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There are vampires scattered throughout creation. We have not seen them all. And the saddest of the lot are the lapsed 'Nobles.' They wander about like clueless animals, killing indiscriminately, striking dramatic poses and staring at candlelight. Centuries come annd go, yet they remain the same, wax figures occupying dank arcades off to the side of the grand parade. Have you ever heard an old, vinyl record endlessly repeating itself on an ancient turntable? Well, if you have, you know what I mean.
These are the beings who walk into the sun. These are the beings who sublimate deep down through the crust of the earth, till searing rivers of magma wash away the pain. But they've been having visions too. Many are returning to 'the fold.' 'Nobility,' among the life-eaters means something again. If you'd like to think of it as a mustering of the armies of Michael the Archangel, you'd be as accurate as any.
And in Philadelphia, Edith knows it's coming, so does the child vampire called Annie. Baylah is ready. The poker rooms of Atlantic City cannot satisfy all her needs. Papa, in his own laconic way, waits for it too. The elves and cherubs have been whispering of such a thing for decades. The Red Paint Folks join hands, forming circlles in the Jersey Pines , dancing and stomping like New World dervishes, each taking delight in the Great Day to Come.
Those gathered in the Four Seasons - Jerusalem (the suite really is quite tasteful) complete their extemporaneous writings. The quiet imam in the pale gray suit and collarless shirt collects them. He quickly pats them together into a neat, square pile, places it on a table and taps a butter knife (from the earlier buffet) against the outside of a crystal water glass, producing a series of pure, clear, melodious notes. Everyone grows quiet. He speaks. He says - I will read the first two, then we can pass them all around......And he begins.........I see a beautiful set table, heaped with every manner of mouthwatering delight. It has no beginning. It has no end. And it snakes its way throughout a world without frontiers or soldiers. Every person finds a seat at this special feast. Each one talking to his neighbors and listening to what they say in return............The imam scans the rest of the page and says - This is a long one. I'll go on to the another, just to save time.........The next one spoke of the Tower of Babel run backwards. God cheered their efforts. The different tongues became one. And the people accomplished great things..........
And so it went for the rest of that night. To be candid, the visions discussed there were nothing more than manifestations of the 'Scotosh Beedosh...' Open your eyes to what lies before you. Allow yourself to see the truth. None called for an homogenization of humanity. Each was free to follow the ways of his own people, like unique siblings in a large family. Like weary travelers returning home.......
Who knows? Maybe John Lennon was called back to be bard of this ...not a new beginning, but a re-beginning..I wonder what he and Renate are doing right now?
These are the beings who walk into the sun. These are the beings who sublimate deep down through the crust of the earth, till searing rivers of magma wash away the pain. But they've been having visions too. Many are returning to 'the fold.' 'Nobility,' among the life-eaters means something again. If you'd like to think of it as a mustering of the armies of Michael the Archangel, you'd be as accurate as any.
And in Philadelphia, Edith knows it's coming, so does the child vampire called Annie. Baylah is ready. The poker rooms of Atlantic City cannot satisfy all her needs. Papa, in his own laconic way, waits for it too. The elves and cherubs have been whispering of such a thing for decades. The Red Paint Folks join hands, forming circlles in the Jersey Pines , dancing and stomping like New World dervishes, each taking delight in the Great Day to Come.
Those gathered in the Four Seasons - Jerusalem (the suite really is quite tasteful) complete their extemporaneous writings. The quiet imam in the pale gray suit and collarless shirt collects them. He quickly pats them together into a neat, square pile, places it on a table and taps a butter knife (from the earlier buffet) against the outside of a crystal water glass, producing a series of pure, clear, melodious notes. Everyone grows quiet. He speaks. He says - I will read the first two, then we can pass them all around......And he begins.........I see a beautiful set table, heaped with every manner of mouthwatering delight. It has no beginning. It has no end. And it snakes its way throughout a world without frontiers or soldiers. Every person finds a seat at this special feast. Each one talking to his neighbors and listening to what they say in return............The imam scans the rest of the page and says - This is a long one. I'll go on to the another, just to save time.........The next one spoke of the Tower of Babel run backwards. God cheered their efforts. The different tongues became one. And the people accomplished great things..........
And so it went for the rest of that night. To be candid, the visions discussed there were nothing more than manifestations of the 'Scotosh Beedosh...' Open your eyes to what lies before you. Allow yourself to see the truth. None called for an homogenization of humanity. Each was free to follow the ways of his own people, like unique siblings in a large family. Like weary travelers returning home.......
Who knows? Maybe John Lennon was called back to be bard of this ...not a new beginning, but a re-beginning..I wonder what he and Renate are doing right now?
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