Wednesday, August 31, 2011


Baylah climbed up out of the sea. Her companion's Margate beach house was untouched. Most of the Jersey Shore came through unscathed. The hurricane was over and all were safe. That's if you only look to the surface. Some are scarred by different storms. In the Atlantic city area they inhabit an underworld, seperated from our more secure stratta by two inches of  a specially treated, tropical lumber. ....'Under the Boardwalk, down by the sea...On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be'......But what they don't tell you is that the baby is only seven month old. You know how, in cartoons, they always sweep  dust under the rug? Well, they do it in the real world too. Look at the mole people inhabiting long forgotten, never used subway tunnels. And what about the 'bums' squatting under seaside promenades. You know the ones I mean, those guys down in the cool, damp shadows peekin' up your little, skirty-skirt through the boards. Yeah, it's cool and damp now, but come back in November. Then it's hell.

Baylah goes down to that world. She visits the 'damned,' distributing gifts and favors like a Heavenly redeemer. A drop of her life-preserving blood here. A wad of twenties there. Maybe some hand-held video games for the little, dirt-caked kiddies. Right now, tonight for instance, she's already saved two queens (homeless mothers) and a set of one eyed jacks (half blind winos. That's a full house.

Some nights she'll rent a room up topside in a presentable, but cheap, off  the main drag, little motel, so the people she rescues can take a hot shower and pick out some clean warm clothes from an assortment she throws out on the bed. Other times she'll 'cull' an especially noxious street dude preying on these perpetual campers, just so things  will be a little more peaceful.

None a the outdoor set ever let on that they spot her as a vampire. If they do, they keep it to themselves. She wants to start gettin' 'em jobs. You know, like head washers in beauty parlors or lawn mower pushers. Then maybe move up to real estate salespeople and clinical dieticians. Who knows? That's how she is. But the companion tells her to be careful, since , in reality, she is a somewhat feared and misunderstood supernatural creature herself. But I think he's afraid some mob might burn down his house. Watches too many Frankenstein movies, if you ask me. She asks him if it's all right for her to take some of the cleaned up ones to an all-you-can-eat buffet. He just grimaces and shudders. She takes that as an 'OK.'

Vampirinos and vampirinas can be so good hearted. You watch. She'll start doin' more. You wait. You'll see. Come back tomorrow night and I'll fill you in on what's goin' on with Laila and Roland. Her father is takin' it real bad.




I'm guessing this will be a short post, mostly because I don't understand what's happening. They zap me through the ether like a rubber band. It must do something to my cellular make-up. But Papa says it's all right. No worse than stepping into an elevator on one floor and walking out some place else. It's not like I'm breaking through from one parallel universe to another. That's not it. He (Baylah too) just send me back and forth between Philadelphia, the Jersey Shore and the Holy City of Jerusalem. What can I tell you. Vampires just don't have the patience to bang things out on a keyboard. Doctor Franklin says they should get one of those set ups where you just speak and let the device transcribe it. He also claims to have visited a universe not far from here where they wear  tiny chips, little printed circuits, in their brains rendering everyone telepathic. They know who ate the last doughnut. They know who laid that fart, or who peed on the new ceramic tile floor instead of into the toilet. And none of the restaurants can have roaches, or waiters who 'play' with the food, 'cause they'd all know. He visits there with the help of certain delicate frequencies conjured up on his Great Armonica. Go back and look at some of our earlier post, like from the time when Jonathon was 'abducted' by the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau and they stripped him and probed him as he hung suspended in a vast, magnetic web (actually very good for the spine, or  so I;m told). And don't do like some readers did. They picked up a few clues from the text and went down to the old navy yard looking for camoflaged entrances to the underground facility.  The guys with the mirrored sunglasses don't like that. So unless you want to wind up a specimen locked in a glass box with like say the real Jersey Devil or some toothless, pancake-breasted old mermaid hag, stay on Delaware Avenue and don't turn into the site.

Brought back some of the 'contaminated' (in a good way) falafel balls from Jerusalem. Gonna feed 'em to a few real rotten bastids I know. Wanna see if it mellows them out a little. The Jerusalem vampire contingent says that it will. Yusef Islam (the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens) got me off pork. He says that as fellow Proclaimers of The Unity (single, indivisable Person of God) we should ingest only pure kosher/hallal nourishment. And it's cruel to slaughter hogs for food (one of the real reasons they eighty-sixed the pig meat), since the creature 'knows its own death.'....Cows and bulls, it seems. are too dumb, so I guess it's all right to take a bite out a the stoopid.

Baylah's back from her undersea adventure. Brought me this glittery, shiny belt decorated with shedded merfolk scales. Very opalescent, but where the hell could I possibly wear something like that?. I don't know. I guess I just gotta stop being so self-limiting. She's been playing Vampire Poker again too. Helped some really nice deserving people this time. She truly makes a difference, that one does. Baylah's a 'micro' like Papa. You know --- brighten the corner where you are. The Jerusalem contingent is what would be called 'macros.' They want to remake the whole world. Trouble is, the world likes being a scraggly, wrinkly, spiritually flabby, belching slob. I don't know.  Sometimes I think this planet gotta get dipped....

This has been me...wilkravitz. Please leave some comments. Please tell your friends. My vampire buddies are swell, but every so often I crave dialogue with plain old  pimply skinned mortals...the kind who still know what it is to take a dump...or mindlessly chug a huge, frosty pitcher a kool-aid on a hot  sweaty summer day.

Monday, August 29, 2011


So Laila Kardashian became a nubile, 'young' vampirina on a narrow, old cobbled lane, deep within the maze that is the walled city of Jerusalem. She is what the Philadelphia contingent (and many other 'chains' as well) call an elf. That is because her pubescent hormones are potent. The mortal spice filling her cells is hard to kill. So her ears will continue to grow for a bit, hence the pointy appearance. Fingers continue to lengthen too and her face will aquire an attractive , somewhat angular look. The fangs are needle-like and not at all that long.

Elves are not a particularly blood thirsty lot. Victims are rarely drained to the point of death. They make do with a plethora of quick, short drinks, flitting about like mosquitos. That's right...flitting. didn't we review this last night? I cannot remember. Perhaps we merely mentioned it on Twitter? But the 'young' ones, the elves and cherubs, can fly. The magic settles differently on them. Adult vampires tend to sublimate through the physical universe. That's how they pass from point to point. A few have attempted flight and some of the particularly old ones can, if pressed, take to the air. But it's not their thing. They stick to the sublimation.

What's his name...Roland, I think it is, just demonstrated a take off. She laughed. She giggled. That Laila girl thinks it's funny. but she likes her new cheek bones though. He took her back into this little stucco courtyard and did a simple take off again. She sort of got it right this time.

Elves are adept at taking off from secluded locations. They usually rise straight up into the sky, often behind tall buildings. You know how it is. Prying human eyes and all that. Dark clothing helps camoflage their nightly jaunts. And yes, they have shown up on You Tube, but most people chalk it up to some kind of computer generated magic instead of ascribing it to the genuine variety. Look at her. I think she's figured it out. A regular Wendy, that one is. Get a load of her smile. She loves it. But, uh oh, they sped over her house. She saw it. She looked down. Roland caught her. He grabbed her just in time. She didn't fall, but it was close, because she saw her worried father just as he looked up.

Severed ties destroy some new born vampires. Some try to live in both worlds. But the outcome is never good. So he took her to a cozy crypt outside the Ottoman wall and held her as she rocked and moaned and cried......
also...if you like   you'll enjoy my literate, adult take on the genre

Sunday, August 28, 2011


Papa sits out back of the Chestnut Hill house with Edith. She came back. It's not that she doesn't return to The Pines every few weeks. They're only forty miles away. But she feels things. She knows. So she sits there eating her tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat bread. She sips her sweet tea (her South Jersey, Piney home is more like Dixie than anywhere else. they even grow yucca palms outside shore houses near the coast) and talks. Her twenty eight thousand year old dinner partner nods. They get along really well. If you looked at them, you'd take her for his aunt or something. He appears to be about thirty two or thirty three years old. That's how many human years he had when they brought him over. So he does not partake of any mortal nourishment. His 'meal' consists of a 'sea grass' aroma candle. If you read this on a regular basis, you know how much store the vampires set on fancy smells. Edith or one of the Red Paint people who came back with her (two older men), pick them up for him at the Target, or CVS.

What? You want to know who else is in the house? Well, let's see. They got a few 'elves' (children on the cusp of puberty) runnin' round, plus a flock a 'cherubs' (new born to toddler vampires) flyin' all over the place. They ain't got no wings, but that don't stop 'em from flitting 'round real good. Elves is good fliers too. The older vampires not so much. One a the elves, Roland, I think it is, went over to the Holy Land to help bring peace, love annd brotherhood to the world. Papa 'transported' him, otherwise he'd a have to hitch a ride on a whale. Actually, they sink their teeth into the hide. That's how vampires, I mean life-eaters cross the sea. But this elf didn't want to go that way, so Papa just went boink and shot him right over there. He disappeared on Glengary Road (Their street in Chestnut Hill) and fizzled into existance on a busy  corner  one evening near The Western Wall of the ancient Temple Mount.

Papa helps the contingent they got over in Israel and Ishmael (his name for the Palestinian areas in what used to be Transjordan). But when you get down to it, he takes a more micro view a things. Sure, he wants  to improve humanity, only in his heart he likes to do it one son of a bitch at a time. Yes, he did 'broadcast' that 'I am the Unity' dream to about six hundred million mortals. But he only did it because his son, his vampire son, Jonathon wanted it. Not that the spruce. little, thosand year old Andalucian ever said anything. A father just knows.

Doctor Franklin is comin' over in a bit. I think Papa plans to take him out to visit the manta ray people on Europa (Jupiter's largest water world...for real). They swim around spoutin' advanced philosophies and all. That's a thing Papa does. Takin' his friends out to meet 'em, I mean.

Oh, come on! I can't believe you are askin' that. You know who I am, or at least the regulars do. It's me. It's Zebulon, your faithful disembodied spirit. And you will have to excuse me. But I wanna float over to that all-you-can-eat Golden Corral place they got runnin' 'round on Route 309. All that chompin' and slurpin' goin' on makes me feel like I'm eatin' that stuff. Annd sometimmes I do miss the sensation.

Oh, yeah, before I forget. Baylah is playin' vampire poker tonight. It's her way a helpin' them poor folk they got bunkin' under the Boardwalk pull things back together after the hurricane and all. She is a regular Atlantic City Angel, that one is.....Google VAMPIREWONDERLAND  and the keyword VAMPIRE POKER. You'll find out what it means. Now lemme go get me some crunchy little pieces a  that tasty popcorn shrimp.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

BAYLAH (our Beyonce look a like vampire) CONFRONTS THE STORM

I'm all alone. My human companion has gone back to the city (Philadelphia). Even the housekeeper left. She knows about me, but I gave her the usual gift of vampire hush money, a small vial of my blood. Her husband is sick. She's going to mix it in with his Spaghetti-O's. It'll help. I can guarantee it. The street is deserted. All the streets are desereted. The stores are closed. The restaurants are shuttered. Even Casels, a legendary 'see and be seen' gourmet (translates as high priced, but at least it's convenient) supermarket is sealed tight. Looks like the set for The Truman Show, but on a stormy, wind-blown late afternoon.

A few sticky characters are still around. They wear coveralls, like they work for some contractor or something. And they drive plain panel vans with easy to slap on or pull off magnetic signs. Locals know the score. Nobody stops them. Maybe the cops will...maybe. They look for easy pickins. Doors with cheap locks, flimsy windows. I just saw a guy come out of the house across the street carrying a high-end flat panel television. He had it all wrapped  up in a Dora the Explorer sheet, so I know he was snooping around in the little girl's room. Got to make a note to 'take him out' when this is all over. I have his scent. He won't be hard to find....but, then again, he had problems too.......Maybe I'll just scare him a little.

I can see the ocean through the big windoows in the living room. Some of the spray makes it all the way up to the heavy, double-paned glass. A thick, sandy film begins to grow.  Soon all the houses will be scoured by it. Hope the glass doesn't break. We should have storm shutters...But we don't....That's what insurance is for. Everybody gonna be remodeling and redecorating around here in a few days. Can you say 'tray ceilings'?

The giant waves attract me. The foamy, gray water is 'vampire water.' Ever see reruns of the old gothic Dark Shadows soap opera from the late '60's? Remember how the show came on? Well, this looks like that, only I'm listening to Tracy Chapman instead of that weird organ or synthesizer music or whatever they had back then. I got the fireplace going. It looks nice. The orange glow plays along the mirror-like ebony surface of the grand piano. I am burninng all my possessions. should this thing turn truly major, I do not need outsiders (insurance people and the like) asking  a lot of questions. Besides, it's easy for a vampire to 'collect' things. I'll be all right. And my companion is quite wealthy.

So soon, when it gets a little darker, I'll slide open the smoked glass doors and walk out onto the terrace. It's bare now. The gardener came to stow away all the furnishings. He pocketed a little knick-knack. My companion saw him do it. We don't care. Let him give it to his wife. I hope she likes it.

My kind need no oxygen. Breathing is just a habit...a reflex. It's comforting, but I can do without. So I'll walk into the roiling sea and pass beneath the surf.. Then I'll continue going, down into the depths, till the monstrous waves roll by like clouds far above my head. Cool water will caress my smooth, naked body. Lidless eyes will mark my passing. If my telepathic abilities are up to par.... (and why should I doubt them?) a curious mermaid (it's true, usually the females comme out first) will venture forth to meet me. And I will  swim with the merfolk till the heavens  all calm down.

Praise be to they who spread the balm of peace in the Holy Land. And may the frightened mortals escape the wrath of the storm......

Friday, August 26, 2011


Where am I? What is this? I feel like a sharp, sweet, blade chipped from a piece of rock candy has cut into my heart. I am opened and you can share my thoughts. Walking through the late night alleys of the Sacred City. I see darkness. I see shadows. I see bright security lights. I see soldiers. Is it always like this? Yes, though I have never witnessed it before. This is mmy  first first alone time.....And my feet know where to go.

I am Laila, the daughter of an Armenian Orthodox cleric. My father is a truly reverent man. And he has taught me well. Not formally. There were no lessons. I simply absorbed his teachings as I lived. My coins find their way to the poor box. My prayers waft up to Heaven (we are in Jerusalem, after all). Yet I search for something more. Please allow me to play a part in all this. Please lift me up from the choir and let me sing songs of my own.

I run my tongue along my eye teeth, willing them to grow. I wear dark colors. I wear black. My father approves of that, for at fifteen I am no longer a girl. I pretend to hear voices.....No, maybe I really do hear them. They tell me where to go. A being whispers in my ear. I call him 'Papa.'....... Not that he has taken the place of my own sainted father, only as a name. Is he but a great puppet master? Well, so what if he is. Some people think that God plays that role too.

My feet want to race down a black, deep shaft. I cannot see the steps, but I know just where they are, though Papa does not permit this. He pulls me. He calls to me. He gently pushes me and I respond. There is a door, a thick, old, wooden slab. I press my fingers upon its surface. It opens silently. Did I push it? I do not know.

Now I am in a courtyard. The old residences of this city are arranged that way... a blank face to the street.... a private sanctum behind closed doors. I have seen movies, old Hollywood films. The housekeeper watches them om a small, black and white television. Zorro lived in a house like this, so did Judah Ben Hur....... and so did a certain one called 'Jonathon.' I do not know him, but Papa shares his name.

I sit down on the edge of a tinkling fountain. Tiny moonlit ripples sparkle in the dark. I belong here...and I wait...... Then a slim, 'young' being floats down from above. His bare feet find purchase on the smooth, cool stones. I look up into a face  that has a haunting angular look, like a Peter Pan I've seen in animated cartoons (blame the housekeeper). This juvenile life-eater sits down next to me and takes my hand. His shoulders have an ivory glow. I think he is going to kiss me, but he does not. And the candy, sweet  blade shows me his name..... Roland......he is Roland........The one called Papa has 'sent' him all the way from his seat in The City of Brotherly Love to 'rescue' me. I smile. He laughs quietly. Then he says my name. He says 'Laila.' I nod, as he squeezes my hand and leads me deeper and deeper into the shadows...

Fifteen.....I am fifteen years old......And now, I shall be that age forever................

Yet I am still my father's daughter...........ah, the Old City of Jerusalem.....a place where ancient souls are born anew...............

Thursday, August 25, 2011


The Armenian Quarter is a beautiful, though mysterious evocative warren of Byzantine streets and narrow, romantic byways. Their cathedral dates from the twelve hundreds and exhibits a wondrous blend of eastern and western influences. Interior illumination rains down from a multitude of oil lamps suspended from the ceiling. Congregants sit on sumptuous oriental carpets, absorbing the haunting channts of young seminarians, a magical, spiritual experience. The gates of the district close at sundown and remain sealed till the dawn.

Laila lives within these walls, rarely venturing out. True, she has visited Hurva Square in The Jewish Quarter. Maybe she's tasted a hot chocolate or two at one of the outdoor cafes, but always in the company of her father and only in transit to and from her physicians. Yet she's managed to imbibe something of the outside world. via dog-earred magazines found in the waiting room (her father dozes or prays).She loves People Magazine. She idolizes the comically bogus miraculous Twilight threesome. And now, due to her unannounced nocturnal well-meaning errand, her prayers have been answered. She knows that they exist. Vampires are real. She has seen one. She has smelled him. And her father was there when it happened {see yesterday's post}.

So things have changed. Maybe due to the tiny drops of vampire blood supplied by Jean-Michel? Perhaps those gifts did more than preserve her life? It could be they've transformed her. Into a vampire? No...but into something close. She slips out of her home. The walls are thick. And who would even suspect? She knows how to compress her body and squeeze through impossibly narrow spaces, escaping the limitations of her suffocating citadel and melting into the dark.....a thin, young waif, dark haired and  wide-eyed, dressed in black and searching for deliverance. She silently makes her way through the inky shadows, attempting to hide...But there are those who can see in the dark....and one draws ever closer......

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


The Chevalier Jean-Michel feels his guilt. He too is a noble vampire after all and his daliance with Sarah was wrong. So he retreats into an old Christian chapel, a photogenic ruin actually, from the days when Muslims and Western Christians fought for control of this place and he prays and he prays and he prays. The religious sanctuary is buried deep underground beneath Ottoman  ruins. The caretaker knows he is a vampire, but he allows him to enter. Tiny blood gifts furnished by the french knight help with his daughter's asthma. Although the chapel was originally built by Roman Catholics, the current overseer is Armenian Orthodox. It's like that in the Holy Land. Dogma tends to drift. Teachings often mingle. So the thin, severe cleric with the pointed goatee stands off to the side. He pretends that his eyes are closed, but they are not, not really. Jean-Michel knows the man is watching him, but he does not care. These sessions can go on for hours. Knights are used to this. In the old days squires often spent the night before their investitures praying on their knees. And those cold, flagstone pavers were hard.

Water drips down from somewhere up above. The slow leak keeps time with the chanting, as primitive frescos of cartoonish saints appear to vibrate in the feeble, flickering light from  fat, yellow candles. But there is another aspect to this rite, an observance from Jean-Michel's vampire teachings. This is his time. This is the night. The monthly 'hunger' is upon him. He who must be 'culled' cowers in a corner. A greasy, leather gag stifles his cries. Tight thongs bind his wrists and ankles. His body looks pale and weak in the sooty gloom. Tears fall from his pleading eyes. A child killer, that is what he is. The victim was his own daughter, slaughtered to save his family honor. Her crime? She laughed and talked with a boy known to be a Jew. She walked with him to a place that sells frozen custard. Is such the norm in his community? Probably not. But he came here from Somalia with hopes of becoming a martyr. And he brought his family with him. Why? How can one explain the events that pepper this place? All things happen here. Scripture is still being written.

So the man will get his chance. He will become a martyr, but to fangs instead of sharp, rusty metal a kiss instead of a bomb. The chanting stops. The victim trembles, releasing a warm puddle of urine. The cleric shudders. He lowers his partially closed eyes, but still he sees. He sees it all....and so does his daughter, there to bring him coffee, a thoughtful remedy for a sore throat. She knows these subterranean chambers. She knows how to slip inside and does so silently. Yet this night is different from all other nights. And she sees things, new things, strange things such as she has never experienced before.

There is no sound. Even the air is still. The candlelight wanes, draping the saints in shadows, as our tall, sturdy, thosand year old knight contorts the neck of his victim, exposing the artery and breaking the skin. Did he know that she was there? Was he lost in faith and rapture? Did he care?

But that night, just before the dawn, the fifteen year old daughter of Father Kardashian failed to return home And ninety minutes later they discovered her empty bed...............

Tuesday, August 23, 2011


Peace be unto you, oh best beloveds. Know this...I am of the true jinn. My palace/recepticle once rested on a silken pillow housed within an ivory shell, nestled in a treasure box belonging to non other than Solomon the King, Wisest of the Wise, Great Keeper of God's Secrets and Benevolent Master of me and my kind. Do not mistake me for one of the imposters flitting about the cerulian skies above the Divine Portal. My core is pure. My 'heart' is true. And what I share with you is real.

The world has changed since Papa sugared the dreams of one tenth of humanity. Did he do it on his own, or was he but a vessel for a Greater Power? Ah, but these things are just details, tiny fragments of the Celestial Puzzle solved only by fools.

Yet growth, spiritual growth, I mean, can be detected. It wafts up from the bodies of the fleshy ones (mortals) like early morning mist from a Kashmiri lake.  They do things a bit differently now. Would you like to know how I can tell? Well, here is one way, a concrete way, that you can  easily see.. The number of collisions between those mechanized sedan chairs they call automobiles has decresed.  And those in line waiting to purchase exotic delectibles at food emporiums smile more. Neighbors are less often cursed. Alms flow freely to those in need. No one sneers at fat people. I could go on and on.....

But they still lie...a little...Ask them to recount the dream. They will tell you - What dream?......For they are loath to step out from the herd, although the direction of the charge has been changed.

Papa sits on his chair, in the commodious den of his petit manor house in The City of Brotherly Love (Chestnut Hill, to be exact). An apt place. But his essence, his soul,  flies free, piercing the Eternal Membrane  and splashing through the wavelets of The Never Ending Sea. Is he the only created personality in that place? No, others swim there too. You may be slicing through those waters right now and not even know it. But tonight we speak of Papa. We tell a bit of the tale of our twenty eight thousand year old (Earth years, that is) life-eater, a vampire to some, a life saver to others.

The dream has been dreamed by many in The Holy Land as well. And the cause of peace has been advanced. Are others among the demi-angelic-host (vampires) still messing with those falafel balls? Well, I suppose they are. Every little bit helps. you know how it is....Brighten the corner where you are.....Every tiny effort reaps a bounty all its own.

Jonathon is happy. So is Sarah. And the 'anthem of love' created by the resurrected John Lennon, a somewhat incredulous Bob Dylan and Yusef Islam (formerly known as Cat Stevens) sells even better at ninety-nine cents per download.

Yet Edith, the Piney 'seer,' continues to smell trouble. The imposter jinns are still out there. And some people attempting to purchase exotic delectibles in glittering food emporiums still butt in line...


this is not our usual bog. just a short bit of info. the A.C. area shook. walls vibrated. no tsunami (we hope). BAYLAH felt it. the vamps in philly felt it too. BAYLAH was ready to run. her boyfriend has a car with blacked out windows in his garage. they were all set to drive inland.

vampires especially fear disasters that stike during the day. if a tsunami hits at night, they just go with it and let it drag them out to sea. they don't need oxygen. they'll swim, or walk back along the bottom. they would survive that.

the elves and cherubs in philly were all shaken up. but Papa creates something like a vulcan mind meld and he has them all calmed down now. edith, or Jersey Piney 'seer' (she's back with the philly contingent) suspects more to come. she smiles knowingly annd chuckles quietly. but that one does enjoy her drama, so I don't know if she really sees this, or if it is just wishful thinking.

the mole people living in the old unused subway tunnels beneath the city are worried. And a few sloppy loo-loos are acting kind of crazy, but they always look a little weird to me.

I'm telling you, browse through our older posts. we have about 320 of them. you'll learn a lot. we got paranormal info busting out the wazoo.

my new rolex submariner is all right. and that guy at the somers point diner knew a lot about Bono. no cracks in the margate house (beach block too). I was all set to run. Hell, I seen that movie where teoni leoni and her dad get flattened by that wave. you know what 'coastal frankenstein' says---tsunami baaaaddddd.......

more REAL STUFF coming later.....provided I don't get pulverized and crushed under a mound of wave driven debris.


COULDNT POST MUCH TONIGHT. BAYLAH WON ONE OF HER POKER TOURNAMENTS! She bought me a Rolex Submariner (surgical steel, 'presidential'  bracelet) at this shop in the casino. She made 'vampire eyes' at him and we got a good price. MUCH BETTER THAN NEW SNEAKERS OR TRIPS TO THE ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT BUFFETS! I like the semi-precious, solid quartz crystal too. I think James Bond wears one just like it.....(who knows, maybe if we get enough hits,  she'll get me an aston-martin too!!??)

I told you this wasn't really fiction. We only pretend that it is to foil certain anti-life-eater organizations.

Will attempt to channel more of the goings on in Jerusalem tomorrow. But I think I saw a quick mention of the events in question on ANDERSON COOPER.

Please browse through our earlier posts (we have hundreds of them) in order to gain a feel for our material and a deeper understanding of the vampiric condition....THE REAL VAMPIRIC CONDITION.

Gee, I love the way this bulky timepiece sits on my wrist.....gotta go. Meeting people at the Point Diner in Somers Point (minutes from A.C.) for coffee and cake.......

Such is Life In The Downbeach........

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Pixilated Goings-On In Old Jerusalem.....why? it could happen.

So Jonathon wants to kill that vampire Frenchman and Sarah is so contrite (satisfied and contrite) she spends all her time sneaking into hospitals and giving little, life saving droplets of her blood to sick children (from all faith and cultural communities) languishing in sick beds all over this magical city. A few of them think she's one of the X-Men (or X-Women).

Our Andalucian life-eater sublimates through the byways of Zion looking for Jean-Michel. What will he do should he find him? Who knows? You know how these vampires are, all impulse and dramatic bluster. Probably just shatter a lot a plate glass windows (providing the psycho-kenetic juices are up to par), make a mess a throbbing, sub-sonic grunts, sit down, talk, share a big fat juicy victim and man-hug their way to a new beginning. They ain't fools. It's like the mafia. Nobody wants to score a hit if they can help it...or possibly be identified. Because what comes around goes around (did I say that right?). Sure Jonathon was hurt. Sarah is connected to him in more ways than one, both vampirically and physically. It gets extremely complicated. Good thing vampires are immortal, or they'd all have hemophilia.

But the jinns are still at it. That old witch got 'em all fired up. Lifted dessicated bone-puppets out of two thousand year old graves, dancin' 'em around the Mount of Olives like ancient Judean Howdy Doodies or something. A bunch a German and Filipino tourists on a special visit start throwin' up they hands and prayin' and singin' that it is the Second Coming, not to mention the Hasidic contingent there to visit some rabbi's grave, who start gallopin' 'round like demented Blues Brothers there for the first personnal appearance of the  actual, true, get-him-while-He's-hot Messiah......A kid from Toronto put 'em all on You-Tube. They got a lot a vampire-magic shit on You-Tube.....Remember Bob? (long-time regulars will know who I mean)...Remember all that stuff out behind The Olive Garden and out front of that big, Broad Street temple in Philadelphia? (ditto that long-term crap). People see that stuff, but they don't believe any of it. Some of 'em do. But most chalk it all up to some kind of special effects, or optical illusions. You gotta have some BIG shit to impress people now-a-days......That's where the universal dream comes in..........

Every tenth person clinging to this spinnin' ball a dirt woke up from the same dream...They heard it, a voice calling in the dark, soothing and comforting (but still a little scary, 'cause they was driftin' through the dark and all) saying----- I am The Unity like unto there is none else......No 'thing' can seperate Me from thee.....I am the Creed For All Creation.....I am the One True Shining Faith......I am the Pure and Simple Thing.....I am the True Road Home....(and here He seemed a little bit dissapointed and hurt) I am One, so you are one............But as the voice faded out, they saw a rapidly flashing image of all mankind, plus some unusual bastids from what I guess are other planets. Then it was over and they all peed the bed (if they were sleeping in beds)....And that was it....Few of 'em said anything (I guess they were embarrassed 'bout the wet sheets and all)...But they all knew it...They all remembered what happened......And little by little they started acting different to each other.

That's when they found the two kids, the ones with the strange disease, the Israeli one and the 'Ishmaeli' one. Well, actually certain parties 'produced' them a couple days ago. But this is when it really started to get big. Hell, even Brian Williams came to town.............

Saturday, August 20, 2011

BAYLAH, our Beyonce vampire look-a-like, SPEAKS FROM THE CRYPT

OK, you saw the title, so you know it's me. I've been sublimating back and forth between Margate, at the Jersey Shore and Jerusalem. Try to imagine what that does to my psyche. It's about 4:20pm here (Margate), so I'm still undisposed. That means I'm hiding from the light. But don't thing of me as holed up in some hard little stone vault buried deep in the oozing, mildew sand. This is 'The Downbeach' honey, Atlantic City's Malibu meets The Hamptons. The only things buried deep in the oozing, mildew sand are whacked racketeers and used Kotex. You know how messy mortal girls can get. Believe me, that is one thinng I do not miss. Although I am told that 'noxious' vampires relish such occurances.

At this  time, I am ensconced in a big, king-size bed, atop a high-end, five star hotel quality, pillow topped mattress. Special room darkening draperies block out the afternoon fire. Was I sleeping? Yeah, mostly. But right now I am watching something on HGTV. And I got this really sweet aroma candle going. My boyfriend (the rich financier) didn't have to change a thing. The master bedroom was already set up like this. High rollers sleep in a lot too. We were made for each other. That's him spooning next to me. Looks like Mister Big, don't he? He's so cute. Sometimes I forget and take a little nip. But he don't mind. He just yelps and rubs his butt...smiles a lot too, cause he knows I'm gonna give him a 'special' kiss to make up for it.

If you are familiar with the area, you probably know our house. It's the big one on the beachblock with the...No, wait. I am not going to tell you. But if you walk down the beach, look for the palace with the closed in master bedroom...the one with all the curtains. You'll spot it. You know how they open up all the rooms to 'the view' 'round here? Well this the only one that don't seem least during the sky fire time.. God!! I wish that ice cream man down by the beach would shut up. 'Fudgie-wudgie, fudgie-wudgie!!!'...he yells that all day...Gonna get the maid to throw a bucket of dog piss on him. But you know, sneaky-like, so he don't know where it came from.

We been thinking 'bout that little Andy Dick storm blowing 'round. Who the hell cares what he says? What, you mean to tell me folks feel threatened by him?....Still, I do feel sorry for the shriveled, little thing. He probably wanted that radio show real bad.....Reaaaallll baddddd.....could taste it maybe. And it is not like certain 'religious' hypocrites don't talk like that all the time. What do you think they say over Thanksgiving dinner?....Other special 'holiday' get togethers too......Look, Mel Gibson seems to be squeezin' back in again. Of course he got a note from his doctor. Who knows, maybe Hitler and half a Europe were bi-polar too?.....I miss Amy Whinehouse....She woulda made a good vampire.....Oughta have vampires stationed in all the emergency rooms. You know, to save the well suited ones.....such a waste.......So forgive that runty, little comic....He can't help it...He was born that way......And  The Biblical New Year's comin.....Time for forgiveness, lovin' everybody, eatin' honey (for a sweet year) and all that....I know. My boyfriend is one of 'em.

Now let me go back to sleep for a couple hours. We're playing poker tonight (Texas Hold 'em), over at The Borgata. And I ain't gonna let that white, old, hunch-backed, Jew, bitch beat me no more!!..........Well, you know what I mean.............................

Friday, August 19, 2011


Jonathon waited until Sarah came home. They were lodging in an eighteenth century villa just outside the walls of the Old City. Zorro could have lived in the place. It had that much Mediterranean charm. You know what I mean, all hand-laid tiles and stucco. The witch who owned it (she claims descent from a certain practitioner from Endor, once named in the Bible) took out all the electricity, so no light bulbs...only candles, big, fat, buttery, beeswax candles. I guess witches look better by candle light...vampires too.

He met her out in the patio. It was cool. You know how it gets right before dawn. The breeze picks up. A few itchy birds begin to sing. She saw him sitting in the shadows and stopped. He could smell the guilt. He held out his hand. She sat down next to him and took it. Her mind raced. She whispered something. He said - Don't...Don't...It is not necessary.....,.And he kissed her hand. She began to cry. He held her. She sobbed. He soothed her. He kissed her. She trembled and kissed him back. Then he got up, scooped her into his arms and carried her down to their chamber. The old witch chuckled with delight, as she fastened all the doors, securing the place against the daylight.

They slept in a deep, cool vault, once used to store spices traded via caravan to desert shieks far to the south. A rich, heady fragrance seeped out from the thick, rough plastered walls. He carefully put her down atop a nest of soft, silken feather beds, and undressed her in preparation for pleasures yet to come. The smell of the Frenchman rose up from her skin, but he ignored it, nibbling away at its essence, as he kissed her most hidden, sensative  places.

And the old witch danced and cackled naughtily, as she watched it all unfold upon the reflective surface of an old, broken blue tile, taken from the tomb of a lesser known prophet. Did they know of her intrusion?...Did they care? 

He rocked her gently with a slow, sure strength gained from years (mortal ones, that is) on horseback. And she held him tight, bestowing wondrous gifts of her own. His 'eighteen year old body' against her 'twenty nine year old body.' His thousand year old soul melding with her much younger one.

But the witch was a crafty old thing and she 'whispered' news of this coupling to the Chevalier Jean-Michel, as he lay cold and alone in his own crypt. Lurid images crept into his dreams. And a hunger for revenge began to build. 

The ersatz 'jinns' flitting about the Divine enclosure laughed sharp, metallic laughs, as they kissed the lips of the demented witch, carrying away her purloined secrets and then breathing them into other ears..... 

Thursday, August 18, 2011


Renate is disoriented. She fails to understand how humanity can ignore such important information. Remember, we only pretend that this is fiction. Our plane, our universe is known as the 'field of lailacs,' for we were among the first to evolve flowering plants (at least in this part of the cosmic consciousness). The earliest vampires fell into our realm from another place. As far as I know (this is still Zebulon) it had no name. There was no need. All communication was telepathic. Words just clogged things up.

But the Lady Renate was not the first to manifest in our world. Two or three generations preceeded her, although they are believed to have passed on to another part of the forest, so she is the eldest (in all probability) of the breed. Yet questions remain. For if the vampiric line goes back a bit before her nativity, then what explains the Neanderthal vampires? Did they fall through a cosmic hernia too?  When questioned, she just laughs and laughs and laughs. Her eyes sparkle like diamonds. He teeth seem shaped by the finest  ivory carvers of old Cathay. Her raven tresses reflect colors here-to-fore undiscovered. She has friends on other planets. Indeed, planets are as islands to her.......

Wait.....I cannot tell you more.....I can't...I can't...I can' souled 'jinns' nibble at my ether. They weaken me. They attempt to destroy me. But 'this one' is strong. this one will not disappear. this one will endure.....

So permit me to sublimate into the Akoshic Records, where I can be safe.Oh, but the imposter jinns are there to, yet they can work no physical magic in that place. None of us can. We just float and endure and read and learn.

Jonathon is beginning to resent the French Knight. He'd really like to destroy him, but as a noble, worthy Sephardic Vampire from old Andalucia,  he knows that's out of the question. Does he blame Sarah for this little bit of shadow love?...No...he does not. He blames himself. Yet his allies feel differently. Papa (always in cerebral congress with his life-eater son) wants to truss him up and gift him to the same Vatican hangers on reponsible for his centuries long imprisonment. Let them study this self-important, Gallic speaking poser. See how he fares in the inescapeable dungeons of Rome.

Oh, the resurrected John Lennon and the others are beginning to get feedback on their video. Lots of down loads (at ninety-nine cents a clip). True, the first million were free, but movements need money, even peace movements....I'll tell you more about the 'universal dream,' know, the 'I am The Unity like unto there is none else...Nothing can seperate Me from thee' stuff next time......I'm sorry, but it's so restful here in the Akoshic Records....I can't focus....I cannot think.......I can just 'be.'.....I just 'am.'

Wednesday, August 17, 2011


Zebulon speaks. I have been oozing in and out of our neighboring parallel universes. It's easy to do that here in Jerusalem, for this divine cooprdinate serves as a portal, a hernia, if you will, allowing souls and materials from one plane to seep into the next. Do they have vampires in those places? Of course they do, but I like the centaurs best. Can you imagine what their public toilets are like? Ass wiping poses a bit of a problem, but that's what the little satyr restroom attendants are for.

I also hear from those with various forms of mandibles and digestive tracts that the pizza is shitty wherever you go. And Cats is still playing in a realm two cosmic vibrations away, but with real talking and singing felines. Bette Midler is president of the United States in one reality and cans of  Chicken of the Sea tuna fish are used as money in another...counterfeits (did I spell it correctly?) contain dead human flesh in place of the more usual albacore.

So if you're of a mind to go back and compare episodes, you might notice that certain pearls along the strand don't exactly fit in with all the rest and some of the pieces of our puzzle don't 'jig' with the others. Does that reveal a fundamental flaw? Certainly not. It merely indicates an unavoidable level of extra-parallel contamination. You know how individual pieces of slop in the refrigerator suck up stinks from all the other slops? Well, cosmic reality is a lot like that too. Ask Renate. She knows. So does famed Australian kiddie singing sensation, The Wiggles. And I think Gilbert Gottfreid is comprized of a bit of trans-parallel genetic material too. God isn't a good copy editor. What can I tell you. But he does write a good story.....

A group of Holocaust survivors met with a steeering committee made up of vampires and other extra-ordinary types. They applaud the quest for Mideast peace, but fear that all this Israel-Ishmael brotherhood might water down the distinct character of their religious homeland. After all, Ishmael already has dozens of arrows in his quiver, while Israel has only one. Many states fly the Ishmaeli banner, but the tallis flag stands all alone. And certain supporters of the yet-to-be Ishmaeli state fail to see the sense in a settlement recognizing Hebrew aspirations. They never had to do that before. No one did. It's tradition. It's history. It's the way things are.......Looks like we're gonna have to contaminate plenty more felafel balls to circumvent this one.

And speaking of felafel balls...Sarah's getting mighty chummy with her new, centuries old, left over Crusader, vampire Frenchman,  Jean-Michel. Midnight swims in the storied pool of The King David Hotel. Pre-dawn blood nibbles on the Mount of Olives. Look, none other than Queen Beringeria herself had a thing for him, so what's a little auburn haired night-sweetie from Philadelphia supposed to do?

Ah, but the night air is peppered with our ersatz 'jinns.' Who are they? I don't really know. What are they? Well, they're a lot of things. Jonathon can feel them. He senses them in tiny currents and eddies moving through the mikvah (baptismal pool) where he takes his monthly post feeding purification bath. And he shivers as he steps up onto the worn stone paving surrounding the clear, fresh water, allowing himself to be enveloped by the crisp, clean sheets........

Tuesday, August 16, 2011


This is Papa talking. I know I don't usually address you all in this manner, but I have something to say. Jonathon and Sarah and all the others over in The Divine Font known as Jerusalem are fools, blessed fools, but fools just the same. I know. I understand these things. Remember, recorded history is but a 'bargain matinee' to me. I saw Europe covered in ice. I've been 'intimate' with Neanderthals. And no, giant sloth meat does NOT taste just like chicken.

Why are they fools? It's simple. Humanity is  not ready. Sure, mortals spout religious jargon, but they don't really mean it. Am I generalizing? Of course. Granted, there are tiny islands of enlightened souls scattered over the nooks and cranies of this world. Still, their numbers are small. And evil people seek to kill them. Beware those who style themselves 'jinn.' They flit through the souks and byways of The Sacred Civitas, laughing at the holy sites and those who frequent them. The dreams and desires of others are as  trash to them. And they have power...deep power. Can they destroy a life-eater? Well, why do you think there are not more of us in the world?

So this is what I really want to say to our brethren in Jerusalem. I know. I know. I know. I've visited their dreams. And I should have said it then. But they're so sincere and so committed, that a part of me wants to believe it could all work. Look, I know about the 'doctored' felafel. I know about the well meaning tricks. But are we just puppeteers? Do we merely pull the strings? Living souls have to come to the truth because they need it. And I do not think they do. Look to the written histories. Behold the perversions. Smell the murders. Taste the tears..... What is that?.......'Enough is enough,' you say?........Well, I hope that you are right.

Now, let me go back to the stimulating conversation  I was having with Doctor Franklin and the mermaid-sea hag. Interesting people, hers. Perhaps I should hitch a ride on one of the princes of the sea (the great whales) and visit them. I'm due. I can use a vacation. .....Or then again, maybe I should sublimate out to Europa (Jovian ice-skinned moon) and swim with the manta ray people? ..........I don't know......Look, who am I kidding? I'll probably just give in and have yet another sexual interlude with Luna....That's harmless enough.

Yet one thing gives me pause. Many folk in the vicinity of Jerusalem have been dreaming the same dream.....They hear a voice...a whisper in the dark...a breeze across the desert...and it says -

I am The Unity like unto there is none else.
No thing can seperate Me from thee.......

There's more, but please permit me to go. You'd think I'd have things all figured out after twenty eight thousand years......Wouldn't you?

Monday, August 15, 2011

UNTIL THAT TIME WHEN ALL LIES DISAPPEAR.....the vampires of Jerusalem

Must type fast. things are happening in Jerusalem. The local contingent of vampires (quite spiritual), plus most vampiric 'visitors' do not want to adopt Papa's plan (see last night's post). He popped over, addressing each and every one of them independently as they slept. Jonathon is torn, since Papa is his creator (hence the name). And Sarah, a newborn, understands humanity. Good intentions go only so far. I mean they've been receiving Divine Revelation for thousannds of years and look where it's gotten them. She's willing to try. Let them conjure up the two boys. Let them spread the tale (again, see last night's episode). If the story's compelling enough, it just might work. The end justifies the means.

Certain individuals in the Israeli government are in on this. Palestinian leaders know about it too. It's all a question of desire. How much peace do they want? And do they want it now? What do you think about this stunt? Please COMMENT and share your views. We get hits from all around the globe. This is me. It's wilkravitz. I don't know where Zebulon, or Johannan, or any of the other disembodied spirits are. They're not here tonight. My guess is they're conferring with the soul of some revered prophet, or some other Stars of The Bible.

Even Jonathon has managed to contact the great Rashi. He's been racing to catch up on one thousand years of Talmudical studies. (and the great Christian scholars of the middle ages consulted the Jewish Commentaries too). The vampire chevalier Jean-Michel squires Sarah about the city and to sights beyond. They've peered into still buried desert cells, rich with Essene scriptures and breathed in the dust floating up from (what appears to be) the curiously preserved remains of The Great Redeemer (Moses). But The Bible says that 'no mman knows his resting place'.....Well, maybe vampires don't count. Still, Sarah is beginning to understand quite a bit of French, if you know what I mean. They spend hours talking in the cafes. She watches him 'culll' his victims. He hungrily looks on as she does the same......And the great Renate hovers over her three muses. I think she is enamored of them. The resurrected John Lennon.....a somewhat suspicious Bob Dylan.....and a pious Yusef Islam (you remember...he's Cat Stevens) create their songs, as she hums along.....Who knows, perhaps she is their muse? Perhaps she has played the role many times before? Vampires are indispensible to human culture. They guide us. They shape things. They (at least the good ones) cull the wicked and preserve the worthy. And they've been doing this since Mouserian (Neanderthal) times.

It's not that their Inquisitional adversaries fail  to respect them. They just resent their very existence.

There's a hum in the air, an electronic-like zing. Many people feel it. Some call it Jerusalem Fever, others The Divine Presence. Scientists detect this strange anomaly via sensitive devices. What is it? Well, Jonathon says it's The Truth...........

Go back. Go back. Go back.......Read what you have missed......Stay with us.....and 'May you never know pain. May you never know fear. May you hide from death now and for forever.......or until that time when all lies disappear...................

Sunday, August 14, 2011


Papa been meetin' with Doctor Franklin and his runaway sweetie, Luna, over at the palatial digs far beneath the old navy yard, in the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. In case you are new to this here crumbly little morsel of creation, let me fill it all in for you. We are in Philadelphia, except when we're at the Jersey Shore, or runnin' 'round with a lot a save-the-universe, holy rollers (both mortal and not so mortal) in the Divine Portal that is Jerusalem. That's where Jonathon and Sarah are right now. If you don't know who they are, google VAMPIREWONDERLAND, Jonathon and Sarah, or any of the other not really ficticious bastids we talk about. You'll find out. But just in case you got lazy fingas or somethin', I'll slap on a little bit a facts 'bout Papa. He looks like he's floatin' next to thirty two or thirty three years, kinda like if Richard Gere and George Clooney had themselves a baby. Only he actually driftin' closer to twenty-eight thousand years...'cause he a vampire. So it goes without sayin' that he is privy to all the really good shit. Can do a lot a fancy prestadigitatin' too.

Doctor Franklin is just a big, old fat, stringy-haired white man. You know Benjamin Franklin, the dude on all them hundred dollar bills? Well then you know who I'm talkin' 'bout. But he is not a vampire, just kept alive by a bunch a scientific crap, based on magnets (not like the ones from the dollar store...better ones) and electric shock therapy (like what they gave Frankenstein and Olivia DeHaviland in that Snake Pit movie). Now he heads up the A.E.B., only they more pro magic than anti. But the government won't give no money to any magic group, 'cept maybe religious ones, so it is just easier to add four letters (a-n-t-i) to the name and be done with it.

Luna just some foundling child taken in by the Bureau who grew up to be vampirated by Papa. But she's really just a gold diggin' whore more into squeezin' her ass into some reality show, like Real Housewives of The Vampire Wonderland than puttin' down her monthly quota a nasty folks, which is what the better element of vampires actually does.

But Papa knows what's goin' on over in Jerusalem and he can feel how important it is to his thousand year old baby child, Jonathon (the one who tends to favor a young Antonio Banderas). He also understands how wicked and stubborn most hoomin-beans are, so he got a plan to goose things along. All they gotta do is conjure up two little, sweet-faced children from somewhere between the Jordan and the Mediterranean, give boaf a them some kind a severe case a the terminal vapors (you where they need a whole bunch a them doctor-richifyin' bone marrow transplants...and not from  no discount, supermarket pork chops...from real, genuine, full-blooded hoomin-beans, I mean) slap 'em all over the media, then arrange for the Israeli one to get juiced up wiff  a few shots a Palestinian blood...and the Palestinian one to get juiced up wiff an equal measure a Jewish elixir. Stir in a little bit a Oprah Magic (you know she does it 24/7 now over on OWN) and WAA-LAA! PEACE IN THE HOLYLAND!!.....or maybe just a movie on Lifetime...We cannot always guarantee results in cases such as this.

Oh yeah...some a you are here to find out about 'sloppy loo-loo's.' Well, here's what they are....They are zombies, only well put together, verbally coherent zombies. You could sit pressed up against them on the bus, or see 'em on Dancin' Wiff the Stars and not even know the difference, 'cept when they bite off a finger, or take a quick, little nip a tittie or something....................

Friday, August 12, 2011

Blah, Blah, Blah and Yadda, Yadda, Yaddah from Our Vampires In Jerusalem

OK, so we were able to reconstitute the three mini super stars. Bob Dylan, Yusef Islam (formerly known as Cat Stevens) and the Resurrected John Lennon are all back to normal size. Dylan claims we still owe him a couple inches, but that's yet to be decided (the Vampiric Court has to meet on it). They're putting together a song or something for You Tube. Yoko wants to be in it and she thinks she is, but our resident, vampire 'familiar' computer geek  says not to worry, 'cause he gonna splice her aria into six hundred and fifty two prints of Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes. Look for it soon at a multiplex near you.

But Doctor Franklin, back in Philadelphia, sent word to Jonathon and Sarah. The Anti-Enchantment Bureau picked up something (in addition to that not-so-funny, haistily conjured up case a hard to eradicate 'dirty cauldron crotch rot.'). It seems that the usual contingent of vampire haters are beginning to appear deep within the shadowy recesses of the Holy City. Do I know who they are? No, not exactly. But it's a safe bet they're drawn from some twisted remnant of The Inquisition, plus maybe some Dungeons and Dragons flunk outs and misguided 'knights' from The Renaissance Faire. Black robes, nerdy sneakers, greasy chinned louts gnawin' on crisp, fatty turkey legs...Shouldn't be too hard to find...... Still, they can inflict a certain amount of damage and inexperienced life-eaters have been known to fall prey. So the authorities here are warning all facets of el mundo vampirismo to travel in groups. Jonathon and Sarah mostly pal around with the REAL French knight, Jean-Michel. So far, they spend most of their nights trickling drops of their blood into chick pea vats of unsuspecting felalel vendors, in the hope that a bit of their essence will make it into the final product and contaminate hungry lovers of the tasty fried balls with an unexplainable desire for peace and brotherhood. And you know what?.....It seems to be working.

A few of the older, 'purist' types frown on measures like that. Change must come from within. No foreign substances, no vampire hokkus pokkus. They're the ones bankin' on the effectiveness of the Dylan-Islam-Lennon (in alphabetical order, as directed by their agents) You Tube thingy.

We lost track of Renate. (see? you must keep up with's difficult enough funneling info from one dimension, let alone God knows how many, especially when a few of the nearest ones bleed into each other all the time). So if you happen to be in Jerusalem, or anywhere else on Earth, or perhaps in the two nearest parallel universes, keep an eye out for a smoky voiced vixen who looks like a really, really good (and not in the least transvestite-ish) Cher impersonator.

Who am I? Oh, stop it, stop it, stop it. You know who I am. I am Zebulon, your favorite disembodied spirit. Now stand still, so I can sublimate through you and give you a 'kiss.'

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


I am not one of the voices you're used to. This one hails from London. This one has been here since the time of the aldwytch, during the days of the first anglo-saxon kingdoms. This one has tasted many things. Those responsible for this site have graciously allolwed me to speak. Conditions are bad. Tradesmen have shuttered their stalls. Those electronic screaming machines bolted onto police vehicles shriek through the night.

Vampires have stepped into the breach. God, how I hate that word...not 'breach,' but 'vampire.' Ignorant peasants lied to by unwashed, small-minded clergy gave us that name. We are not in league with evil forces. We are not demons or monsters. Let me explain it to you this way.....If 'mortals' be the sheep, we may not be the 'Shepherd,' but we are certainly His 'sheep-dogs.'....

So keep an eye peeled (if you reside in London or other effected townes.)....Who has suddenly dissappeared? Did anybody see a strange, blue, flame-like light?....Shhhh....just stay off the streets...Do unto others as you would have them do unto you....and, oh yes...dare I say it?...Well, I will. Take a tip from the Book of Leviticus and 'Love thy neighbor.'

I must be off. Must sublimate up to Manchester. There are black hearted villains who need culling, vigalantes who spout 'good' but yearn for evil. Not my favorite meal, but we all must do our part...'Fight on the beaches' and all that....Cheers...and hope for the best.

Thank you for this opportunity. Your regular 'life eaters' will be here soon.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


I didn't even know we could do this, but a vampire woman from Australia (in town to visit her ailing, mortal mother----- it seems the woman wants to expire within sight of the Garden Tomb) showed me how. Granted, true magic depends not on hokkus-pokkus, or other extravagant fandangos. You know that. We've discussed it already. Real power is just that...power. No toads. No chants. No dramatic hand gestures. You just imagines it and it happens. True, the focusing part can be a bit difficult, but certain simple mind exercises help with that (staring into a flame, or stroking a dog, or knitting a sweater even).

We met in the lobby of a hotel. I went in to buy a copy of Vogue for my consort and the latest issue of GQ for myself. It is I, Jonathon talking. And you know how much I desire to 'cut' a fashionable figure, what with my fine, black leather bootkins and all the rest. Blame it on my formative (human) years in Al-Andaluz (the south of Spain to the uninitiated). Do you think a culture responsible for the production of  'trajes de luz' and castanets could do otherwise? Maybe it comes from being here, in Israel, deep within the busom of a completely Mediterranean environment? Sixty percent of the Hebrew population stems from Sephardic roots. They are the children of exiled Spaniards, filtered through the fine, filigree artwork of Moorish lands. The Russians, Ukrainians, Poles and Germans get all the publicity, but the heart of The Homeland comes  from us.

But permit me to get back to the Australian woman. She was very new, maybe three or four years spent in darkness at the most, though her magical abilities were older than that. I'm told she has Aboriginal blood. I'm told she's wandered through the 'dream-time' with deeply talented shamans in the Northern Territories. Some here in town claim she's turned away hurricaines (please don't ask me what they call them in the antipodes) and peered through the eyes of salt water crocodiles.

She came over to my table in the coffee shop. I often linger over a cup, not for the hot, flavorful liquid within, but rather for the intoxicating aroma tickling its way up into the ether. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Very selfconfident, these Aussies. I looked up from a piece on grooming for the executive suite and met her gaze. She smiled, drawing me into her smoky eyes and binding my soul (for a while, at least) to her own.  She knew of our labors and of our meetings with other Holy Land life-eaters. She knew of our efforts on behalf of Israel and Ishmael and  our hopes for The Great Reconciliation. Two distinct, kindred principalities shining out from The Land Of Abraham. And she had an idea. I followed her lead and looked down into my cup. And there, swimming (or treading 'water' actually would be more like it) were three tiny individuals. One was the resurrected John Lennon. One was Yusef Islam. One was Bob Dylan. It was hard to recognize them at first with their hair all slicked back from the thankfully now rather tepid brew, but the Australian 'adept' helped me. I saw what she saw. I knew what she knew. So when she took the stylish ceramic vessel in her hands and walked out of the carefully decorated place, I followed , careful to throw a hundred shekels or so to the teenaged cashier before exiting into the soft, fragrant Judean night.

I had secrets to learn, inborn abilities to discover and miracles to perform.......

<if you like this portal, please click NEWER POST at bottom of entry or simply scroll down, if your page is set up that way> THE GREAT RECONCILIATION...two kindred principalities. Wouldn't that make their father (Abraham) happy... and his Father too?>