Sunday, January 15, 2017

"Down the Pines" <~~ EDITH our WITCHY -WOMAN SPEAKS .. 1/14/17


Sometime Edith go back to the Pines to be with Mr. Edith, her current husband and to say 'hi' to everybody. It supposed to be warm for January, like in the fifties, so she gone down now.  Ain't gone miss nothin'. Little Larry gone learn how to fly. She see vampire-cherub learn to fly before. She see all kind a stuff, bein' witchy-woman.

Right now she out on the porch. Got a snug, little cabin, wit' a root cellar down below. Got a few bottles of Pine Wine. She like the night. It colder now, like thirty eight out. She got a good ski-jacket from the Value City, before it close up. Vampires give her money, but she like simple ways. Bundle up wit' scarf and a Philadelphia Flyers wool cap. Got a little candle flickerin'. She got it in a flower pot so breeze don't blow it out. Not much light. Ghosts don't like too much light, 'cause it wash 'em out an' make 'em look all scuzzy.

Cabin in a little, muddy clearing. Twenty feet in every direction is the woods. Bobcat come by. Got like a little bitty human hand in its mouth. Not little bitty for a child. Like little bitty for a man, or some woman what wash her clothes by hand. You know, wringin' out take a lot a strength. Edith jus' stare that bobcat down till it run away. She stare anything down, even a headless ghost an' that hard to do.

Ghost come buy. It a little shitty, drunk ghost wit' a Six Flags Great Adventure t-shirt. Ran in the woods and got lost. Tripped on a log and got ate up by some snappin' turtles. That why it so shitty lookin.' One eye all gone. Lips all gone. Nose went somewhere. I don't know. Hands all skeleton. Ain't got no external genitalia, 'cause snappin' turtles like that part real fine.

Edith go - Peace, spirit of the Pines.... Little, Shitty Ghost go - Zat where I am?... Then he go runnin' off through them trees yellin' - Help! Help! Help!... Edith go - What you yellin' 'help' for? You dead already?.... But he already a ways off an' don't hear.

She thinkin' she might go see the Talk-To-God Man. He like a shaman 'round here. Sit in a twisty cave off through the woods. Cave used to be a mine, but that back when George Washington still breathin.' Edith not scared a the woods at night, 'cause she a witchy-woman an' can always throw a hoo-doo. Nothin' come near no witchy-woman what throw no hoo-doo. Even them ham-bone spiders stay away. They called ham-bone 'cause big ones can drag a whole, bone-in ham up a tree, or like a baby goat, or like a baby anything. Sometime you hear poor little creature bleatin' in the dark. She find a dried up husk, mostly jus' skin and bone, on a trail one day. Jus' say a little prayer and keep goin'.

Deep in the pitch black maze of Talk-To-God Man's cave is room where he sit. He light little candles too, so it not all dark when he sittin' there. Got a hole in the floor surrounded by rough flagstones. Hole maybe four feet across. Slant down maybe three hundred feet. Sides all slicked with smooth, white lime. Damp keep it slippery too. Got a big room at the bottom. Space like a upside down half a grapefruit. Walls and floor all mud. Them what do bad 'round here get throwed down there. Most try brace they legs  'cross chute, but chute too wide. They go down anyway and it a one way trip. They scream and plead. They promise they gone be good. Talk-To-God Man go - Shit on you, you devil bastid. You gone die!...

But they don't die fast. Eat big fat slugs what live on walls. Slugs eat little fungi what grow there. Don't know what they taste like. Maybe escargot? Them what get throwed down suck water out a mud too.  Folks can go on a long time that way... down in the dark and the wet and the shit. Sometimes they throw women type people, young'un type people... even a dog once or twice. Them what do the throwin' in ain't always much better. They just band together.

Edith change her mind. She not gone go see Talk-To-God Man. Horsey Skeezix fly over. He see candle glowin' on her porch and come down to say 'hi.' Edith like Horsey Skeezix. He a little boy Jersey Devil... like a human bean, but with horsey hind feet, a horsey-like smooth, glossy coat, a slightly elongated horsey face, arms with big, strong, long fingered hands and a horsey mane runnin' down from his head to between them big, leathery bat wings growin' out of his back...

He play with Pin Head Mel. He a friendly Jersey Devil. Actually, most a them not that bad. It just lousy public relations.

So  now I gonna leave you. Case you don't recognize my voice, I Mister Never You Mind, a disembodied spirit narrator. I a ghost... an old Creole-Cajun gentleman what got tied to a chair and burnt up, or tied to a chair and throwed in a acid vat... When you been dead since Prohibition you forget. Who knows? Who cares?

An' one more thing. The Jersey Pines a magical place... Got great music, great stories, old time traditions. Most folk just like you, only folksier.

But if you  float down little bitty unusual river bend, or hike to what they call 'another part of the forest' you gone encounter all kinds a things... and some things got hands an' eyes an' claws an' teeth an' everything.

Jus' so you know...

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Tuesday, January 10, 2017

The VAMPIRES love Pinocchio OST 1/10/17 . ONLY Disney will do - 01 - When You Wish Upon A Star

So a bit of time passed. The household got used to little Larry and loved him. Sarah bought him warm outfits from shops all around Center City. She also brought home colorful story books from her cozy, snug, tick tock book shop, Philadelphia After Dark. Dragons and unicorns hung over his crib. He liked warm, strained, apple cider and the rich, meaty blood Sarah regurgitated for him. Such is the life of a new, little cherub. He had a small, seascaped aquarium on a table next to his crib lit by a low blue light. Tiny neon tetras swam about the tank. Other fish hid in the plants. A mermaid blew bubbles and waved. Larry waved back as he drifted off. Some nights Jonathon played his oud.

Early in the evening, Sarah bundled him up so he wouldn't feel the cold and took him out. Not that the cold could hurt him anymore, but he'd make a face and say - Don't like it... when the wind touched his skin. She'd put him in his stroller and push him to Washington Square. They had to go early, or else people would look and say - Why's that baby up so late?... Larry would go - I not a baby. I two!... And everyone instantly loved him. On the way back she'd stop in a nice, little bodega and get him a few bottles of juice. Vampires can tolerate certain liquids, but you know that.  Once Edith was cooking for herself and Billy. She was making mashed potatoes, real good ones with milk and butter. Larry says he wants some. Sarah tells him he's 'allergic' to that kind of food and will throw up. But he doesn't care. He remembers throwing up from before she made him 'night-folk.' Toddlers don't mind spitting up. Vampire toddlers taste a lot of things. And if they do throw up ten minutes later? So what? When he's out and about Sarah can take him into some place for a bowl of chicken noodle soup. She can get a cup of tea. Helps them fit in. But here's the sad thing mortals never think of. You can't have a two year old in the same area for more than a year or so. People notice. They ask questions. Either they'll have to give up the townhouse, or keep him somewhere else.

That's why it's so important he meets the other cherubs and gets socialized. Sarah and Jonathon are in denial, but they know. He'll probably join the others like him and live with the caretaker and his wife (this is a new caretaker) in their cottage in the middle of Laurel Hill Cemetery. It's so private there. After dark they have the run of the place. There's a walking tour that comes through two evenings each week. People carry candles. It's real atmospheric. The caretaker's wife keeps the cherubs inside till it's over. Then she opens the door and lets them fly out. They giggle (quietly, or course) and play tag above the memorial obelisks.

Sarah and Jonathon and some of the other vampires will still visit Larry all the time when he moves on. One of the never used private mausoleums is set up as a playhouse. You can't tell from the outside. Looks like a regular, above ground, pseudo classical temple, dead-box. But cherub magic can open the heavy, verdigris, copper door. They have big floor cushions inside and quilts and toys and music boxes and puppets... some of the puppets dance by themselves. They have these big chunks of quarts that glow in the dark for light. I don't know where they find them. Night-folk just find stuff. There's a finger paint decorated skeleton named 'Boney' seated in a corner. The cherubs say - Hi, Boney... Boney waves.

Larry will be all right.... Like a nice, little, wide eyed, pre-school Peter Pan.

Look, Sarah'd like to keep him with her always. But that would mean moving from place to place every eighteen months, keeping him hidden on a vast, isolated estate somewhere, or locked in the house all the time.

Night-folk make choices. They have to.

They teach him to fly. Little by little he learns. He laughs his cuddly toddler laugh. He smiles.

They nod and smile too.

But then they cry.....

<more next time>


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Saturday, January 7, 2017

Lullaby For A Vampire-Cherub? 1/7/17 byCharlie Landsborough - Isle of Innisfree

Jonathon sits by the crib quietly serenading the new-born 'cherub.' He plays old lullabies on his oud and in his mind imagines he's descended from the ancient Hebrew bards singing for their kings, as they pick out melodies on a harp-of-Galilee. Poetic, he's always been. Being night-folk only ads to it.

Little Larry, their two year old, vampire son, lies down, dressed in a thick, warm sleeper and listens. His eyes grow heavy, his breath deep and regular. He tries to shape the words and join in, but the ship has sailed, carrying him off to the Land of Nod.... Jonathon covers him with a nice, new comforter, puts in his favorite Sophia-the-Giraffe toy, dims the light and leaves.

He joins Sarah in the small library. She sits there hugging a throw pillow. He sits down. She doesn't say a word. He stares at the weak light from a small lamp placed among old volumes on the shelves. And that's it. For the next twenty minutes they just sit. These are vampires. They're like that.... Then he says - I love that little soul, but I wish you hadn't done that... Sarah whispers - So do I.... Then, after a few dozen heartbeats he says - Why didn't you just 'preserve' him with a few drops? We could have placed him with a mortal family. The 'familiars' would have found somebody.  He could have grown and lived... She doesn't answer... But he knows she's not a bad soul. He knows this wasn't a malicious thing. Some vampires create 'cherubs' (baby/toddler vampires) for 'toys' or temporary playthings. They dress them up like little dolls, or little demons and send them out to feast upon sleeping mortals. Cherubs rarely kill, you know. They flit about like chubby mosquitos, taking quick, tiny kisses before racing off to repeat the same somewhere else.

Sarah says - I'll take him and go if you want.
Jonathon says - Stop it. Don't even say it. Do you think I would ever want that?
She shakes her head.... Then silence descends once more, till he ads - At least we don't have to change any diapers... She goers - Yep, but it'll be Paw Patrol and what's that other one they like, Twerkin' Elmo? What do they call him?... Our vampirino and vampirina giggle.

Meanwhile, witchy-woman housekeeper, Edith, sneaks into Larry's sleeping chamber with an ice water sippy-cup. Larry likes that. Calls it 'coffee.' He sees Edith drink her stainless steel, no-spill coffee cup. That's where he gets his ideas. He watches everything and everybody. Peeks through the parlor curtains early in the evening watching people walk by and goes - Hi, lady. Hi, sad man. Hi, crazy guy. Hi, other lady. Hi, dumb baby who not talk.

Jonathon says when he's ready they'll round up the other cherubs to socialize him.... Sarah goes - Uh huh... They figure there must be about four of them. Jonathon can't remember their names... The thing is, they were made in the Old World. They survived being soldered into a lead chest and thrown into the ocean. The lucky ones washed up somewhere else and got out. The unlucky ones are still out there, hopefully lapsed into a vampire coma. You know vampires occasionally walk across the sea... white, bleached out wraiths making their way along the abysmal plane. Some spend years down there. It's always dark. It's always cold. And if they need blood they get it from merfolk, or the great whales. The great whales don't mind. The merfolk do. But who are they going to complain to?

They say certain soulless oligarchs have a cherub, or two. Keep them in huge, glass 'aviaries.' But if you look at the glass, you can see a fine, honeycomb of lead webbing imbedded in it. Night-folk can't sublimate through lead. Those cherubs ain't gone no where. They just flit around that artificial, story-book woodland, skimming over the little lake and taking little blood drinks from dumb bastard naked folks locked in with them till they die. Then the oligarch throws in new , dumb bastard naked folks. Guys watch and drink vodka, sometimes champagne, or those expensive, little bottles of Starbucks sweet, creamy, coffee drinks. Sometimes they eat chicken fingers, but the good kind, 'cause they're oligarchs.

That's all we got about the vampires tonight. But one more thing. They'll never say it, but they like Sarah Silverman and Judd Apatow. A lot of vampires do. God, who doesn't know that. So, if you want, could you please click onto SARAH SILVERMAN ... and ask her to kindly retweet THIS SITE and visit maybe. Also ask JUDD APATOW the same thing.... I've asked them but they never do. Maybe if some of you ask them it'll be different. After almost six years and closing in on 400,000 hits the night-folk are getting antsy and I don't want them to kill me.

signed, Billy.

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Thursday, January 5, 2017

Vampirina Sarah Makes a 'Cherub'... 1/4/17 . Phil Collins - A groovy kind of love (Music Video)

Vampire Jonathon speaks----

Something happened here and I want to tell you about it. Sarah brought someone 'over', a little soul named Larry. He's two years old... and now he will be two years old forever. I know I owe you more tales about Jeanette and my life with her in medieval France. I think it was France. Borders change so over the years. But then this thing happened and I just want to talk about it.

I've mentioned 'cherubs' before, back when this strange bit of vampire therapy began. You don't know how many times I've wanted to stop, but I can't. I know you know it's me. I know you know it's Jonathon.. Some might recall periods when I went as Tomas. Well, so what? They're both me.

A vampire. I'm a vampire. And others are Elferinas, or Elferinos, or witchy-folk, or 'born' witches, or my God, what's the name of those others?... the Red Paint People! Yet we're all manifestations of the same thing. We're all touched by 'magic.', or 'the magic,' as I should say. But it rests differently on each and every one of us. Those labels I just mentioned are types. They're just basic varieties. Not every vampire is the same as every other. Many of the 'noxious' types are little better than glorified zombies. But we still call them vampires.

Cherubs are vampires. I hate to say that. Such sweet, innocent things they are... among the rarest of night-folk. 
Please, I'm trying to control myself, but she took a little toddler and made him into what we are.

They're upstairs now. He's sleeping. She has him in bed with her. She's sobbing. Said he was sick. Said the attendants at the home didn't care. Lying in a crib, coughing. All alone. He didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on. Kept saying - A hug... A hug... But no one came. They were all in a rush to get out and get ready for New Years Eve and the ones who had to work were sharing a five dollar, pepperoni pizza at the front desk. Mariah Carey was more important than the little ones. Besides, the doctor said he'd probably fade. Not much more they could do and stay in budget.

When she told me, I said - Couldn't you have just given him a few drops like you do all the others?.... She cried. I hate when Sarah cries. Sometimes the attraction is too much. We can't stop and the ones we love most die. A lot of vampires destroy themselves after that. But at the last moment, before the spark goes out, a few pull back and give the marked one a deep, deep drink... and that does it. The blood in their body is vampire blood... the blood in their heart... the blood in their brain. The fluid that gives them 'life' is not, itself, alive. But they 'live' and they 'breathe' and the laugh with delight..... Sarah said when it happened to Larry his baby laughter sounded like chocolate. And when went - A hug! A hug! A hug! She wrapped him in her arms and sublimated out of there.

So now he's ours... and he'll never grow up... Every day will be filled with wonder... Toys will be miraculous things, until he discovers he can fly. Cherubs can, you know. The caretaker's wife, at Laurel Hill Cemetery used to knit warm, little outfits for the three or four cherubs she kept in their cottage. They'd flit through the trees, monuments and mausoleums at night, when no one could see. Sometimes we hear reports of child vampires who, after decades and decades develop  something resembling 'adult' souls. But they're older. Those like Larry don't do that. Maybe they're better off?

And they go on. There are cherubs in London who date to Roman times and now they love books about Sophia the Giraffe. I suppose we'll have to get some of those...

The little ghost boy, the polio victim, who stays downstairs in the basement... or used to, wants to see him. He knows about Larry. He's excited. He has a baby brother.

Does all this sound strange?

We're night-folk... It's not strange.

We have 'lives' and we live them and we do the best we can.

I know our friends will understand... They've been with us for six years and that means a lot...

<more next time>


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Monday, January 2, 2017

The Georgia Guidestones & What Our Vampires Know About Them.. 1/2/17

Oh, it would be less burdensome if I could say this in Vahmperigo or another of our ancient tongues. But I want you to know and understand. There have been whispers... All over the Earth, people wonder. Some have seen the actual site. Others have read accounts... a prophecy... a new age... Not since the Titans gave way to the Olympians have we seen such a thing. And if a life-eater speaks of it you know it's true. We are old. We know.

Your Jonathon fights his own internal battles. He reads his Scriptures and listens to sacred music. That one so wants to change the world. But wanting and doing are not the same. While his consort, Sarah, simply goes about each night doing what she can. Some people die. Some are saved. Maybe the world still inches toward salvation? Progress is slow, yet so is geological erosion. Yet the outcome is unmistakable.

I am The Khan, an old life-eater from the Plain of the Ganges. I lack the years of 'Papa' or 'The Lady Renate.' Perhaps in your Vampire Wonderland wanderings you've stumbled upon them? But my years are not measured in eons, though five thousand passes 'round the sun is long enough. And all that time I have never seen it. The sun, I mean... Imagine that.... Think on it. Think of what it's like for a Hindu soul, like me... So many wasted years spent in this body... one distorted lifetime stretching on toward God knows where. I have been walking down a vast unending gallery with no exits. How I hunger for release. How I want to move on. I can destroy myself. I can see the sun. I can stand in the fire. I can sublimate till the particles of my being are spread so fine any type of reversal is impossible and I blow away like smoke. But I will not do those things. I will not.

What I will do is tell you what I know. The Georgia Guidestones are real. The philosophy behind them is genuine too. Not that it will work. Not that humanity, or their version of it, will benefit, but the actions outlined on them will happen. In a few years approximately ninety two or ninety three percent of you will no longer exist. The worlds population will be rolled back to five hundred million souls. They have the means. They have the people. They're so brazen, they brag about it. You've been watching it for years. And while there'll be little flesh eating, something like 'zombies' will exist... for a little while....

What's this? You think you'll stop them? How will you do that? The truth is you'll be one of them. You'll put down your burdens and shuffle off like lemmings. The spark is already in you... the drug... the poison... the thing. Old people and young will all walk off, staring down at the ground, leading their little children, carrying babies. Remember The Time Machine? Remember the Morlocks and that piercing siren? Well, this time it'll be silent. They won't eat you. They'll just make you disappear. The acid will do that. There's an installation right near where you live. Probably been strolling by it for years. Don't worry. You'll see it. You'll jump right in.

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Saturday, December 31, 2016

The ice dance *Edward Scissorhands* Inspires Vampire Wonderland .. 12/30/16

There's an old shuttered fast-food place on a little highway, a few miles west of the north-east extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. People used to take it to the Poconos, but no more. That's why the burger joint is a relic. Weeds and vines slowly devour the old, asphalt parking lot... Deer come by to nibble them. Sometimes errant Jersey Devils fly over, on their way to the even vaster forests of the Alleghenies. The site looks dead and it mostly is dead, except for a trickling bit of energy from a forgotten buried power line that quickens an ancient, walk-in freezer in the back. They say there're lots of ghost lines like that, especially since the advent of computers. They send out the bills, after all. Maybe they want it this way?

Sometimes I watch the place at night. I see things step out from the woods. Do they see me? I don't know. I am a ghost. I'm still me, just minus my body. Will I always be here? Can't tell. I guess when you're one with eternity a few decades spent in among the trees isn't so bad. I can talk to them, you know. They have souls. What you see as one tree is only a part. Think of each tree as a footstep... each seed-line as a being. All the oaks in a grove might be one soul. Two or three souls might be intertwined. And the souls themselves evolve, as they absorb genetic material from others. Life is everywhere, both physical and otherwise.

There are bodies in that freezer... a few whole ones... a few carefully butchered parts. The bodies are in more or less fetal positions... arms hugging knees... ankles tied... wrists tied... all shaved and exfoliated... eyeballs cleanly scooped out of the sockets. Whether that happened before or after death I don't know. Couldn't 'taste' any souls around them. Maybe they didn't want me to.

People fall into tight fetal positions when they freeze to death, especially when they're shaved, blind and naked. Hell, every middle school kid knows that. Well they dooo.... Oh, and the bodies were encased in a thick 'shell' of smooth ice. In some places it was clear. In other places it was cloudy. The butchered parts were in heavyweight plastic bags twisted shut with big, thick rubber bands. A lot of the hand and forearm combinations were manicured. I mean lady manicured, with fancy nail polish and all. No rings. Somebody must have swiped the rings, because, you know, these days they all got rings. One bag has a credit card and a toenail clipper. I can tell what they are, 'cause they're right up against the plastic. Please know that it's dark in there. No lights in the freezer. I sense all this with spirit vision. If I concentrate on a thing it becomes vivid, like shining a little l.e.d. flashlight from the dollar store. I know what those things are, because I've wandered through the turnpike rest stop on the big highway smelling egg and sausage patty sandwiches and pink, sugary bubblegum.

I asked the tree-souls if they saw who did the killing and in some cases butchering. They said they didn't know. I don't think they were interested. But they could go on for hours about who cut down the trees up on the hillsides and what different varieties of bird shit smell like.... squirrel shit and bug shit too.

The other human ghosts around here I can talk to. There's a dead carnie woman who got her throat slit by another carnie back in the nineteen forties. She's OK. And I know a camper who was mauled to death by a bear and some other guy who just died, 'cause he messed up on his meds, or something like that and a few others. You know how it is. We meet up every once in a while... float around a little... Passing through each other is a real intimacy. Not a sex thing. Just an intimacy. One likes ice cream, so we pass through this premium ice cream plant up north of here. You may have eaten some flavors we've swam through. I'm told my 'essence' ethereal as it is, leaves a trace of Cantonese ginger. Although I myself have no idea what that fragrance is like.

Most days and nights the old burger joint sits quiet and forgotten. Orange, autumn sunlight filters through the trees.... Moonlight gilds the snow. A rabbit pads by.... a coywolf. There's little, if any, automobile traffic. Some places simply 'disappear.' But one soul knows it's here. The thing that brings the bodies knows.

He shambles through the brush. Does he carry them for miles?... How could we ever tell? The tree-souls might be willfully oblivious. Let them ruminate on bird shit and the scent of carbon-dioxide in the air. I think they're a bunch of communists.

But I saw him. I saw the beast, hunched like an ape, silently making his way one midnight, or perhaps it was three or four hours passed that time. He had a companion, a bound and gagged individual, thrown over his shoulder like a slaughtered, or about to be slaughtered animal. The eyes were opened wide, the head already shaved and naked in the weak, silvery darkness. How hopeless and forlorn.... Did I just say 'forlorn?' It's just that I can't help it. The magic of my 'situation' seeps in and takes me to another place. Soon I'll forget my mortal life and drift through shadows like a wraith. Believe me, I don't look forward to it. Maybe I'll pass to a loftier plane long before?

The fiend had a key. He put his trembling burden down in the dirt and fiddled with the corroded lock on a metal door covered in chipped gray paint. The victim moaned. He impatiently turned, delivering a most unsympathetic kick to its stomach. I think it cried, lying there on the damp earth, wrapped in a worn painter's cloth, facing death, or something worse. Then the beast went back to his task. He opened the door and dragged the baggage in. Then he closed it... soundlessly and quick.

I passed through two layers of plywood and a plate glass window to join them.

The demon rummaged through the pockets of his loose, dusty coat... more a cloak than a fitted garment. He took out a short, fat candle and lit it, powdering all with a feeble glow.
Then he grinned, exposing a mouth filled with sharp, broken teeth, the rest of his face veiled by lank, filthy hair. The still living body on the floor did nothing.... Then, perhaps five heartbeats later the grin disappeared, as with a smooth, practiced flourish, the ghoulish figure snapped the old painter's cloth off the victim, revealing a form so emaciated, gender was irrelevant. The thing on the floor mewed like a kitten, as the refugee from a penny dreadful unsheathed an old straightedge razor, got down on the cold surface and proceeded to make quick, whip-like hash marks all over the meager flesh on its body. Blood oozed up till the red glazed sacrifice looked like nothing so much as a honey roasted Chinese suckling pig.

After wheezing with glee the fiend rose to its feet before the victim died and tarried by the door watching the rats stream out from an assortment of hidey-holes to start their candlelit feast.

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Sunday, December 25, 2016


Jonathon speaks -

On this night of spiritual power I just wanted to say some things. Is this the first time I've said them? No, but these things are fundamental to my nature and I think most readers ignore them.

I am a life-eater and I have never been an instrument of evil. Those I take, those I 'cull,' are marked for 'the taking.' I simply provide a means for them to exit this plane of existence and sin no more. Their blood does not sustain me. It is the faithful execution of my duties that sustains me. It is the taking of the unworthy life.

And I did not chose this burden, though I bear it in dignity. It is not my faith, but the test of my faith...In the past people seemed to understand this. 'Vampires' as many insist in calling us, were valued allies. In many instances, the wicked knew we were coming for them. They made choices. Many preferred 'le bon mort' to all other deaths. They wept. They prayed. I prayed with them and remember almost all of them.  They'd say - Take  my soul back with a kiss, Lord... believing themselves in some way patched onto Moses the Redeemer .... But they're not him and I'm not God.... Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog.... That's what we say.

In later times, Europeans made a temporal, earthly kingdom out of faith. Every special thing, whether thought, or recorded scripture became a threat. Trembling boys from the universities were boiled alive in vats of pitch and sulfur for expressing views that have since become the hallmarks of humanity. So we were enemies, diabolical creatures meant to be crushed. I am not that and neither were my brethren.

Tonight, at this time of year, I walk the streets saving the despondent. Many are alone. Many are in pain. I do not kill. I preserve. A young mother and child, with none beside them, has an 'angelic' visitor. If that helps her accept the gift, so be it. They receive my kiss and the merest droplets of my blood saves them. Earthly ills vanish. Are they vampires? Of course not. Do you think I would do that? Before parting, I leave gifts... rare diamonds of great worth, plus the names of honest, reverent brokers who will buy them. It's easier than cash, although sometimes I give that as well. The quiet homeless man knows me... The hardworking soul trudging back from endless toil knows me.  Children in foster care know me. I especially like helping those nearing eighteen years of age. They feel so scared... so abandoned. Well, I let them know they are not.

Be 'the good friend.' You have the power. .... That's a redundant phrase. Everyone knows that. The thing is to act on it. We're all taught worthy things. Muslims hear their words. Christians hear theirs. Jews do too. Remember your 'words.' Let them become deeds.

We are all clean potential vessels for The Holy Presence. Let your souls ring like bells.

Look, I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also called Tomas de Macabea. I heard these words... the ones Moses said to the faithful after The Revelation at Sinai ... 'I have given you this day the Good Doctrine. Chose 'life' and live. Go and do Good Things'

Well, life is all about us.

Remember your 'words.' Go and make them live.

And one other thing before I take my leave. If, at times this tale dispenses blood and gore, please know that happens because many of you prefer it.
Strange as it may seem, I and those like me have learned to read 'stats.' We know what draws eyes and what doesn't.

Do I enjoy such episodes?... What do you think?

But I hope they keep you coming back to see such truths as this.

A joyous and meaningful Season of Miracles to us all.

God is a verb...

<PEACE of the Season, till next time>


click Peace of the Season to all to browse every part of Vampire Wonderland, but first we must click on the 'subscribe' rectangle toward the upper, right of the screen, because the site governors have changed things. supposedly there's a direct link, but I don't know it yet. when I do, I'll share.

click Peace of the Season ... to browse every part of Vampire Wonderland, but to do that we must also click on the rectangular 'subscribe' button toward the upper right of the screen. the governors of this site havs changed things. they say there's a direct link. I don't know it yet. when I do, I'll share.

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