Monday, March 27, 2017


There ain't no pictures, moving or otherwise with this one. Him what scribbles this account searched for 'em, but them what collects 'em ain't got none. Who wants to see the sad, anguished mugs of them with freshly plucked eyes (both if they were really wicked), or shit holes burnt shut? Aye they did such things to them in the cells. They did worse. But I'm gonna tell ye what they done to me.

Cotched me on the highway, they did. Marked me for a bandit. I tell 'em I'm just bound for me aunt's house in York, but they ain't havin' none of it. Says - How come ye by a gent's watch?.... I tell 'em me pa gimme it when he died. Won it in the Alderton Lottery. Judge goes - Oi! Ain't them tickets a bit dear for such as ye, boy? Goes for a quid a piece they does..... Them watchin' the show starts suckin' they teeth like rats what been feastin' on a gristly pig. Then the 'Jolly Man' (every judge got one) starts yellin' - Hang 'im! Hang 'im! Hang 'im!  And the rest start stampin' they feet....

Judge bangs his little judge hammer and yells - Oi! I does the condemnin' 'round here! Shut up, ye poxie bastards, or I'll have the left hand of every livin' one a yeh!.... Then he snaps his fingers and the assistant bailiff hold up his left arm what end in a rusty hook.... Judge goes - Took his'n I did. What did I take it for, Johnny-boy?.... Johnny-boy addles his brain a bit and then says - Clickin' me heels on a Sunday morning. Couldn't take me feet, 'cause him what does the deed lost his foot-cuttin'-knife to a fancy man in settlement of a whore bill, I believe, so ye take me hand instead.

Dirty sod in the third row goes - If it please Your Worship, the scrawnier flea bitten hag behind me want's to know why ain't he lost both of 'em?..... Judge asks - Why, Johnny-boy?... Johnny-boy giggles and shrugs... So does the crowd.... Judge says - Hummm, let me take note of that.... Johnny-boy swallows a giggle and the rest goes quiet too. Regency English justice can be a very tricky proposition at times.

Then they go back to me.  I tell 'em 'bout me aunt and how I bring her laudanum, 'cause them what live upstairs say she howls and wails too much and how she can't help it 'cause a them chickens keep peckin' her legs..... Judge asks - Is she insane ?.... I go - No, sir. Taxes is higher for them what coops 'em up, so landlord says she gotta keep 'em in with her. But they forgive four pence a week on the rent...... They all look at me and I add - Maybe she is crazy.

Judge sighs, takes a bit of fortification (grog), scratches his ear and says - There's still the question of the watch. How come ye by it?... And he holds it up for the crowd. Few even understand the idea of regularly measured time, let alone own such a coveted object of status and desire.... The judge asks - Solid gold?..... I nod. What could I do? There's a stamp on it. He's bound to see that, probably already has. The room goes quiet. I have no friends in that congregation, for church is what it was. True courthouses were few and far between, so was truth, or the recognition of it.

Nine hundred heartbeats later I was guilty. The crowd cheered. The judge bowed. He held the watch even higher. They roared. The first bailiff, in possession of all his hands, plus four men at arms, led me off to prison, a thick walled, stucco over brick wing attached to the county poor house. Then they put me in a cell and locked the solid (save for a small face sized shutter operated from the outside) iron door. I was 'home,' a five foot by seven foot, slate floored chamber with a rough, wood 'sleep shelf' along the far wall, a rolled up thick quilt that served as a mattress, a thinner one for a cover and what looked like it might have once been a pillow. Under the shelf was a slop bucket. Light entered via a small, dinner plate sized porthole up by the ceiling, ten feet above the floor. The walled were whitewashed, as was the outside. But the bright color only made the roaches ever more visible.

No effort was made to find the people responsible for the Alderton Lottery. Who knew if it was still in existence? The watch wasn't even first prize. That was a 'gentleman's' farm with a brick, more or less 'manor' house near Londonderry. Chits for all the big contests went for a quid a piece. The judge was very familiar with that. Perhaps he's addicted? No effort was made to find my family. They'd either ship me to the Antipodes, imprison me for life, or hang me...

Before dark they brought me a bowl of  stew.

The next day I got a small crate that served as a table and an Anglican Bible. I fell into a routine... meals... empty the slop bucket.... one hour in the small, brick walled yard (always alone)... clean clothes every Saturday, plus a trip to the wash room. I asked for writing materials. No one answered. I'm told there were seven other souls in residence, not counting the eighty or so in the poor house. But the walls in the prison were so thick I heard nothing.

I prayed. I wept. I went numb.

That's how it was.

In ninety days I'd learn my fate.

I am Lawrence Edgerton and all these words are true.

<more next time>


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Tuesday, March 21, 2017

EARLY SETTLEMENT ON MARS .. 3/20/17..Vaya Con Dios - Freddie Fender LYRICS.wmv

They sat on the wide, deep veranda of Estancia Viejo (The Old Stand). And if you have read some of our EL RANCHO TEXACO tales you know La Polvarosa (Red Dust), the other place what belongs to that Texaco clan. This place is different. This is where Miss Sissie's people lived. I'll tell you about the early days, when her people first come out here. Mars was a real hostile place. Had an orange-pink sky, little chiggers diggin' in the dirt. Tuva-Tuva folks still dried up in the ground. Not much sound. Air's too thin. Ain't no moon up there... no 'real' one. Just puissant baby moons what look like two little taters far off in the sky.... Like taters on roller skates, or something like that. They move pretty fast. Demos and Phobos I think it is.

Her Uncle Elvis came out before the rest of them as a hand on the old Twenty First Century Limited... Not the new one... the old one. Made the trip in a month and a week. And that was an Earth month, pretty fast for the time. Remember, we are talking about the 2080's... the 2090's. You ever read about them Mississippi River Boats? Then you know what I mean. Bunch a gamblers and speculators and whores... and them what just studying to be whores. I talkin' 'bout all genders.

Place got terraformed real fast. Smashed a few comets into it. Atmosphere didn't heat up 'cause there wasn't enough atmosphere to heat up. But did leave 'em with thicker air. Then a whole million shit loads a whatever green crap will grow came next. You know how quick kudzu took over the American South Land? Same thing on Mars. City of Barsoom (pronounced BAR-sum) built by robots. Folks want a real place to live, not them canister vacuum cleaner hell holes, them tombs for living people MARS ONE ... like misery and social isolation for the rest of your life. Can you imagine the suicide level on that one? If you get an impacted dental infection you got to die of it?.... No, first you build the city, with all the amenities, THEN you banish the people.... They'll age slower though. Low gravity does that. Less strain. Wonder if it causes constipation?

Oh, look at him... Billy's getting tired.... He's staring at the television. Already watch the late news twice... YO! SHIT FOR BRAINS! They ain't gonna tell you no NEW stuff!

He likes EL RANCHO TEXACO... Tex-Mex 'Pondorosa by way of Dallas' culture on Mars.

Lemme let him go to sleep...

He's drooling

Vaya Con Dios, y'all.

I'm one of the disembodied spirit narrators.

Let me steer him upstairs before he finishes all the potato salad.

<more next time>


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Friday, March 17, 2017


After what happened in the advisor's residence, Jonathon found refuge in a boarded up row house in another part of town. There were others there, but they ignored him, adrift in chemically induced dreams more vivid and comforting than any part of life they'd ever know. The vampire quietly settled down in an empty basement closet, waiting for sleep to come, though sleep did not come. He sat there, leaning against the wall and he thought. He saw catacombs... bunk beds for the dead... passage after passage of recumbent moldering bodies. Some stared at the wall, others at the bottom of the platform above. A few turned their skulls toward the passageway, as if greeting (or judging) the occasional visitor who sullied the darkness with their flickering oil lamps. It was as if Jonathon was one of those visitors. He silently walked on for quite a while, too scared to turn around and face the horrors behind him. Then one corpse, a long slumbering woman in an ancient, moldering, lacy gown, turned her eyeless, parchment skinned face toward our vampirino and in a dry whisper said - None bear fools' righteousness more than they who fail to see the fault within themselves.... After that she collapsed into dust....

Then he roused from his stupor, quietly left the basement and walked through the creaking and groaning structure giving a 'vampire's kiss' to all the ruined people resting there. A drop of his enchanted blood passed from his mouth and through the lips of each recipient. Three score heartbeats after the act of acceptance they were restored. All the people got up and left that place, returning to their lives. Did they know who did this? Who cares? It was done and they were well.

But Jonathon wanted to go home. He needed the townhouse in Society Hill. He needed his own surroundings. The sound of that whimpering child haunted him. What memories would she have? One soul's 'good' is another soul's 'evil.' He once heard a saying - History is hard on children.....

Boy, is it ever....

When he got back to Philadelphia, Doctor Franklin was waiting for him. He sat at the granite peninsula in the kitchen, with Edith , the witchy-woman housekeeper and Sarah, Jonathon's vampirina consort, playing Risk.

Franklin said - Diversions calm the heart, dear boy. Come, sit down. We'll talk. As you know, I have no love for the current administration. If the 'Annex' in the Poconos had not been there after what they did to me, well, not to me, but to my complex, I think I would have killed myself....

No, you wouldn't - said Jonathon. You'd have screamed and cried and yelled and ruminated, but 'killed yourself?' No.

Well, you tell me. What would I do? - said the old reprobate...

You'd get even - said the vampirino.

Franklin chuckled and went - BINGO! Was testing you! Knew you'd get it! That's it.....

Then he just grins and sits there....

Do you mind telling me what you've done? - asked Jonathon.

Looking down at the Risk game board, Franklin said - I've just conquered Irkutsk, my Andaluciano, hidalgo friend. King of Siberia! King of Siberia! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

Sarah went - Finally. Game's over. I'm done...... Me, too - said Edith and they began to put all the pieces away.

Then, in a quiet voice, he goes - So, Washington was rough, was it?

Jonathon nods..... Franklin said - Close contact always is. You're a vampire. You're stuck with it (reaches into the pocket of the cardigan he wears over his Philadelphia Eagles sweat shirt and puts a little silver cylinder on the counter), but maybe not.

What is that? - asked Sarah.

A septum plug from a piercing shop. What do you think it is, you saintly vampirina, you? This, or what's in it is an almost perfect weapon. It doesn't explode. It just 'changes' things. And don't ask me to open it. God! That's the last thing you want - went the patriot-scientist.

The others just stared at the small, shiny thing glistening on the granite, so after a few heartbeats Franklin continued - Deep within that protective barrier rests a few micro-grams of the prion that causes Jakob- Creutzfeldt Disease... the human version of Mad Cow. Think of it... a simple scrap of something not really living, not really dead... like you all. Not you, Edith, but 'them' I mean. No cell that comes in contact with any of those lethal agents is in any way chemically changed. They're merely contorted into a slightly different shape. It turns out that, that shape is the wrong shape for normal cerebral functioning. Brains stop working. People die. And it's fast.  We can pinpoint its application, or we can be slightly less discriminate.

And then silence.....

After a bit Jonathon says - Tell me more.

Not now - responds the scientist-statesman. But we will test it overseas first.

Against who? - asks Sarah.

Look at the news, my dear. Can't you figure that out? - went Franklin. And, no, official government channels are not 'in' on this. Well, maybe a few rogues are. But it's essentially just me, myself and I, plus everybody else up at the 'Annex.'

Then he laughed, dropped his head on his chest, as if dead and went 'guhk.'.... A quiet, little 'guhk' noise is Franklin shorthand for mysterious, sudden death. The old reprobate has been responsible for a few of them over the years.

Edith said - Yeah, OK, right. Who wants cold drinks?

Jonathon carefully picked up the silver cylinder and studied it.....

What a game changer.....

<more next time>


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Thursday, March 9, 2017

Jonathon Culls the Herd a Little More... Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Who's That Creepin'? - clip 1 .. 3/6/17


Jonathon went back to the white marble capital on the Potomac. There was more to do. What he did the last time (please see prior post) was 'fixed.' As long as they control the media it's easy to fix things... Those viral videos you see on line?... They're faked... What you read?... Only rumors.... And as long as the power that drives the regime (the frustrated, revenge driven, bitter masses) stays loyal, they can do anything. It doesn't matter. There are no more Democrats and Republicans, or Liberals and Conservatives. All we have now are Inclusives and Restrictives. Are you 'in,' or are you 'out?'

As a survivor of Crusader massacres and a witness to countless Inquisitions and genocides, our vampire hero, Jonathon, understands that. He recognizes how basic and visceral and childish and selfish and willfully evil adults can be. Other peoples' children do not feel pain. Other peoples' mothers are cheap bitches. Other peoples' fathers are hideous animals. Look, you're already on line. You know the sites. You know what they say. Sad thing is they're not so marginal anymore. So called 'mainstream' right wing news networks quote Breitbart every day. And the administration feeds off it. You see it's a coalition with them. They need the bad boys. They need their heat and love and permission... Don't cry for me, Argentina. Everything I do, I do for you.... You know the song.

Some of the Inner Circle knows about vampires. A few have lead rooms of their own, especially after what happened the other night. The smart ones turned their dens and family rooms into lead rooms. That way there's room for everybody... the kids... their husbands and wives... the grandchildren. Everybody sleeps dormitory style, most on air mattresses, till they can get real ones. Guys came in and covered every wall, ceiling and floor with lead panels... put interior lead shutters over the windows... even did the same in the powder room. Safe and snug. The little ones thought it was fun, like camping out. Most of these places, at this level, had wet bars and refrigerators... all the comforts. An unusual situation? Yes, but not unbearable.

Jonathon waited till they were asleep. Vampires can sense that. The brain waves change. They can feel it. I know many night-folk claim there is no physical side to what they do. They claim it's all spiritual... at least the 'noble' vampires do. The others don't care. They just gorge. But Jonathon does care. He bothers little with the physical, preferring to live in the spirit.

When all inside that stately home sailed through the nighttime sea he sublimated into the house, moving through a commodious living room accented with photographs, lots of family pictures... the grandkids on the boat.... summers at the lake house... winter trips to Vail, where they also owned a place.... family weddings... graduation shots, from nursery school to graduate degrees. The patriarch loved his brood, or maybe he was just proud of them? It's often hard to tell.

Yet the government big-wig didn't love every family. Every decision he'd ever made in his political life was aimed at one thing, diminishing the amount of public funds used to help those in need.
Most didn't need that much, but they needed something and he did his best to make sure it wasn't there. Said he was forcing people to stand on their own two feet. Said he was training people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. What he really did was run interference for the rich. Not the 'toy' rich. I mean the genuinely wealthy. Nothing wrong with being wealthy. But all those scriptural parts about 'remembering the widow's children' and feeding the hungry and extending a hand to those less fortunate must have been taught on days he was sick... or out on the boat.

Well, Jonathon was the 'paladin.' He did what he could to lessen the damage and right the wrong... on a macro level at least.

Now please note that every interior surface of the den/familyroom was sheathed in cold, grey lead. But one door fronted a small closet and the interior surfaces of that closet were not sheathed. Jonathon could smell it, or rather sense it harmonically. Vampires give off a slight resonance. It's how they avoid lead. They feel the echo. But none came from the outer wall of the closet, so all he had to do was sublimate in from the dining room side of the wall, push open the door (you could push it from either side) and enter the room. The contractors forgot all about that little closet. You know how contractors are. Everybody in the administration wants a lead room. Installers are busy all over Metro D.C.. Hell, lead's the new hardwood among certain political types.

But the room was drowned in darkness. The lead shutters kept out moonlight and even the ambient glow from outside... a tomb for the living. A large leather sectional occupied the center of the space like a huge dragon, as the humans snore through their dreams. After a few heartbeats Jonathon's eyes (and since he's a vampire, his skin too) begin sensing heat sources in the room.... the forced air vents... the bellies and torsos of the people.... soft, sleep vapors forming little breath genies over mouths. No one suspects a thing.

Our trim, Andalusian vampire finds his prize and kneels down beside the mean - big job - government - grampy man. Then he carefully rolls down the blanket, leans in and punctures the man's throat, in that silent, catlike manner of his. Ah, but the blood is warm and thick and languid in an old flesh sort of way. He savors it... Like tender beef left to hang.... But soon it's over. The rich man and powerful presidential appointee is dead. In one smooth move, Jonathon whips the neatly folded, thin, black, plastic tarp out of his slim, black jeans and snaps it open (letting it settle over the corpse) just before the exsanguinated body ignites into 'cold' blue flame. Thus is the fire hidden from view. Oh the artificial membrane soundlessly flutters a bit, as if covering popcorn in a microwave. When that stops he pulls it off, wads it up and stuffs it in the large, cylindrical, stainless Steel, step on refuse can from BED BATH AND BEYOND (not a link.. we just like the way the blue letters look) behind the bar.

Then he goes to the closet door, cracks the kinks out of his neck, puts his hand against the interior lead surface and prepares to exit. But before he can push, someone else pushes in from the other side and another man in a form fitting black outfit steps in. They stand there for a moment. Neither being moves. The newcomer clicks on a pin light and aims it at Jonathon's eyes. His pupils immediately shrink and recalibrate. Then he pivots out of the beam. But before the second being snaps it out, the mirror-like glass doors of the fireplace reflect it into the eyes of a little toddler girl.... She wakes up, sees the two figures and begins to whimper.

Three heartbeats later they're all up. Some guy (an adult son) turns on a lamp. His mom (wife to the corpse) sees her husband reduced to a greasy smudge on the rug and starts screaming and screaming and screaming ---- Ahhhh! VAMPIRES! God damned fuckin' VAMPIRES!! 

Who knows? Maybe Jonathon could have slipped out, but he didn't want to leave the rest of them there with that
apparently 'government operative' specimen. And he was rattled too. This was supposed to be his gig. So he just stood there, as the other one leaped over a bunch of squirming, shrieking family members on the floor and gives the old lady a 'Jerry Mahoney.' You know, like when a ventriloquist's dummy turns its head all the way around and starts making faces over its back?... But she didn't make faces. She just fell back on the floor and stopped moving altogether.

That's when Jonathon gave the second vampire his own 'Jerry Mahoney.' Only thing is he kept turning and turning till the head popped off. Second vampire tries to find it and stick it back on.  Might take a few days, but if he holds it in position, while waiting it out in a cool dark place, the original connection should regenerate. But the bottom part of the neck still attached to the head was sealed tight like an old fashioned hot dog casing and time was running out. The headless body didn't know where it was going. It kept jabbing and grabbing at people on the floor till it burst into 'cold' blue flames just like that grandpa guy did. Lamp got smashed. No light save for the flickering azure fire from the twitching vampire body and its independently twitching head.

Somebody tried to call 911, but cell phone signals are like vampires. They don't pass through lead either.

Jonathon hid in the shadows. When the other one's remains were gone and the room was dark once more, he slipped out through the closet and made his escape.

Yet another senior team member plus his wife disappears?.....

How would the White House explain this?

<more next time>


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Thursday, March 2, 2017

Our Vampire Jonathon Discovers a Lethal Tool.. consider the GRENOUER 'Brain Fever' video too.. 2/28/17


Our vampire hero, Jonathon, carried out his plan. He sublimated into a posh D.C. residence and abducted a certain, highly disliked presidential advisor. Then he deposited the man down on the street  in a , shall we say, very rough Washington neighborhood. Before rising into the dark, night sky he ripped off the startled functionary's night shirt, howled as only one of the night-folk can ( setting off car alarms, waking sleepers who ran out with pit-bulls chomping at the bit), kicked him in the butt and disappeared. 

They cornered the naked presidential advisor (who shall remain nameless) behind a 2011 Cadillac Escalade. He was whining and crying and going - Oh God... Oh God........

Some of the guys from the block would get too close with their pitt bulls. He'd go - Get away from me!... The dogs were pulling on their chains and growling and all...... Finally, an old woman goes - He's that fat 'Baby Hitler,' sloppy, government bastid..... Then everybody starts shaking their heads and clicking off even more pictures.... Kids go - Make him dance a little.... Old woman says - No, you're not gonna make him dance a little. You want him to have a heart attack?!....

Then she goes over to the sloppy, government bastid kneeling and shaking behind the Escalade and says - Wouldn't you be more comfortable if I got you like a blanket, or something?.... The guy nods and goes - Uh huh... Then he sniffs back some snot, 'cause it is getting chilly.... Some guy offers him  a flask. He don't want to drink it at first. Guy goes - It's Scotch man! That ain't gonna hurt you!... So he takes a couple swallows...

Five minutes later the 'Baby Hitler' unnamed government guy is wrapped up in a Dora the Explorer polyester blanket (for when the grandbabies visit) on the sofa next to the old woman's sister, Helene, who nods and smiles a lot. They turn the sound down on HGTV so he can make a call on an old fashioned house phone, which he likes, 'cause it's harder to hack into and twelve minutes later a black vehicle coincidentally quite like a Cadillac Escalade pulls up, full of Men In Black who give everybody suspicious looks and bundle him off toward the White House. They keep the Dora the Explorer blanket, but give the old woman an envelope with twenty five hundred dollars in it, so she don't care. Helene says - Bye... and they leave. She wants to hear how much that beach house in South Carolina costs anyway.

The Men In Black try to get everybody off the street and back in their houses. But that doesn't mean anything. Pictures and video are already going viral all over the internet.

When they take the guy in the Dora The Explorer blanket into the White House (the private 'residence' upstairs), the president asks one question. He says - How did this happen?.... The advisor tells him about the man who came through the wall and swooped him up into the dark, night sky and carried him over the city and left him, naked, in the middle of that 'dangerous' neighborhood..... The president goes - You son of a bitch! What the f#ck are you talking about?.... The man in the child's blanket says - You go to hell, you shit for brains! I know what happened! I KNOW what the hell I'm talking about!.... One of the Men In Black clears his throat and says - Excuse me, Mister President, has anyone briefed you on the 'Night-Folk Protocol?' ..... Thirty minutes later he knew it all. He knew about the 'lead room.' He knew about the failed attempts to kill Lenin and later Hitler with our own, domesticated vampires and he knew how easy it was to 'turn' them. Such easily distracted, fickle creatures they are... but sometimes very effective.

Now Jonathon was planning to stay in the capital (or is it capitol?) for a bit, but vampires feel things through the ether (the matrix that supports everything). Franklin... it seemed to be coming from the Doctor. So he sublimated back through the starry sky and entered the townhouse twenty one hundred and sixty heartbeats before dawn. Edith was up (when DID she sleep?). And Doctor Franklin was there waiting.

Our vampire hero said - Franklin, why aren't you up at the 'Annex?'.... The artificially preserved (but not vampire) scientist-statesman sighed and said - I came back to show you this.... and he handed him a small tablet, showing the video of a poor, unfortunate woman thrashing about with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease... 'Mad Cow' for humans.

Jonathon watched and read the captions at the bottom, as the scenes changed.

Franklin said - Prions... all because of a tiny scrap of genetic material that makes viruses seem complex. Yet they're the most infectious substance on Earth. And they don't reproduce. They recruit. When a disease causing prion presses itself against a benign specimen... and there are many benign specimens throughout nature, the innocent one is corrupted, becoming just like its attacker. Then it goes off. The cycle goes on exponentially. Infected human brains eventually turn to mush.

And it all comes from eating tainted meat? - asked the vampire. (he'd been watching the video.)

Franklin nodded.

It's very hard to come by. The Center For Infectious Disease has some... a few research labs... the government. - whispered Franklin....

They use it? - asked the vampire....

Of course - said Franklin.

For a weapon, I mean? - ads the vampire....

The scientist-statesman nodded again...

<more next time>

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Thursday, February 23, 2017


There's no music tonight. Just me, Jonathon, thinking about what I'll do when I get there. How will I 'school' this individual? Bad politicians are far from rare. Some are just clueless and unprepared for the task. Others are very willing snake oil salesmen. Too many are unrepentant haters. Do your homework, if you want this job, remember this... for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That's not an opinion. It's just the way our universe is.

So I passed through the air on my way to that city... that white marble re-imagining of classical Rome. Re-imagined? Maybe they didn't think it all the way through? I watched tiny pinpoints of light... planes from God knows where, coming in for landings at Reagan International Airport. What magic would my mortal family, all those centuries ago, ascribe to such things?

But then I came in for a landing too.... Washington, D.C.. All these years... more than three hundred of them in this land and I had never been there.

Please think not that I disparage anyone's choice. And please remember the first Vampire Wonderland episode ever to appear here almost six and a half years ago. I began with these words --- First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. A lot of truth passes for fiction. A lot of fiction is accepted as the truth. It's all mixed up. Everything is everywhere. But let me ask you this? What choices do you make... and most importantly, why?

Now let me share my plans. When next the dark time comes again, I will sublimate into the new, local home of a certain trusted advisor... a power behind the throne, known for consorting with those who most would term 'polite haters.' This means not that your little ones are secure, should they belong to a threatened group. Consider this when you push them down the street in their safe and padded stroller some mild, fresh spring day. Not all who smile back at them sincerely wish them well. I intend to do something about that.

I will raise that unrepentant vessel for hate from his bed. I will grasp him under his arms and around his chest and sublimate us both up through the roof and toward the heavens. But lest we pierce the crystalline shell, I will bear him off across the city. Should he scream or struggle, I simply threaten to let go. He won't struggle. He won't scream. Then I softly place him down upon the sidewalk in a quarter not his own... No phone... No money or cards or identification. Just a nightshirt. That's all he wears. Then, in an instant, before I leave, I rip  the flimsy garment from his corpulent, flabby body, deliver a sharp slap and tell him to run... Imagine him huffing and puffing and padding through the streets. For a few moments I hover above in the darkness. Then I scream, as only a vampire can. I scream again and again and again, till lights go on, doors open and people come out. Some recognize the crazed, naked white man crouching behind a car. Dogs break from owners and give chase... Pit bulls, dogs like that. You know what I mean. Young kids with phones rush out and snap pictures. Instantly Mister So & So is all over the World Wide Web. Audio and video couldn't be better. He shrieks and races off. The dogs were getting too close. No one calls the police. Not yet. This is still too good. Not like he's gonna freeze. Spring is early this year. Just one more rodent on the street...

The press, if they knew who I was, would sponsor a holiday in my name... Not just the press... (lol)

No sign of a break-in. Nothing irregular. Mister So & So just took a little walk... Just wanted some air... real casual like.

Well, that's my plan... and so far, I'm stickin' to it.

<more next time>


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Wednesday, February 22, 2017

A VAMPIRE RETURNS TO HIS ROOTS 2/22/17 -Misirlou - Yxalag Klezmer Band (live@mute solo)


Harken unto my words, oh best belov-eds, for I bring you tidings of our enduring friend, Jonathon (pronounced yo-nah-TAHN) ben Macabi (pronounced ma-CAH-bi), one vahmpeer, late of your American Philadelphia, but now abroad on Hah Adon's (The Lord's) Highway. He goes to 'heal the world' and right wrongs and all that... A knight errant, with fangs instead of knives and an abiding magic more potent than Old, Yemeni cava (coffee).

On the night before he left, our faithful one slipped into the darkened sanctuary(save for the warm russet glow of the 'nair tameet' (light eternal)) in a venerable, beit k'nesset (meeting house)) and silently danced up and down the central aisle and all about the bima (beemah -- Table of The Book), as he prayed. The little angel guarding that House of The Book, for all consecrated places of prayer and introspection have guardian angels, said he sang. In a still, small voice, he sang. Our reverent vahmpeer gave voice to a collection of old hymns and cantorials first heard in Toledo, Granada and Sevilla many centuries ago....

Who am I, that a heavenly messenger should address me? I am Zebulon, a well known disembodied spirit narrator of this tale... the ghost of a thirteen year old Judean boy stoned to death during the reign of the last Hasmonean king, either John Hyrcannus II or Aristobolus the whatever. ... Family records indicate that Jonathon hails from that line. Believers never lie about such things. For kings are raised up by The Lord and he who bears false witness to The Divinity fears The Resurrection for obvious reasons. But I know God is merciful and although I was stoned for consorting with Assyrian Witches, I fear not The Day. For He who saved The unobservant Children of Israel from the flesh pots of Egypt with compassion and grace seeks not the eternal banishment of a curious young Jerusalemite.

So I have taken it upon myself to accompany our hero and relate the parts he does not tell in his own voice. At times our story may be told by an unnamed voice much greater than I. You know who I mean... No, not God, but Metatron, the Angel of angels, the chancellor of Heaven. He must like books, for he narrates so many of them. Perhaps he curates the libraries on High?

When next the dark time comes again, we go to your national capital, the City of Washington. He seeks to play conscience to the president. He seeks to pierce the royal bedchamber and waken your ruler from his sleep. The vahmpeer, Jonathon, knows how to convince even the most hardened and ignorant of souls. Failing that, he'll bring him 'over.' How can a vampire function as president of a great land, such as yours?...What would they say? How could they explain it? ... 'Oh, he likes to sleep in. You know how it is?'..... Hardly.

So for a while we shall be vagabonds... hiding in the modern equivalent of root cellars and..... well, more root cellars. Jonathon doesn't like mausoleums. '... Attend to the living. Let the dead take care of the dead' and all that. It's a very Hebrew thing. God does His thing and we ( all right. I'm no longer in the flesh, but you know what I mean) do ours. In the physical world, our hands are His hands.

Now permit me to prepare myself for what is to come. True, I pack no 'things,' but thoughts and dreams and memories are 'things' too.

Don't I talk nice for a thirteen year old? ... I think I do.



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