Sunday, November 26, 2017

Jonathon's Vampire Holiday --- The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want (Rock & Roll Ci...


I need no one. 'Papa' tells me that. He says it all the time. I can sublimate. I can transcend time. I am a nearly immortal being, should I chose to go that way. So far, I've made that choice every night.... So far.... I leave the townhouse and walk. Maybe it's because I was not much older than the elferinos when I came over, but I understand them. I can live like them, camping out in unused tombs, catacombs and mausoleums.. Though their lairs are not bare, but rather thick with the toys and gadgets of every generation. Marianne (the elferina) and Roland, her male counterpart, even share a blog. 'Night Tales' they call it. It's posted in an old Walloon dialect, but similar enough to French. People translate it. Are there mistakes? Of course. Who cares? It's all in the sound. It's all in the rhythm.

I have come to hate people... which does not mean I don't also love them. I see their potential. They just fall so short. I patrol the city. Vampires, at least the decent ones, are night watchmen. We 'clean up' and leave the place secure. People purposely stuff the toilets in fast food joints. I stop in for hot tea. I know. I see. They laugh. They cackle. They think it's funny. Some commit acts of petty vandalism all over town. Well, I commit acts of petty vandalism on them. Do I kill them? No, not the vandals. They are too petty for that. But a 'fuck' finger bent backwards and broken over the back of a hand provides a certain lesson. Sometimes I do both 'fuck' fingers. They shriek and scream like children. I go - OK, ok, here is five thousand dollars. Go have it fixed. But I make sure to smile, show the sharp, little cunning fangs and take a tiny drink. That scares them even more. Their friends tear down the street, knees and elbows flying, as soon as I show up. All for one and one for all doesn't hold up much in the real world...

Ah, the streets are rich with prey. The holidays brings them out. I wonder if some of them are even aware the whole thing has a spiritual component.  Actually, I do not wonder. I know.

I stroll down to South Street, block after block of restaurants, trendy bars, boutiques, dance clubs and (how you say it?) ha - ha places... clubs where they make funny. All with 'bee lights'... tiny 'bee lights'.... a symbol of the holiday season in this era. I wait on a little bench hidden in the shadows of a tiny, park-like space. Twenty and thirty-somethings race by, laughing with their friends. All a bit tipsy. Three 'toughs' loiter in the recessed doorway of a house ware shop across the street, watching with hungry, envious eyes. Like wolves they are, searching for one a bit less 'masculine,' or how they perceive that quality. A singular victim is best, especially when there are three of them. I quickly pass through their minds. Such basic, violent things. One sucks a beer... Ah, but they are friends of The Lord. Their religious jewelry attests to that. They blinded a young man in one eye and he still has trouble speaking due to a cerebral injury. I find the memory of it within the skull of the wiry one to the right. They play. They simply play too much. That is all it is.... So say their friends and cousins.... But, you see, they also play too much....An addiction to 'play' is endemic in certain districts. A few are serving time for it.

Let me see how playful they can be.... I stand up, leave the shadows, cross over and make eye contact with the leader, always with the leader. Then I feign interest in his form... a glance here... a glance there. He remains motionless, but does not look away. I answer with a barely perceptible nod, sniff and make my way down a narrow, little side street. The old parts of Philadelphia have no shortage of such thoroughfares. The 'Sharks' rise up and follow. I hear the beer bottle smash upon the pavement... I turn. There's not much light here, but more than enough for me. They stand there. I hear mumbled insults. It's like a script... Well, I know my part... How easy it is to fake fear... The leader hauls back and lands one right on the jaw... A lesser 'mark' would have crumpled right then and there, but I don't move. It takes a lot to best a vampire.... I smile. They see the fangs. I don't know if there was enough light for that, or if I radiate it. Some things are still a mystery, but flashing the fangs... ooh, it's so much fun! Do I do it too much?

He flinched. Before he could turn and run, I was off and in less than a heartbeat had 'sublimated' right through his body. When I pass through solid walls... bricks or stone... it doesn't matter, I come out the other side, yet the wall remains. Living flesh, including the skeleton, is something else. The energized atoms and molecules of my body shred the living tissue like a knife. But you know that. It's a 'thing' with us.. A moment later the erstwhile 'Riff' rained down on the asphalt like warm, fatty soup... even the bones and eyeballs. Before the other two could disappear back to their grandmoms' basements (they all live in their grandmoms' basements) one lost two thirds of a leg  and the other an arm and a little bit of a shoulder... All clothing made from natural materials shreds to fibers and blows away. Synthetic fabrics remain whole and intact, though completely gummed up with the resulting viscous residue. Blends are just a holy mess. Imagine explaining that scene to the cops. Metal survives, but melts...Ooh, rats swarmed out to finish the other two. Oozing human fluids are quite the rodent attractant. Mixed with the right poisons it will (someday) make somebody rich.... that is if they arrange for a good supply of human body fluids. Planning is everything.

Ah, The Holidays.... Fun and games for all... Santa may or may not know if you've been good or bad... but I do...

Now let me get my tea....

(With that our trim, dapper vampirino walks off. After a few steps we see a pulse move through his body vaporizing any bits of filth. His wavy black hair is clean and glossy. His black jeans and black fitted leather jacket are too. And the trim black leather bootkins?... Really, do you have to ask?)

<hasta la proxima, as our scion of Old Al Andalus would say>

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