' percolate now, waiting for a time of flowering and great expansion.

The one you know as Jonathon, or Tomas dreams of a beauteous age of love and understanding. It will come, but only when they who cannot imagine such a thing, or run from the realization of it turn to another path. Such is growth, constantly branching out, like the twigs of a tree.

I tell you these things because sometimes I feel like sharing. Your lives are like tiny spinning tops. We play with them, those like me and those much greater. The one you call 'Papa' knows. He is just on the brink. After twenty eight millennium he remembers. He remembers his beginning, though he sees a greater future.

Do you know that without the one's you call 'vampires' you would not be here? They shaped you. I know you've heard them say - Not the shepherd but the sheep dog... and cull the wicked... save the worthy.....

That's what they do now, at least the ones who aspire to nobility. They look for spiritual 'worthiness.' We were not so high minded. We looked for other things.

Standards change.

The Conrad vampire lays in hopeless torture. He thinks it's forever. And in some cases it might be, or nearly so. I cannot tell you how many powerful adepts have left others like him in caves and hidden places the world over. They conjure the most horrific illusions... lakes of sulfur and fire... swallowed by loathsome beasts... devoured by flesh eating insects... witness and victim to planetary collisions. The variety is endless. Sometimes the entities who fashion such distractions forget about them. And a poor mortal languishes forever, or however long it takes a cave to disappear, but I don't even know if that would stop it. .... Imagine, after all that time and all I've seen and tasted, there are things I still don't know.

My God, your lives are like sparks. How do you deal with it? Over so fast. I'd think people would be clamoring to become vampires.

Annie sits with Conrad, although he's obviously blind to her presence. In her own way, she is a dutiful 'mother'.... an eleven or twelve year old in a seven year old's body with a forty year old son. How interesting. And although she periodically swears she's given it up, still addicted to biting off the toes of her victims before she kills them . Night-folk are each unique in their own way.... the first step up from mere mortality.

Now permit me to go. I have beings to meet, deep within the interior of the sun.

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Wednesday, February 17, 2016


Meanwhile, as Conrad suffered his penance, something was going on across the street and a little way down the block....

Constance and Lars are mortals, not vampire, or witch-folk, or paranormal in any way. He's a curator at some museum... urine samples through the ages, or something like that. She sells artisanal sweaters made by Andean shamans from skeins of their own shorn hair. Takes ten years to save enough hair for a really good one. Any change in color during that time is incorporated into the design.

They live in a townhouse, not as large as what the vampires have, though impressive enough for a couple not yet thirty five. In their spare time he studies Mongolian throat singing and she spies on the neighbors.

Now this is a quiet secluded street. It has only five houses. Two on the vampires' side and three on the side where Lars and Constance live. Between them are blank, red brick walls punctuated by heavy, green, metal doors used to make deliveries to commercial establishments that open onto adjacent thoroughfares. That's why Jonathon picked it after they moved back into Center City from Chestnut Hill. Night-folk crave seclusion. . The former owner was a mute solitaire champion, who played game after game in a small garret room on the third floor, right next to where Billy sleeps now. The man detailed each contest in a small, leather bound book. He called his non-existent opponent 'Mister Boogity.' And Mister Boogity never ever won, till a certain night one cold November. It all hinged on the turn of a card... a black queen and he wins... a red queen and it's over. He sighed, thought for a moment and reached for the card. It had to be the black one. He'd played the game, or it's variants, so often. He knew all the odds. The house was silent and dark, locked up snug against the freezing rain. But he ignored the sound. The game was everything. And there, in that snug space, lit only by a small, balloon vendor lamp, like little children sometimes have in their bedrooms, he turned the last card. As The Great Celestial Director would have it, the huge, illuminated, pale yellow clock face, high atop the six hundred foot tall, Third Empire tower at City Hall chimed three. When the last echo died, the solitaire champion saw what he had.... a red queen. The game was over, Mister Boogity's first triumph. The man just sat there staring out at the storm on the other side of the small, mullioned window. He never even noticed as the toy sized figure of the balloon vendor on the base of the lamp let fly his wares and began to grow... But, who knows? Maybe he did notice? Maybe he just didn't care? When the clown-faced thing put it's cold hands around his throat and began to break the windpipe, he mouthed three small words - Who are you?...... The thing contorted its face into a rictus far larger and more frightening than any human grimace... On its upper teeth one read the word 'M-I-S-T-E-R.'... On the lower teeth, B-O-O-G-I-T-Y.... The loser saw it all reflected backwards in the window, against the blackness of the storm beyond. And then he was dead...

Did his ghost join the spirit of the little polio victim in the basement?... Maybe yes. Not every soul makes its presence known. As for Mister Boogity, he simply went back to his place on the lamp, which was packed up and sold a few months later.

Excuse my digression, but I thought you'd like to know.

Now Constance had her suspicions about 'that house' across the street. She saw them come and go after dark... only during the night... no other time. She saw Jonathon and Sarah and Conrad and Annie... Who lets a little girl run lose at all hours? She wanted to call the department of human welfare, but Lars stopped her. She still wants to corner Edith and question her. Edith comes and goes during the day. Her she can get.

But it's late now. Constance peeks through the draperies at the house across the street. Is it dark in there? Are there lights? Hard to tell. The shades are down. The drapes are drawn. But a small, feeble glow seems to be coming from a certain third floor room... the solitaire player's room and Conrad's room now.

And she can see that.

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Tuesday, February 16, 2016


The venerable, uber vampire, known as 'Papa' has quite a repertoire. Whether these things are magic, or some sort of extremely well developed, focused brain 'energy' is not known. Doctor Franklin wanted to run tests, but 'Papa' wouldn't even look at him. Jonathon thinks it's magic. With his religious faith, that's not a big deal. Edith says faith is a gift. God gives it to you, or he doesn't. Annie says she's gonna shop lift it. Edith tells her she's just plain evil. Annie says she ain't 'plain' anything.

Nobody's gone in the room yet, only 'Papa.' They heard Conrad whimper, then nothing. Annie whispered - I wanna go see. Conrad's mine and I gotta go see.... But Jonathon held her back. He whispered - Be still. Remember what 'Papa' did to you?.... She did. Floating free, just above the crests of the highest waves roiling over the surface of the sun tends to stay with you. She saw Hell, in a manner of speaking and didn't like it. Still dreams about it too. Why that didn't kill her, being vampire and all is a mystery. That's why Jonathon thinks it's all a grand illusion. 'Reality' is a relative thing. A feather brushed against the skin in the dark becomes a spider. Shadows become ghosts and small scratching rodents, deep within the walls double as coded messages from the dead. Believe me, either way, real or illusion, Conrad would see quite a show.

And this is what happened.....

He heard a voice, a still, low voice. It said - Arise and atone for your sins.... He obeyed, got up and walked, all alone, across a vast dark grey plain that was smooth and vaguely ceramic under his bare feet. The nighttime sky was bright with stars.. so bright they scared him. City people never see sights like that. So he looked down and walked... No breeze, nothing but still, cold air. At first he tried to count his footsteps. After eleven thousand and forty five  he lost track, but his mind filled with other things. He saw the victims...He saw their families... He felt the pain and the loss... Then after an indeterminate length of time he saw a hill, a small rise in the surface. When he got closer there was an opening... a round mouth as dark as coal. Conrad tried to pull back, but his feet stepped in just the same. Soon he was lost in blackness... no horizon... no stars... nothing. He was afraid to make any sound at all, as he continued down an endless, gradual slope.

But then it stopped. The surface disappeared. He slipped off the edge and tumbled into the void, spinning and falling like a leaf... There was no sensation of time. There was no 'now,' no 'then.' Was this eternity? He didn't know. But he could still think. Sometimes he ran through detailed, precise, recollections of his childhood... his Rock 'em, Sock 'em Robots... vacations in Wildwood, New Jersey... when his Uncle Jack and Aunt Fritzie got married... the squeaky, orange, vinyl sofa in the basement... his mom's scalloped potatoes... how worried his dad was when he broke his arm...

Then he landed...

He came down, softly on what seemed to be another ceramic-like surface. That, in itself, was a different, welcome sensation. Then he counted his inhalations and exhalations. After eight hundred and fifty two, the voice came back.... It said - You are in a hollow world. A huge egg shell in space. You've spanned three hundred thousand miles and here you will stay till you've learned.

Then silence...

Till the knowledge of the four innocent victims returned.... Alone in the dark... on the edge of creation... How long would it last?

Back at the townhouse, 'Papa' left Conrad's bedroom. He passed the others, each frozen in place, afraid to look at him and went down to his club chair in the den....A few heartbeats later, Jonathon and the rest ran after to see what, if anything they could learn.

But little Annie didn't go down....

She quietly opened the door... and entered the dark, silent room....

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Monday, February 15, 2016


Jonathon knew it was time for Conrad to go. He had to arrange for the trip. The easiest way for night-folk to move from point to point over land is to sublimate, but Conrad is too new and he cannot do that. Plus it's not like he's traveling for pleasure. 'Papa' could do it. He could transport him. That one could send his molecules anywhere, or at least anywhere within the orbit of Jupiter. They know he can go that far from his visits to the creatures under the ice of Europa.

But Jonathon felt sorry for the drab, young vampire. Look, he forgot his vows every once in a while too. Not now so much, though in earlier times he did... the years in Restoration London and all... when he was in Old Muscovy... Byzantium. They all do... Slaughter not the innocent.... Conrad did that. He did it four times. He killed simple, decent people and left their families to mourn. He had to learn.

Still, maybe The Vampire Revels isn't the place. They'd make a big show out of it. They'd torture him. Some of those bastards are the biggest hypocrites on Earth. He'd cry. He'd plead. Silver City Jack was the leader up there. Jonathon didn't know too much about him. started out as a prospector. Went out west with The FortyNiners . Bounced around when the gold ran out. Did time in Nevada.. a few other places. I don't know how he got up to British Columbia. Most train lines went from east to west, especially in the early days. They just wanted to get folks out there. Once they were out there, who cared? Maybe he went vampire with some native tribe and migrated up? Jonathon spent time with the Indians, but he was already a vampire for centuries when that happened. They called him 'the windego.'

'Papa' occupied his chair in the den. You know how Abraham Lincoln sits in The Lincoln Memorial? Like that... a big club chair. He rarely moves. He rarely does anything. Just sat there staring at late night reruns of Press Your Luck. That's why we all say - No whammies No whammies no whammies... It gets in your head. you know?

Jonathon got up from the kitchen island and went into the den. He stood in front of 'Papa's' chair. In a still, small voice he said - You know our problem. You know everything. But you sit there. You just sit there... and you sit. Once in a while you rise, of course when no one's looking... then you slip back in and sit. What do you do when you go out? Do you kill? Edith says you kill. She says you feed. She's a mortal and she knows. Look, do you want to know the truth? We know too, Sarah and I, but we don't like to think about it. My God, the world's beginning to change. Children are speaking in tongues. That's a sign. That means something. And I want it to be so.......

'Papa' just sits there... Jonathon just stands there. Then he says - Help us. Help me make it mean something. I don't want us all to fly off into chaos. Not now. Not this time. Can't you do something? Can't you scare him? That's all he needs. My God, Annie should never have turned him. Look what we go through because of her.

'Papa' blinked... with that he blinked. You see, Annie was his 'mistake,' Jonathon's evil, little 'half sister,' if you will... And with that blink, the universe missed a beat. Jonathon jumped back. One never knows what a twenty eight thousand year old, part time Cro-Magnon shaman, in a thirty two or thirty three year old body will do..... But two heartbeats later the former shaman rose to his feet, gently pushed Jonathon aside, left the room, crossed the black and white, marble tiled hall (dimly and tastefully lit for the evening) and climbed the stairs. Jonathon quickly fell in behind him. Dawn was still more than two hours away. He wasn't going up to retire. He was going up to Conrad's room... and Jonathon went up with him.

Annie heard the footsteps and peeked out her door. They never knew if she was home, or out, or where she was. They were all used to that, but she was in the house and she loved Conrad in her own twisted way, so she ran up after them, as they ascended to the third floor.

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Where are you going? What are you gonna do?!... She knew all about Conrads ' 'transgression' and she was afraid.

But no one answered her and Jonathon grabbed her shoulders and held her back, as 'Papa' walked through the door and entered the room

All was quiet.... and then Conrad whimpered...

<more next time>


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please comment. please, if you visit my Twitter site, kindly read all of my pinned tweet (it's the first one at the top) and retweet it if you like it. basically it's an idea for a Downton Abbey-like series detailing the lives of an upperclass, landed, African-Creole family from their two hundred year old manor house in Jamaica.... the Dabney's of Bon Aire.... There's going to be an 'Old New York' Downton spin-off. Why not a West Indian one with 'Sir' So & So and his 'Lady' too? Such dynasties do exist... Make a good story... Take a look?

OK, that's it. Thanks again.---- Billy


Saturday, February 13, 2016

Theme From: To Kill A Mockingbird, and 'Maybe' PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK Too.. 2/13/16

I want to tell you a few things. The reason I picked Billy to run this blog thing for us is because I'd already seen some of his material. This is Jonathon speaking, in case you cannot tell. Vampire's have a certain rhythm and cadence to their speech. It comes natural when we're not 'affecting' something else. We just see things our own way. That's how it is.

Well, Billy had this script. He still does. It's about a family of Philadelphia night-folk a lot like us. That's what surprised me. He didn't know me back then. He didn't know any of us. I don't think he'd actually seen a real vampire either. Oh, not all the characters were like us, but some were. No, I have to go back. The strange, little, cozy, all night book shop, PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK was around then. He was obviously familiar with that place. Sarah says she thinks she remembers him coming in a few times. He'd look around, wander through the tight, maze-like aisles. Usually bought a paperback. Maybe he picked up on something? I used to go in there too. Energy smears out into the ether when we pass by... not just night-folk... mortal folk... everybody.

He sent it to a production company in Los Angeles... Sent it to a lot of production companies, talent and literary agencies too. One of those production companies had a gentleman with family in Philadelphia. He used to come back for a lot of holidays. I got to know him from a dark, little, club-like bar-restaurant on Sixteenth Street, The Happy Rooster they called it. He'd have a big bowl of gourmet chili at the bar. I'd drink my chilled vodka. We talked. One night he had this manuscript. He looked at it, was flipping the pages... went back... looked some more. I asked him what it was. He said it was a script all about modern day vampires in Philadelphia... I wanted to know if it was any good. Can you imagine? It was surreal. He had no idea I was a vampire. Sometimes movie people, behind the scenes types, are the most unobservant people you'd ever want to meet. Everything's all mapped out. They know who they want to know. They think what they always think. I hate when they're interviewed and talk about how they love the thrill of discovering a unique, new talent. What they don't tell you, is more often than not, that new talent is somebody's son, or niece, or bed partner. No, no, no, they do not tell you that. But it's a small industry and how many 'new, unique talents' do they need? Oh, outsiders can apply, but you know the rest....

He was lost in the thing, the script, I mean, so I asked him again. Without even looking up, he said - Oh, I guess there's a certain amount of ability and talent here, but 'talent' they all got, or at least some of them. Cousins they don't.....

As you know, vampires see a lot, though Hollywood was new to me. I asked him to explain. He scraped up the last of the chili (the place was famous for it) spooned it into his mouth, swallowed and said - I got a guy across the street... not here... in L.A.. His kid went to camp with my kid. Went to U.S.C. film school with him, everything. I see them all over town. Guy runs a hedge fund, a good one. One I want in on. You know, they don't just take anybody. A lot of old Academy members are in it. In West L.A. that's like high society. And his kid has a script too, vampires, magic, everything. Just like this one. So I got to ask myself... what could I get out of this one and what could I get out of that one? You know how it is? You do favors for people who can do you even bigger favors back. And this is by a kid in Philadelphia too...It's a shame...

Three months later, Billy got his script back in a big manila envelope with a form letter that guaranteed it was completely unexamined for lack of proper industry recommendations. Basically, in Hollywood, that means 'who's your daddy?' ... Or maybe who does your daddy know?

Funny thing is every other agency, or production company sent it back the same way... some with letters from the legal department saying - Do not contact us. If we hear of interesting parties, WE contact them. They do NOT contact us.

Sad thing is, it's a good script. I've read it twice. I've tried to help, but who do I know in California? Know a few night-folk in London, but they're not film industry types. A few acquaintances from THE HERMETIC ORDER OF THE GOLDEN DAWN house on Hoxton Street might know a bit. Film folk often show up at strange places like that, the 'mystery' and all.

Upright vampires, that's what PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK is about. I cry when I read the final scene. It's that kind of play, or screenplay, I mean.

Always imagine the score from TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD when I read it.

Maybe we'll post a few scenes here?

Before I stop, pleased know that Conrad is going to this year's Vampire Revels and it won't be easy for him.

How many things in Vampire Wonderland ever are?

Please listen to the music up above. I, Jonathon ben Macabi, or Tomas de Macabea, hope you like it.

<more next time>


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Thursday, February 11, 2016

Jekyll & Hyde - 13. This Is The Moment... AND VAMPIRE JONATHON'S MOMENT TOO .. 2/11/16

He doesn't care anymore. It's like he's riding a wave. Wherever it breaks, it breaks. This is the moment. Vampires get like that. In Byzantine times there was Stavros of Cyprus. They drowned him in molten lead. When the Black Death came through, Joachim of York tried it. Some say the British royal family still has him imprisoned in a lead-lined cell deep beneath a castle in Scotland. Look, I didn't refer to 'lead' twice due to lack of imagination. Lead is vampire krypton. This isn't fiction, you know. We pretend it is, because we have to. Some of you know that. Some of you, especially among the Philadelphia people, have SEEN vampires out on the street. We tell you where. Our locales are real. They've seen what you post on line, the photographs and all. Once two girls showed up at the townhouse. How they got up on the roof, I can't tell you. Maybe they parachuted down? God knows. When Jonathon sublimated up through the house, they almost died. When he hugged them to stifle their cries, they swooned. Edith helped him get them inside through the skylight and after some wine and a keep sake, he kissed them. They giggled and left. At first they asked for autographed pictures. He told them his manager was Scooter Braun and they'd have to contact him, sine the residence was, due to written agreement, a no photo zone. The taller one said she would, because she already knew his link from Justin Bieber's tweets. The little one asked him if my site (it's me, Billy) was really his. He told her it wasn't, which actually is the truth. I was sitting right there, in the kitchen, with them, but they didn't know it was me. Had the black baseball cap on and everything. Think they thought I was a whacky neighbor, or something. Do vampires have whacky neighbors? I don't know.

But I do know Jonathon made a phone call. Sometimes he uses store-bought throwaways. This call was on one of those. I think it was to Canada. He mentioned Whistler. I heard him say it. That's a ski resort in The Canadian Rockies. Must have something to do with The Vampire Revels. Told whoever it was about Conrad. Apparently they weren't surprised. I don't even want to think about his punishment. He'll cry. He'll sniffle. He'll tremble. But he killed four innocent people. Vampires, at least the ones we know, don't do that.

Then Jonathon prepared to leave the house. Sarah asked if he wanted her to go with him. He told her he didn't. When he was ready, when his 'Jonathon vampire suit,' as we call it, was just so... the black, leather bootkins, black jeans, white shirt, black sweater, black scarf, gloves, knit cap, trim quilted, leather coat (did I mention that it's black?), he put a few tiny, sealed, glass vials (formerly used for perfume samples) in his coat pocket and left.

The air was frigid, Polar Vortex and all that. No wind. No people. Just cold. Taxis seemed frozen in place. A few coffee shops and bars were open. Hardly anybody walking around. February in the city. A few blocks down he passed two sullen whores in tiny skirts and short, rabbit jackets. How do they do that? - he thought... Not the sex part, but the outfits. Had to be freezing. That was skin between the jackets and those skirts. Yeah, they had scarves and gloves, but still. Pimp dressed them both alike. Probably dressed all of them alike. That way cops could spot them. Know who they belonged to. Know who's been paying and who's not paying. A lot of pimps do that. You know how racing stables have 'silks?' You know how they have 'colors?'... Pimps too. And God help the girl who tries to imitate somebody else's colors. She gone be partly dead, if she's lucky, or all-the-way dead if she's not. Secret dead, too. No one knows who she was. No one knows where she went. That is just how it is. They whispered and giggled as he went by. Then one said - Hey, you. You want a date?..... Jonathon smiled to himself. He knew it'd go down like that. He backtracked and said - With you?.... She went - Yeah, with me... Then she struck a pose..... Jonathon leaned in close and whispered - You're sick. You have a disease. I know. I can tell. I can smell it. I'm a vampire..... She went - F*ck you, you crazy bastid..... He just stood there. Didn't move. Kept his ground. Vampires blink, but they can stop blinking when they want to.... Sick girl flinched a little, but she kept her ground too. Went 'F*ck you,' again, but this time you could barely hear it... Jonathon smiled, just enough to let her see his fangs.... The other one came in close. She saw them too. The first one whispered - Are they real? Can I touch them?..... He nodded. She took off a glove, raised her hand and explored, just inside his lips. Then she gulped and said - Not dental work? Not caps?.... Jonathon shook his head.... Nobody moved. The first one whispered - What are you gonna do? Are you gonna kill us? You don't scare me. I'm sick anyway..... I know - whispered the vampire. That's why I stopped..... The girl moaned and cried a little. Her friend moved away. All was quiet, save for little clicks when the traffic light changed.... Jonathon said - I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to save you.... He took a vial out of his pocket and held it up to catch the light from the streetlamp.... She whispered - What's that?..... Your future - said the vampire.... He held it out. She took it.... He whispered - Open it. Drink it.... The other one said - How do we know it ain't poison?..... Jonathon went - I'm a vampire, a ten centuries old vampire. Why in the name of Barnabas Collins (figured they'd know that) do you think I'd bother with poison?.... The second one shrugged.... Jonathon turned toward the sick one and said - Take it. Open it. Drink it.... She hesitated.... He said - Just put it on your tongue. It'll sink right in. I promise.... She looked into his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. Five heartbeats later it was done. Then he slipped her two, gold Kruger Rand (South African coins worth more than $1,200 dollars each) and left. She'd live and she had enough money to clean herself up and get home.

Eight blocks away he played a similar scene in a coffee shop. Gave a vial to an old cashier on borrowed time... Bad lungs...Nobody else was around. Just her, some waitress reading OK magazine and the cook in the back. But this woman knew him. Even knew his name from when he ducked in there for hot tea. She was leary at first. But he ran through the same lines as before. Showed her the fangs and everything.... Old woman goes - Jesus Christ, Jon, when the hell'd you become a friggin' vampire?..... He goes - 'Till,' trust me. Take it. You want to see that new grandbaby you got coming, don't you?.... She gives him a look. How'd he know that??..... He mouths - Take it. I'm a friend..... She does... He leaves....

But now the jig is up. She knows his name and she knows what he is...

Soon other people will too.

But that's all right. That's what he wanted. That's what he planned all along.

Guess this really IS the 'moment.'

And don't ask me how I can write all this when I wasn't there. Well, you know how Vulcans meld minds? Vampires got tricks like that too. So don't bother me.

<more next time>


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Tuesday, February 9, 2016


A CONTINUATION OF CONRAD'S TALE... after the violent night...

He sat there trembling. Jonathon and Sarah hovered over him. No one said a word. Edith busied herself with a seek-and-find puzzle book in a corner. The lights were low... just a couple recessed, or 'high-hat,' or 'pot-light' (depending on what city you're in) shafts coming down from the ceiling. The kitchen was done when they moved into this particular townhouse. Everything was brought up to date, though save for it and the den/family room, every other space remained true to the original era of the place. Jonathon liked it that way. He liked everything to be a certain way, nothing more so than night-folk morals. Once a month... not a calendar month, a lunar month... once every four weeks they 'cull' a victim. And that victim is preordained via their 'divine' visions. No blood orgies. No gore. No cheap, diabolical excess. But Conrad broke that rule. Last night he killed four people, a poor, good natured, big-boned girl buying valentine's gifts for her father, two hardworking cleaning women and a newspaper vendor on the cold, damp street.  Their spirit scents still swirled about him. Vampires hate spirit scents, for they indicate a 'noxious' kill and reverent night-folk never do that.

Jonathon glared at the fidgeting 'bad boy' and said - I should destroy you. I should pick you up, sublimate high into the sky and drop you out over the sea.... three miles down to the hard, unyielding surface. Maybe I will. I'll take you out into the icy dark. It's snowing out there, sleeting too. Do you know that? You hate the cold. We all know that. Young vampires usually do. But I don't. I'll find a storm... There's always one someplace... and let you go, plummeting down toward the mountainous waves. Sailors have been known to die from the sight of them. You'll fall into a trough, cut through the surface. Judging from your weight, you might go down eighty, or ninety feet... encased in water cold as death. You'll gasp and breathe in, inflating your lungs with frigid, salt water brine. They might burst. Who knows? Vampires don't need lungs, well, except maybe to push air over our vocal chords. Takes a long time to get back to the surface. You won't drown, but you'll feel like it. And you'll tremble much worse than you are now, since your human memories are still so fresh..... Wait a minute... Wait a minute... Wait a minute... I forgot something. The integrity of your body might rupture, due to the force of the fall. Three miles is a long way to tumble, especially in the dark. Abdomen explodes. Neck snaps. BOOM... No more vampire... No more Conrad....

The miscreant goes --- I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I couldn't help it. It was the first time! The first time! Oh, God! Oh, God! I wish I was dead!

Jonathon says - Really?

Conrad sniffs and goes --- Stop it! Stop it! I don't know! I don't know! Leave me alone! .... Then he cries....

Sarah puts her hands on his shoulders and says - The girl in the department store was an innocent soul. It was only she and her father. Oh, there were a few acquaintances and work friends, but as far as family, just them. One of the cleaning woman helped her daughter care for a handicapped child and the other one lived all alone. Do you want me to tell you about the man? You know I'm telling the truth? We have 'familiars' everywhere. We know. Should I go on?

No! No! No! - said Conrad. Jonathon, can we give them money? They families, I mean. I don't have money, but you do? Please! I'll make it up to you. Please!

Jonathon said - Well, if I do that, we can give something to the girl's father. We can give some to the surviving daughter with the sick child. But the other two were all alone.

Conrad sobs...

Jonathon quietly ads - Now do you know why we take those vows? Now do you know why we're not animals?

Conrad dabs his eyes and nods.... He says - I want to make up for it. I want to do something..... Then he just sits there and sniffs.

Jonathon thinks, then says - I think you will do something. There's someone I want you to meet...

W-who? - says Conrad.

You'll find out. You're going to The Vampire Revels - says Jonathon.

A-are you all going? - asks Conrad.

I don't know yet - says Jonathon. But you are....

Conrad just nods and cries some more.

Edith, her head buried in that puzzle book, mumbles - Not with them plaid shirts and khaki pants he ain't.

Jonathon says - I will channel funds to the survivors and you will make amends. Don't worry about that. Right now you think you're sorry for what you've done. But you're not. You're ashamed and maybe guilty, but you're not sorry....

Yes, I am - whispers Conrad.

No, you're not - says Jonathon. But you will be...

<more next time>


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Sunday, February 7, 2016

1920's The Charleston ..LETTERS FROM DOWNTON ABBEY.. 2/7/16

First of all, we could not post on Friday or Saturday due to web difficulties. Conrad's tale will continue. But tonight we're gonna answer a few questions. People know how much we enjoy Downton Abbey. Many bemoan the fact that it ends in a month.... But does it?..... Not here anyway. We're going to add an ongoing story arc entitled LETTERS FROM DOWNTON ABBEY... just like up above. Sure, it's unauthorized, but that doesn't mean it's not authentic and organic to the whole. Maybe it will spin off into an entirely new blog? Anybody know how to give it a ROARING TWENTIES look? . The music clip really is from the London of that era... a place where Prohibition never took hold (although there were some pushing for it) and the JAZZ AGE really took off.

So the House of Crawley never dies and we don't have to wait for any planned movies, or THE GILDED AGE, an American television out growth. We'll keep faith with the family from Yorkshire right here.

Sure, we have to wait for the televised shows to end before we begin. But we're considering a lot of trajectories. Here's a few -----

Lord Grantham, the earl, develops a gambling addiction after introduction to posh, London private casinos and secretly sells a valuable family heirloom painting to cover his debts. But he quickly commissions a copy to take its place.... though the 'fever' continues to fester.

Cousin Rose and new husband, Atticus, return from NYC and summers in The Hamptons, to take their places in London's 'Smart Set,'.... write ups in The Tattler and all. The stylish, young 'modern' woman quickly scores her own weekday morning 'wireless' program ---- Breakfast With Lady Rose, where she interviews well known entertainment/media types and expounds upon music, style and film over endless pots of Earl Grey and crisp, fresh slices of English 'toasting' bread.

Not to be outdone, Edith (the middle Crawley daughter. not our vampires' Edith) with help from her Grandmother Levinsohn, publishes an American edition of her London glossy from digs in The Chrysler Building peppered with countless strolls down 'Peacock Alley' and semi-working lunches at The Algonquin's Round Table.

Meanwhile Lady Cora sneaks into 'the City' with Cousin Isobel for a 'go see' at society plastic surgeon's office. Then, over lunch at Claridge's after, she spots Rose's father in law, Lord Sindovey, exiting a boite across the way with a bright, young thing and a guilty look on his face...

Assistant cook, Daisy, and the father of her dead (and if only for an instant) husband create an extremely toothsome variety of English bacon in demand all over The North Country and the pounds (sterling) come rolling in.

Lady Mary sees her tragically dead matinee idol of a husband's ghost while tramping the moors one misty afternoon.. He gives her permission to remarry, thus we 're treated to a teary eyed second Mary-Wedding, as she unites with her suitable special someone.

The Dowager takes a turn for the worse after Isobel FINALLY marries the baron. She feels deserted and alone. Most other older women of her acquaintance are hooked up with somebody. She almost dies... angina and all, but one sunny day, while taking the air on the hospital's terrace, they wheel an attractive older gentleman right next to her. At first they barely acknowledge each other, till a butterfly lands on her hand and makes her smile. He notices and smiles too. Even eighty year olds can meet cute.

But the 'Big Slump' (British term for the Great Depression) draws near and great landed estates crumble all around.

And we haven't even gotten to Tom Branson, the Bates' the Carsons, Mrs. Patmore or Mr. Mosley yet..... Not to mention the old enough to have personalities kids (George, Sibby and Marigold)...

Loyal fans take heart.... Downton never ends...

Crawley is forever.....

<more next time>


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