Monday, October 12, 2020

A VAMPIRE SHARES A TROUBLING TALE - Henry Hall & His Orchestra - The Teddy Bear's Picnic (1932)

I spent some time in Old Muscovy centuries ago. Western Europeans thought it quite exotic and dark.... like a cold, heavy, brutal answer to Cathay. I went with a group of traders. They were interested in furs. I was fleeing from a clan of Noxious Vampires that for some reason saw me as their enemy. Noxious Vampires kill indiscriminately. Noble Vampires do not. A wealthy 'familiar' (mortal who helps night-folk) descended from an old wool trade family, not yet true aristocracy, but definitely listed among the gentry (actually just as good) supplied me with a commodious chest, usually filled with porcelain and crockery, but easily long enough for me to lie down... And that was it. I was off, deep in the hold of something little better than Cristobal Colon's tiny caravels. Perhaps a bit stouter and a few cubits longer, a little more architecture above deck... but seaworthy??? Maybe by the standards of the time, though not by today's. I had a bottle, sealed with a cork... a rather large bottle, a Jeroboam... but I can't remember if we used that term back then. I'm sure we had another name for it. Please understand it's difficult for me to remember all this. Now I speak English, American Philadelphia English. Then I spoke a form of 'Old Castilian.' More a type of altered Vahmperigo, a night-folk dialect that melts Castilian, Catalan and an Italian Piedmontese patois of the alpine regions of Savoy. You see, 'vampires' due to our ability to sublimate, can fly through the night like magic. What do I mean 'like magic?' It IS magic. In one evening I'd cover the distance from the Castilian - Valencia border to Barcelona and on to Turin or maybe even Genoa... all Romance idioms, yet with differences of cadence, accent and music. Night-folk must fit in, so we adapt. Excuse my digression. Where was I? Ah, yes... deep in the bowels of that ship, locked in a long casket-like crate with a large bottle of what you might call a weak vodka. Vampires can ingest clear or almost clear fluids. It's how we fool people, sipping cups of weak, steaming tea in coffee houses... eating broth at dinner, or the like. Mortals are so easy. I'd take a mouthful now and then to put me into a trance-like sleep. True sleep, or our version of it, finds us only during daylight. Even in this crate, down in the darkness, my essence knew day from night. The weak intoxicant helped endure the dark time.

We'd stop at a few ports along the North Sea and Bering Sea coasts. A little trading here. A little trading there. French crockery was big in Muscovy. German clocks, salt cured English mutton... transistor radios.... ha ha ha ha ha... No, I joke. We had no transistor radios. We had nothing! Sanitary napkins were still far off in the future. Toothbrushes, or some primitive form of them, were a rare, exotic commodity. If I had to endure 'life' during those benighted centuries without vampire magic I'd have thrown myself into Stromboli's hellish maw ages ago.

You see, London was a most comfortable place. The houses, at least those of quality folk were beginning to inch their was up from total shit stained squalor to a state of quasi civilization... more queasy that quasi, but you know what I mean. The damp stone interior walls were sheathed in brown, somber paneling . Rude collections of dull, grey pewter ware lined shelves. The furniture was straight out of a Game of Thrones prop barn. Rich folk kept angry little New World monkeys (brought over by Spain) dressed as courtiers, on gold chains. For some reason they were all named Rodrigo or Miguelito and bit everyone's fingers, when they were not masturbating... Arcane fraternal associations were all the rage... alchemy, tinged with imported schools of Persian sorcery, Indian sorcery and whatever they could get from Tibet tantalized every jumped up minor noble's son with visions of sex, power and influence. I tutored them sometimes when it suited me. Did they know I was night-folk? No, of course not. Protestants were still burned for God's sake! Can you imagine what they'd have done to me?! I'll tell you what they'd have done to me. Welded into one of those narrow, almost form fitting leaden coffins. Night-folk cannot sublimate through lead, you know. Then hauled out to sea on an old cobb, miles and miles from land and tossed overboard into the cold, dark depths. There are night-folk languishing on the abysmal plain as we speak. Some for centuries. Can you imagine? Still sentient, locked in vampire dreams more or less... forever. It's not the blood that keeps us alive. Some spiritual force does that. It's our job to cull the wicked. If we stop doing that, if we stop on our own, we slowly whither away... But if we're prevented from doing that, we endure, waiting for a freedom that might never come.

Some night-folk manage to defy the laws. They break away. They kill the innocent. In truth they'll kill anyone... widows... children... orphans... They keep them in caves deep underground... breeding them and breeding them in total darkness till the light is just a myth... naked and huddled like mole rats. I attempted to destroy such a coven and now they seek my 'death'... Thus my hasty departure.... a centuries old soul in a rather alluring eighteen year old body, off to bide my time among that brutal realm in the frozen East.... Do you think I'll look good in sable?

Come back tomorrow. I'm in a rather  communicative mood and ready to share more...


please click HERE to wander the night-folk archives and hit SUBSCRIBE when you get there for the free key to over one million words of vampire lore.

Go to wilkravitz on Twitter join me via my 'familiar' Billy. He has a fairly popular site.... Good night.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

Whispers From A Vampire In The Dark .. Elmer Bernstein - To Kill A Mockingbird Suite

Sometimes the magic is to much for me to bear. And after all these lifetimes, I don't even know if 'magic' is the right term. Perhaps, we just begin to see deep into the core of things. We see the energy and the resonance and the essence as no mortal ever can... and sometimes we don't want too.... I fly over the surface of the Earth by night... a vampire lost in the wind... racing low o're moonlit waves, far from any shore, just me and the silvery light. Sometimes I dive down. Depth means nothing to me. Oxygen is but a habit and not an addiction.. I see giant squid propelling themselves through the blackness. Not the forty cubit specimens mortals occasionally find. These are kraken... known only in legends. You've seen old woodcuts. Whole galleons pulled down into the cold darkness... screaming, mad with fear seamen, grabbed by horrific arms and  passed toward the hellish beak... Some swallowed whole, others sheared to pieces... I hear the ghosts of those lost at sea, wandering the abysmal plain forever... and at times I find old corroded leaden chests imprisoning ever conscious vampires thrown into the sea by faithless protectors. I hear their sobs. I hear their prayers, some in languages already old when Rome was young.

I suppose you know that it is I, Jonathon  ben Macabi, who whispers to you. I sit in my townhouse, always in the same room... my favorite place, the snug, little octagonal library, deep in a winged chair, staring out through a narrow gap in the velvet draperies at the flickering light from the street lamp... a modern affectation for the tourists, but oh so very comforting to one such as I, who remembers the originals from a time when trains were new.

My meal lies on the floor. A fleshy thing, an artist's model, lured back to be my muse. I have that look you know... the sensual, well formed young artist... long dark wavy hair... the black jeans... the white t-shirts (at least in August, when its hot)... the rather ancient looking leather sandals with the ring 'round the big toe. She breathes softly, drugged by the finest absinthe... an evil soul burdened by many sins. You know me. I oh so very rarely cull the innocent. When it's time, I'll lift her. I'll kiss her. I'll taste her every essence. Will she feel it?... Of course. I'm very, very thorough. 

Then, when she's dead and her body ignites with the 'cold' blue flame and disappears, I'll return to the streets, quietly dispensing valuable old coins to deserving souls.... homeless people.... sad, desperate waitresses in all night cafes... runaway teens...  They'll know where to take them... I am quite the telepath... an old basement level curiosity shop, down some steps on Sansom Street. Center City, Philadelphia has many little byways like that. I know every one... even the mummies in the great Penn Museum thirty blocks from here tell me their secrets... and I tell them mine...

Do you know ghouls often drag their bound and gagged victims up to the rooftops of old, loft buildings to feast by starlight? Its a 'thing' with them. Sometimes I'll swoop down and rescue one... the victims, I mean.... This world needs rescuing in oh so many ways.... Perhaps the mortal elections eighty three days hence will bring some relief?

I'll have to see what I can do.

I hope you know there are over two thousand night-folk posts waiting to be discovered. Just click MAGIC you'll see... and touch that little free SUBSCRIBE thing when you get there. If you'd like to join Billy Kravitz, the familiar who helps me curate all this, please click TWITTER ... thank you... that's all... good night.

Monday, May 18, 2020

IN YOUR EYES.. a vampire confesses -Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes (Secret World Live)

Now CUE the music! Read! And let the show begin!

This time it all comes out. This time you'll know. Oh, I've spilled tiny little droplets for the last nine years, but now I tell it all. 'Vampires' you call us 'vampires?' Well that, my best beloveds is but a microscopic fragment of what we really are. Do you remember the tales of Madame Chang? Are you familiar with our 'Papa?' What know ye of the Lady Renate?... Ah, I've awakened memories, have I?.. Good. That is as it should be. Can you visualize the Earth encased in a green sea carapace? Beyond the clouds are waves... Do you know those times? We're you there for the Vampire Revels, or what happened in London deep within the 'House on Hoxton Street?'.... a place where the good emperor Marcus Aurelius still lives... a place where sleek dragons snake silently through the night.

Who speaks to you now? Well, who has always spoken to you. Who shared insights into ancient tomes and hidden wisdom from La Ciencia Vampirismo itself? Though that compendium of knowledge is but 'Cliff Notes' when compared to the real thing...

I am who I've always been. I am Jonathon ben Macabi. I am Tomas de Macabea. I am 'night-folk.' I am yours... the ordained ambassador from the Multiverse in its entirety to your little part of the forrest.... Shhh... can you feel it?Are you willing?... a subtle  vibration... a tiny 'zing' .... a feather light touch that tickles every singularity in your body.... You are here. You are there. You are everywhere... The 'Magic' is the magic... Never think of it as evil. It is not that. The Magic is the One True Thing. You, imprisoned by your physicality, comprehend a small part of it. I understand a bit more... You know my story. I was once mortal too, till 'Papa' rescued me.... for one thousand years a 'vampire' striking the silver tipped heels of my black leather bootkins and sending sparks o'er the cobbles of cities the world over.... That was my 'sign'... my signal to the prey -- run, although it never did them any good. How I loved the chase..... But know ye that only those deserving of death were taken... Oh, I know that I've occasionally filled your heads with bits of something else, yet those have been contrived conceits designed to appeal to lazy minds incased in old lies and hatreds... They needed to see vampires like that. Ancient falsehoods are tastier than truth... You know how that is..

And now you shall know more...

Why did you read this? Well, it's simple. This is put here so you might find it. All of it is put here so you might find it. Since the first keystroke of Vampire Wondeland on that fabled August night all those years ago. That's how things start. Every journey begins with a footstep... or a small, little digital click. 

Did you know this tiny seemingly ordinary star system you call home was created to be your nursery? Every planet and moon serves a purpose. Jove (great Jupiter) with his almost sun-like gravity draws in comets and asteroids so you won't have to. The Moon was born to steady your dance through the night and tilt Earth's axis just enough to call forth seasons. It also provided an ever enticing stepping stone tempting you into the star strewn sea. Mars was put there for the same reason... a second challenge, so to speak... a bit like home, a bit not... See what you can do with it. And out beyond the asteroid belt lies Great Jupiter with its planet-like moons, a toy solar system to teach you vital lessons before you touch the stars, for the sons and daughters of Europa await. (Google the moon Europa... You'll find out).... Those familiar with the Vampire Wonderland might already know. Like I've said, snippets we've shared since the beginning.

But there are keys. You can find more. Click KEY 

ONE to enter... and then hit that free subscribe thing when you get there for all doors to open.. Then, if you have not already done so, click KEY 

TWO to join up with that mortal who helps us curate it all. I believe it's his Twitter site.

Now permit me to take my leave... an 'eighteen year old' image with long dark wavy hair, for I must make my way upon the venerable streets of this old town and dance the dance that ends in death... To my old friends I say 'hasta la proxima'... To new friends I bid a most sincere welcome...

The 'Magic' is the magic... Learn a little...

And if you have not yet done so, kindly listen to the music up above, a most worthy piece you'll almost certainly enjoy... as you will, I hope, the rest of our world...

remember the subscription is free... and the truths we share are very real indeed... Raise the curtain. Step inside. Everything is everywhere... Come and see...

Bon Voyage!

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Boléro (Ravel) - André Rieu accompanies the opening of LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO

This is how it begins. The camera slowly pans over Old Cordoba, in all its courtly splendor. A glittering jewel under the clear, warm skies of  Al Andalus... The sultan's palace.... The royal menagerie... ladies haggling in the marketplace.. The Fountains of Omar... The Street of the Butterfly Vendors, each featuring a certain splendid breed, fluttering like captured blossoms, tethered to the shopkeeper's horizontal bar by almost invisible threads of 'dry' (non sticky) spiders' silk.

I walk with my brother, Hannan, eighteen months my junior, yet otherwise very much like me. Perhaps I am a bit more filled out. Two young aristocrats, for in our land, under the rule of the benevolent Abd Al Rahman III Caliph of Spain, known as Al Andalus in Classical Arabic, opportunity is open to every Muslim, Jew and Christian who accepts the truth of things. I've been to the palace with my father, an adviser and member of the counsel, not as grand as the great Hasdai, another member of The Faith of Israel, but esteemed just the same. Upon my last birthday the prince, close to me in years, presented me with a gift, two beautiful Arabian stallions, one white, one auburn. I named them Sha-Har (dawn) and Ha-Shki-ah (TheSundown).... What sublime pleasure it is to race them over the hills out beyond Medina Al Zahara. That's what they called the palace. It means City of Radiance and as one who knows, I can vouch that it was the Versailles (if my French is right) of its time.

Tonight we have a dinner at the villa. Our father keeps one here in the capital and another farther south in Granada. Some nights you can hear the Roma tribesmen dancing to rapid melodies played on ouds 'round their fires. We had a barbary ape, a tailless monkey actually, named Udo. I think it was a Berber name. Who knows? Once, when the cat had kittens, he ate one. Ravi the gardner killed him with a shovel. Why I remember that, who knows? Memory is a quite inconstant thing.

The dinner marks my departure. Tomorrow I travel to the Ocitane where I'll study ecclesiastic law at the Academy of the esteemed Rashi. He's a renowned vintner as well as a ranking rabbi and Biblical scholar. Sends casks to the Frankish court in Paris. Speaks Provencal, Hoch Deutsch, Piedmontese and Arabic as well as Aramaic and Hebrew. I hear the son of the Exilarch (pretender to the Throne of David) studies there. The south of France, at least culturally, if not politically, will be a whole new thing to me..

I am Jonathon ben Macabi and tonight I write this thing. Billy, the mortal who curates my record, is already sleeping. Life in the time of pestilence tires him. In a way it tires me too. The mortal world suffers. It's hard for me to remember that. Night-folk (vampires) don't die... not like that anyway..

So what else did I do that day with my brother?... Ah, yes... we went to the Frankish Quarter to taste some 'white meat,' a term Jews and Muslims used when referring to pork.. the silly experiences young men lust after....

How was I to know I'd soon be kidnapped into darkness and privy to much rarer delights. Traveling can be lethal... Perspective changes everything...

With that the rapid music reaches a crescendo and stops (see video up above)... This is how I see the edgy cable or streaming version of my life. This is how I see LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO.. This is how I tell MY tale...

Jarring chord

We focus on the pensive face of Jonathon in shadow....

<and if you know anyone with 'connections' please ask them to click on this link >----> .. 
then click SUBSCRIBE when they get there to see all one million words .. fans of the genre might also want to visit @theshadowsfx 
my twitter link is right here ... come meet everybody...

Thursday, March 12, 2020

I Shall Be Released - Bob Dylan and The Band - 1976 Vampires muse on CoronaVirus

I don't even expect Billy to post here anymore, so I had Aura and Sylvia, they're the two Mole People princesses who shelter down in the warren of never used subway tunnels, set me up with a laptop and show me.  Live in a dark world of flickering shadows. Got lots a cans of sterno. They're 'daddy's' the Mole king... Knows how to filtch electricity from forgotten power lines. They get water from dripping pipes in old, never peed in public toilets. Well, I guess some of the Mole People pee in them. Don't know how we get an 
internet connection down this low, but we do. Mole Folk got their ways.

This is Jonathon speaking. I'm the vampire. Got two names Tomas de Macabea and Jonathon ben Macabi. It's an old medieval Spanish-Sephardic thing. Some a you know me... almost one thousand years on Earth... Eighteen year old body.. fine black leather bootkins... Yeah, yeah, yeah fine. Enough with the descriptive crap. Been gliding around up on the streets. Not many people out. Mortals got a real Zombie Apocolypse going on. Diners empty. Movie houses empty. Sometimes people run out to a bodega for like a bag of chips, or a bottle of soda... used to fill take-out trays from the salad bar, but nobody touches that anymore. Them tongs got 'cooties.'

I like when the streets were alive at night. People coming out of clubs. Old guys drinking coffee in all-night Dunkin Donuts. Folks walking dogs. Homeless guys sharing midget Hebrew National salamis. Cabbies talking outside hotels. Flamenco dancers... Well, once in a while there's a flamenco dancer. I like when the Killer Klowns From Outer Space are out. Not the real Killer Klowns. This is like a Face Book Group, but sometimes they dress up real good and go marching around. I think one of them's the principal of a school, or something. The book shop is still there. Sarah still has her store. She doesn't run it, just owns it. Philadelphia After Dark is a very special place... like something out of the nineteenth century. Old worn hardwood floor. Narrow, aisles... shelves stuffed with hard to find volumes.... comfy wing chairs here and there... few pin up lamps... tick tock clocks on the wall... old fashioned cash register... Yeah, I go on.. but I really like that place... Where I first saw Sarah through those mullioned windows... (sighs). Shop still gets a few people, even now. All-night book shop gets all types. Never crowded in there. Just maybe like two browsers. One regular comes in all the time. Speaks Catalan. Says he's a 'warlock.' Always has a wrapped Pop Tart in his shirt pocket, so I don't know.

Now everyone's afraid of that virus. They read about Italy and how bad it is over there. Not enough resporators. Physicians playing God. Who breathes. Who doesn't. Can you imagine how that will play out here, considering how divided they all are? The mortals, I mean... So much hate.... Who knows? Perhaps this misfortune will unite them the way aggresive space aliens always do in the movies? A silver lining so to speak. This place can use a few silver linings. They claim Israelis and Palestinians are working together to contain this thing. Maybe it's a sign?

Now please forgive me. Aura, Sylvia and I have plans to share a sponge bath in the candlelit remnants of an old 'ladies room.' Odd how after all these years the hot water still works. Magic? Who cares? It's like that with night-folk. Will my Sarah mind?... No... vampirinos and vampirinas are not like that... We go with the flow... and after it all runs out still come back together.

With that, the already undressed, doe eyed Sylvia takes his hand and leads him into the adjacent candlelit chamber...

kindly hit to wander through almost limitless episodes of Vampire Wonderland and click on the free SUBSCRIBE thing for even more.

then hit THAT to join us on Billy on Twitter

Monday, November 25, 2019

Our Vampire, Jonathon, really likes this - Ennchanted Forest - Magical Orchestral Music (Jon Brooks Music)

They told me it snowed this afternoon in Philadelphia. I, of course was snug in my dark sleeping chamber drifting through dreams of another age. That's what vampires do.... Old houses... Old scents... Old friends...  I've seen operas sung entirely by castrati.... and listened to harp songs played by the fingers of a headless, animated corpse arrayed in the garb of a thirteenth century queen.... Please know that the neck wound was not open and gory, but neatly stitched like the pipping 'round a little throw cushion.

It's cold now. I like that. The night air feels like glass. My vision. always keen, is especially sharp on winter nights. Granted, November is not true winter, but just the appetizer for what's to come. Sunday evenings are a bit quieter in the city. Automated, carefully designed Christmas window displays dance for ghosts. Most people are safe in their warm and comfortable apartments, or townhouses. Most people with money, for this is Center City and although accommodations are not quite as dear as what you'd find in Manhattan, they're dear enough... I feed on persons of wealth. They commit the most delicious crimes, not always 'illegal' in a statutory way, yet cruel and hateful just the same.

Tonight I took out a lawyer who nickled and dimed the accounts of lonely old ladies to death til it all vanished and they wound up in sour, urine stained nursing homes. But who cares about him. Slept through the whole thing. I just wanted that insect gone. In the morning, when his housekeeper gets there, she'll find nothing amiss. Probably think he's at work till she wheels her little supply cart into his room. .. Usually cleans the hardwoods first. Next comes dusting. Who knows? I'm speculating here. But when she goes over to strip the bed she'll see something... a thick, viscous, greasy mess... all that's left when the bodies 'burn.'  We use that word, though the 'cold' blue flame that follows vampiric exanguination is more like a rapid oxidation... related to true flame, but a little different. The press always calls it 'spontaneous human combustion.' I'm cool with that. Most vampires are cool with that. Makes things so convenient.

I saw something on the street tonight, after l left the lawyer's place. You see, I wander... mostly on the tiny narrow side streets... hidden arteries no snow plough clould ever clear. Cars get iced in all winter, immobile lumps til spring ... But this is four nights before Thanksgiving, not January. The sidewalk was clear. This afternoon's flurries were nothing. The thin, little rowhouses were dark. Maybe a bit of flickering TV illumination peeked out from draperies or shades here and there. City people are night owls, reticent night owls to be sure, locked inside their wired for security domiciles. You can see the little alarm company stickers on every front room window, as well as the small glowing street camera circles 'round every keyhole. No one could slip inside.. well no mortal anyway.

But this thing was different, for there coming toward me through the shadows was a man... a strange man dressed in the high neck linen and tall top hat of the early nineteenth century. He seemed solid, flesh and blood and all that, yet appeared to be walking on his knees, or the joints right beneath his knees. His gait seemed normal. His eyes were lucid. His bearing erect. Were his legs severed just below the knees?... No, his lower extremities were still there, walking along on the pavement as it was two hundred years ago. Ghosts never change. They remain as they were at death, mored in a world long gone. Street levels were lower in his day, thus the distortion... and he kept coming till he passed as if my body was not there. Did his image appear on any of those keyhole cameras?... I don't know .. 

But I'm sure they picked up my image... a rather spruce young man, all in black, wearing a trim zippered leather hip coat who reflexively shuddered in fear as the spiritual thing went through him...

Vampires aren't supposed to do that...

More tomorrow...

click HERE to see more Vampire Wonderland and kindly hit free SUBSCRIBE when you get there.

hit THIS to join me on Twitter ... thank you

Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Our Vampire Hero, Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, loves this - Mindbenders - A Groovy Kind Of Love

It is the first night of autmn, in the year known as 2019 and I stroll the old streets of Philadelphia, as I have done for the last three hundred and thirty seven years. You know my name. At least some of you do. I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. I love this place. I love the old, narrow, cobbled streets. I love the endless museums, each more intricately starange than the rest. I am like that. Most night-folk are. The nights are longer than the days now. Welcome to Vampire Time. Darkness is good. It hides all the warts and blemishes and corruption. Cooler temperatures hide things too, but we haven't had any yet. It's still hot and I do so love the cold. Winter is sublime. Steam rises from the old small vents in the pavement. The pipes are still underground, remnants of a network that once powered early industry. A tiny few still use it. Its like that here. Amidst the second largest urban core after Manhattan the past abides... and I have seen it all. Sometimes it makes me cry. Other times I laugh like a mad man.

Please forgive me this sudden appearance after a long absence, but time means nothing to me. There are nights when I stand in some shadowy doorway staring at a street light, hour after hour, as if looking at the blessed face of God. Such things calm me. At times I hear angels sing. How do I know that's what it is?... I know. Let's leave it at that.

I was on my way to study with the great Rashi at his academy in the Ocitane, a region in the fragrant south of France when the night time found me... meant to become a minister of the faith, a rabbi... but life taught me other things....

Will I end a life tonight? Its the first night of autumn. What do you think? But to be truthful, none can end a life. We can end a body, but the life goes on upon another plain.... How do I know? I told you. I know.... for vampires like me are dead. The thing is... we never reach that other plain... our souls still wed to bodies perfectly preserved and animated by some miraculous force... I can chew my hand off, yet bind it back with duct tape and a few hours hence peel off the tape revealing an arm and wrist and hand as pure and whole as on Creation's morn.... Have I ever tried?... Do you even have to ask?

Look for me by night. I must leave you now. But look for me. We'll sit on a bench, in some city square, among the autumn leaves and talk... in low soft tones so none might overhear.

With that, the 'eighteen year old' being walks away. Black leather bootkins... slim black jeans... white tee shirt... long dark wavy hair... When it gets cooler, he'll add a trim black leather jacket... but not tonight...

Then he rounds the corner and goes on toward his meal.

Oh, one more thing... of course you know we must pretend that all of this is fiction?... As it was on our first night nine years ago, so it remains today.

Good night.

click on THE PORTAL ... and hit SUBSCRIBE when you pass through for free passage to all 2,000 posts
then join me on Twitter via another click -> RIGHT HERE and kindly follow. I will return the favor