Friday, September 30, 2011


Pssst! Over hear.... just beyond your favorite nightmare...It is I. It is Zebulon. Telling the tale of my death saddened me. That's why I've been missing. Do you want to know where I have been? Well, Papa knows, for he saw me there, drifting through the dim, cold seas of Europa (a Jovian moon). The manta-ray-people are such welcoming souls. And, since I remembered to manifest a body, their whip-like, undulating tails tickled so. I quite enjoyed it.

Other visitors were there too. Beings from afar. A bit like the merfolk back on Earth, but with dolphin like skin and nostrils up where Hindu women sometimes sport crimson. Europa is very popular. Other stars consider it the intellectual center of our solar system. Earth is too violent...too primative... too tribal. But they do like the cheese-steaks sold in Philadelphia. And the guacamole in Los Angeles, plus the pizza in New York have devoted followings too. Human eaters are particularly rare. Why waste time butchering such blubbering cry babies, when they can feast on fatter, though equally emotional, piggies? I'm sure you don't need me to remind you of the similarities bwtween the two varieties of live stock.

Seems like the improvement of the breed (the humans, I mean) will take time. How fond they are of their perverse hatreds. Worse than drugs. You know who I think will win? The micros... The 'brighten the corner where you are' people. It just seems so much easier  that way. No all encompassing, global creeds, or closing act, showy miracles are necessary. Build it all from the ground up. Jonathon actually thinks that way too. Well, deep in his heart he does. Yet so many strange and wondrous things have happened to him during this quest. Remember the ordeal in the alps? Remember the Hall of the Mountain King? Boy, wasn't that a 'mouthful'? So he exited the New Year's Service and went 'home' to change his clothes. Yes, yes, yes....of course he went back to the fine, leather bootkins and the closely tailored trousers. Why not? He looks so good in them. Lucky for him he hails from a time when 'having a firm seat' was greatly esteemed? You know how those medieval Andalucians felt about their horseflesh? Fussed a lot with their hair too, they did. His father kept two bondswomen solely for the purpose of washing, arranging and styling hair. Persians, I think they were. And why not? Such a skilled, sophisticated people they are. Have  you ever seen their miniatures? The paintings, I mean. It's been said that Spanish culture is a distillation of Persian chivalry refracted through Moorish eyes...... How poetic.

So Jonathon went back out onto the streets. Turned quite a few heads he did. The long, dark, curly hair didn't hurt. How lucky those bondswomen gave him a good once over just before he died. He went searching for Lailah. The 'fifteen' year old, naive, newborn vampirina wasn't hard to find. Her scent was still so human. Would Sarah approve? ........Why do you ask such things? We are in the midst of the Time of Atonement. Cleanse your mind. He seeks not for a paramor, but for a ward. She needs guidance. And he and the well formed French Knight will play Higgins and Pickering to her Eliza.....Sarah can be Mrs. Pierce... That is if she's interested....... For our Sarah may have a different role in mind..........

Thursday, September 29, 2011


Renate drifted back from the Empire of the Twenty Six Satrapies. The sky was cool and dark. Night hawks kept her company. Far below, the pewter surface of the Dead Sea reflected a skull-like moon. The Fertile Cresent at rest. Quiet and still.

She pulled her arms in close to her body and plunged down into the depths, until she reached the lowest point on Earth. The salty brine could not harm her.  The pressure didn't matter. An inky blackness  revealed its secrets to her patient, vampire eyes.

Sodom and Gomorrah spread out before her, acres of ruins decorated the gloom. And there were whispers among the rough, stonne tombs. Voices called her name. Spirits remembered her from 'better' times. Ghostly fingers caressed her skin.

The oldest life-eater went on, till she came to a one-time house. It was her house, back before the Heavenly Storm. She survived the destruction and emerged from the maelstrom whole and unmarked. Part of God's plan....... Who can say?

And  what was she to the people then, a goddess, a witch, a healer, a whore? Who were they, these organisms unworthy of life? Were their sins unique and different from ours? Did they slaughter the innocent and cry for war? Or were they merely a wee bit self absorbed?

She allowed them to pass through her. The ghosts, I mean. Her heart knew their smiles. She called them by name. They asked her things and she answered, telling of her night-flight to the East. Was she proud of her actions? Did she relish the gore? Was the corpse fragrant? Did its children cry? She told them all.

What will happen to humanity? Where are they going? Can they forget to hate? She wasn't sure. Her own people, those we call Cro-Magnons, slaughtered Neanderthals......And it was a Neanderthal who 'made' her. Darwin was right......Survival of the fittest...... Kill or be killed.... The great apes in the vast, green forests live that way. How far have they come?

So she laid down among the incinerated ruins and went to sleep, as legions of brine shrimp passed by. Perhaps her dreams would hold an answer? And far above the other vampires and the three musicians continued with their plans...........But so did the evil jinns..........

Secrets crawled forth, running into waxy ears like insects in the night. And eager people remembered them, impatient to construct the molten eggs of hell, thrown down to  Earth but twice, in the last days of Satan's favorite war.........

Beware the omelet makers..............

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


No cunning, little leather bootkins. No trim, well cut garments. No animal hide watch band or belt of any kind. Jonathon, our thousand year old 'noble' vampire...a reluctant life-eater...prepares for the Biblical New Year. He prepares himself to die. He prepares himself to rise up anew, on Yom Kippur Night.

His clothing is pure and simple, a white linen robe, a white linen prayer cap and clean canvas slippers. Dressed for the grave, he is. For all the faithful know that it is by God's Grace alone that we rise up to face the New Year. And he shares prayers with mortals, deep within an old synagogue (meeting house) down below the present day street level, under a narrow byway in the Holy City. The ancient stained glass windows look out to the hills no more. The centuries leave their mark. Man made structures sink. Street levels rise. But the Light of Heaven knows no barrier. And so they pray, nine pious humans and their more than human visitor.

Jean-Michel came too, a preserved, Catholic, eager to witness what Jesus witnessed. After nine centuries in this Place, this was his first time. So they sang and they confessed. Jonathon cried for mankind...and for his long departed human family too........ no different than the others. Some say the spot is blessed. It is told that during a siege, with the enemy at the gates, people crowded into this sanctuary, begging God for deliverance. Then A Light came down from the window. A strong, clear beam came in from the blocked, earthen view. As it settled upon the worn stone floor, an image appeared bathed in radiance. The fearful looked up to behold a man dressed in Tishbite robes. And they heard the voice of Elijah join their prayers....... The Lord heard them and the enemy was turned back.

Sarah kept devotions in her own way, visiting the sick, sharing her magic and making them well. And 'the dream' went on... whispering through the night rest of all the people.

Now humanity is a funny thing. If you stumbled upon a Jew, or  a Muslim, or a Christian  sincerely lost in communion with their God, all would seem the same. Pure hearts, loving thoughts,  promises for the future...... It's only when they pull back from faith that trouble starts...... Am I right?......True, I speak not of false belief, not those who wear religion as a badge meant to divide them from all the rest. I speak of the Righteous.

Can these unconventional vampires pull it off? Who knows. After all, you, sitting wherever you are, can do the same. These things are not difficult. These things are not hard to understand......And we all know that.

Look at our Andalucian Jew. Look at Jonathon as he recites the blessed verses. His face is so young.....Eightteen years when he 'passed.' Look at Jean-Michel, equally transfixed. And I could take you to Muslim holy places sheltering similar scenes.

Vampires do not hiss. They aren't wild beasts, but people just like you. Most sought not this burden.....but faith never dies. If you've been traveling with us for a while, you know this. If you're new to the journey, welcome. Wander through our tale and learn what you may learn.

Papa sits back in Philadelphia worrying about his troubled Annie. Renate grows impatient. And the elves and cherubs flit through the night on their innocent errands.

Please visit. Pay a call. Sit down and listen.......We will listen too...... Share with us.... Leave a comment.... Forge a link....... Touch a soul.

May this Birthday of Creation be a blessed time for all.

Questions of a paranormal or spiritual nature? ask @GOTHICVAMPRIP..... find her on twitter..... she knows. 

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

BETTER KEEP YOUR TOESIES UNDER THE COVERS...LITTLE 'BASTID' ANNIE IS BACK...(and she seems to have forgotten about all those promises to be good)

I gotta spit this out fass. where am I? I do not know. it looks like a huge, going-on-forever wad a dark gray cotton candy. Sometimes I hear voices. There are other people stuck in here wiff me, but I don't know who they are. A few of them sing songs. Most just scream. One goes 'mommy-mommy-mommy-mommy' and never stops.

I think Doctor Franklin put me here. Maybe it was an accident. I think so. But let me tell you, if I ever get out of here, I'll never mess with his big, crystal, magic, music machine (the great armonica) again. Hope I did not break it. Hope they let me back in that place. The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, I mean. It's really great, like chuckie cheese for a sorta kinda 'dead' little vampire girl. My birfday is comin' up. My magic birfday, I mean. This January I'm gonna be one years old. But if you look at me, you will think I'm like seven and a half. That's how many hoomin years I got. But vampire years are better. You can scare people. You can do 'magic.' Nobody goes crazy if you wanna collect dead cockroaches.....even if they're not dead....what difference does it make?

wilkravitz is typing this. I can smell him. He likes cheese steaks. I can smell him. It feels like I'm gonna get out of here. these little tingly tickle things are all over me...And no, they're NOT the cockroaches, cause most of them are still somewheres down below the cellar in the Chestnut Hill house.

you know, 'Papa' is the one who 'made' me. He's a little mean and crazy sometimes, but that's OK, 'cause he's 'magic' and magic people are that way. I am too. They say I did lots of shitty stuff. Oh well! YA YA YA! My fingers are in my ears. I ain't listenin'. I can't hear what you say! YA YA YA YA! And when I get outta here, I'm gonna sneak up while you're sleeping and bite your toes off! I know. I know. I know. They hate when I do that. And I stopped. I really did. But who cares? Go to hell. Drop dead. I can do what I want. You ain't the boss a me (wish I knew who was). ........

Ooooh, the tinglin' felling's comin' back. If I was still a little hoomin' girl, I'd hafta make a pee pee. And that cotton candy crap ain't so gray no more. There's like this brown color now...maybe a little bit a green too. My hands are comin' back! My hands are comin' back! I can see part a me again. Somebody's laffin'. Sounds like 'old man' style laffin'. I think it's Doctor Franklin. I'm comin' back! I'm comin' back! I'm comin' back!

Thank  you, God! Thank you, God! Thank you, God!

I wanna go somewheres. I wanna play wiff somebody. I wanna do things to other people's kids.

Better keep your toes all covered up tight. 'Cause, you know what I like to do, right?


I CAN SEE MY SHOESIES!!!   heh heh heh... heh heh heh... heh heh heh...

Monday, September 26, 2011


Such a simple deception. The Lady Renate knew she was haunting an imposter. The leader of the twenty six satrapies slept elsewhere. This rather ordinary male creature was a doppleganger, put there to foil assassins. And he relished the honor, Happy to die for his ruler. Eager to see him rain fire upon their 'enemies,' whether they be warriors or school children.

The Lady decided to grant his wish. Not the part about raining fire from the sky. She was not that accommodating. But the part about dying for his ruler would be easy to arrange. So she whispered the word 'liar.' And he froze. Moments passed. He bagan to perspire, though much too scared to throw off those bedclothes. He uttered prayers. She responded, levitating him up off the bed, till he was approximately two cubits above the clammy linen. The fine, smooth, satin covers slid back down to the mattress. He attempted to scream. But the viceral shriek caught tight in his throat and she changed it, transforming the pent up energy into a writhing mass of soft, oozing worms........No, they were not earth worms, but a smooth, segmentless variety such as found in the guts of diseased individuals.....Now be quiet! And don't bother me.

The ersatz dictator convulsed and trembled. Waste poured out of his anterior orifice, soiling the night-nest below. And she laughed, stepping out from the pearly, column of illumination to reveal  her true self. The tortured man thought - Cher? I am being bewitched by 'Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves'?! She laughed some more, for his thoughts were easy to decode. She said - I am sent to bring a message.....and you will bear it.
Then she walked over to his body and with strong, sharp nails began to pick and strip the flesh from off his ribs. Did she lick up the blood? I do not know. Yet I do know this. Drinking that ruby elixir is secondary to the vampires cause. They feast on life, drawing in the Heaven sent force and confiscating it from those unfit to live.

The man would have screamed.... if he could have. No sound rose up from his body. No sign registered upon the tick-tock, fire-sparked mechanisms of security. Members of 'the ten thousand' standing ram-rod straight in the hall heard nothing. And she picked and she stripped and she tore. The tight, little shreads of bacon-like meat held fast to the bone. Renate did not mind. That would only multiply his pain. And when she was done. And when he was just about gone, she conjured up a nimbus of grave beetles to gobble up the rest. Then she folded back into the darkness, abandoning her victim to eternity.

Three hours later, two guards entering the chamber were struck dumb by what they saw, for there before them, imbedded in the air, roughly two cubits above the bloody sheets was the nearly picked clean carcass of a man.

And the ruler of the twenty six satrapies was made privy to it all. What a shame he got the pictures during lunch.

Sunday, September 25, 2011


She is not speaking to you directly. The Lady Renate, I mean. Not because she is haughty, but simply because it does not always occur to her to do so. This ancient beinng thinks like the wind. Her visionns and conceptualizations race along, richocheting from one image to another. She penetrated the brains of simple shepherds and transformed them into Sumerians. She shaped illiterate reed gatherers along the River Nile into the Nation of Kemet, known to history as the Egyptians. The Lady is usually benign... but not always. So we take her as she is. When she speaks, she speaks. And when she does not speak...we listen to her heart beat. I am one of those able to feel  the rhythm.

Now she progresses through the night, like the sky blood men call lightning. Hello, children of the Canaanites sleeping far below. Greetings, thou contemporary Sumerians.....Your Sculptress passes. And if she created not the clay, she never-the-less gave it form.

Far away, over the horizon lies the Nation of The Twenty Six Satrapies. A veritible pillar of the classical world. Home to the triumphant Medes. Fortress of the people we call Persians. But their 'king' chews bitter herbs. He has made of his heart a fiery stone and keeps counsel with manic forces.

So the Lady Renate penetrates the particles of reality known to you as atoms. She approaches his bed chamber, guarded by modern 'immortals.'  Can they stop her? They cannot. Her power is vast. Her form quite elusive. She stops. She condenses by the bed and calls his name.

The rather ordinary sized man in the wide bed begins to stir. His eye balls race beneath the skin. The moustasche trembles. His fingers grab the linen. But he hears her. His essence feels the call. And he sees. There by his bed stands a figure, a shimmering pillar of soft, pearly light. It speaks...or rather delivers thoughts right into his brain. It 'says'  - HEAR ME!..... And he does. But he gathers up his courage and asks - What manner of ghost addresses me?...........The Lady says - I am not a wayward spirit, angry man, but something greater........... He burrows deep into the bedclothes, as her fingers examine his heart..........She says - Who would  you destroy? Whose children will you burn? What temples shall you shatter?

And mistaking her for a jinn sent to aid his cause, he licks his lips and smiles.......But her purpose is not his......And his lips begin to burn..............

Saturday, September 24, 2011


Never mind who I am. You do not need to know. but understand this. The 'goog' ones, the Jonathons and Sarahs and Jean-Michels and the rest have enemies. There are legions of entities who do not want them to succeed, evil jinns, mud demons, nasty laughers.....I could go on and on. We're smeared across creation like a greasy stain. And to think, you humans find fault with vampires and opposing creeds. Such drivel. WAKE UP! Face the real adversary. I believe a certain well known rabbi said it best...None are so blind as those who will not see.

Let me give you something to chew on. It is said that The Messianic Age will begin in a year where all the digits add up to eightteen...the Hebrew numerical representation of God and Life. The year 5706 (we're talking about the original, Biblical  Hebrew Calander here) was such a time. That was sixty six years ago, during the Trinitarian year 1944/1945 (the calanders commence on different dates). But I believe certain demonic actions at a notorious hell hole in Nazi Occupied Poland took care of that. The next opportunity comes 'round again in 5803. That corresponds to the Trinitarian year 2043, or about thirty two years from now. And the Messianic Era does not begin with the birth of that personage. It starts with the birth of his message. So it is extremely likely that he (or she...after all...anything is possible.) is getting ready to pop into existance right now. Anybody got a brand new little cousin? Take a look... You never know.

Do you think the guys who play for 'the other team' are happy about that? Let me tell you... they're not. And as we know from past history, nothing is beyond them. No reaction is too extreme. How might they postpone the pivotal event? What way is easiest? Which is most direct?

Renate has her own suspicions. True, in her near eternal lifetime she's seen revelations come and go. But a revelation is still a revelation and not to be trifled with. One bomb...that's all it would take. Precision is not an issue. A radius of say five miles would suffice. Just pinpoint the city. Kill all the inhabitants therein for the sake of the one. Do you think they would not do it?......Please, don't be so dumb.

And who lusts after such lethal toys? Which ruler yells the loudest? Who dreams of nation killing? Who sings songs of death before the congress of sovereign states? Which misguided inheritor of a great and worthy empire makes such threats? ......Look, do I really have to tell you......You know.

So Renate sublimates through the midnight sky. She moves toward him. She seeks him. Can he be turned? Watch the news and you will know.

True, the powerful ones are quite capable of controlling things. Old and venerable vampires (excuse me. they disapprove of that term. call them life-eaters instead) can take control. But puppet masters they are not. The power lies within the living. Do you think this is only a narrative...some after-dark, digital ramble? Well, if that's the extent of your comprehension, so be it. But you're wrong. For the story mentions you...It mentions all of you. Which part will you play?

Friday, September 23, 2011


I am the Lady Renate. Tell  me if I have addressed you directly before. I do not remember. Things are quiet in the City of Faith. All the little boys are minding their own business. Who knows? Pehaps it's 'the dream'? And most of the dreamers are afraid to own up to it. They keep quiet, lest others thing them insane. But they are not insane. They are awake.

Do you know that I was born at a time before distinct races, as we know them today, existed? Yes, yes, yes, there were people with white skins and brown skins and sallow skins and black skins. But the arrangement was more of a melange, or what somme call creole. I myself possess the form of a rather statuesque, Mediterranean beauty. My brother looked like a Hun. My grandfather like Jerry Lewis (but with less bear grease in his hair). That's how it was. Humans had only penetrated into the European theatre of habitation quite recently. And the discovery of the Americas (the first discovery, I mean) was still ten thousand years in the future.

How clean it all was. Every stream ran pure and clear. All the clouds were fresh and new. And  grasses sported a shade of green unseen since the time of the Scythians. We ran naked across the plains, laughing as we scattered the birds. The grasshoppers were quite delicious. I could eat five times 'toes and fingers.' That's one hundred to you. And I grew to be a great woman, a Wise Woman, in my pack. Twenty six 'flames' we were. What was a 'flame'? Well, think of a soul. It meant about the same thing.

I sat with the men. And they attended to my counsel. I spoke with the voice of the Sky. I channeled the will of God. Maybe it was because I never bled. That was usually taken as a sign among my people. It made me special. It made me strong. Other females rarely ventured far from home. We lived in a collection of wig-wams (that's what they looked like) arranged across the mouth of a large cavern. Were we afraid of attack? By animals, maybe. But not by humans. For organized bands were so far apart. Meetings were rare, usually resulting in quickly arranged 'maiden swaps.' You see, even we recognised the dangers of too much inbreeding. Sometimes the girls would cry. Yet after a few nights of almost continuous sexual, little caresses.....luscious tastings....and slow, feather-soft massages they'd become quite distracted. Our leader, the 'Wolf Man,' would direct them to chose. Which man would they bow (you'd probably say 'bend over') for? And that was it. Congratulations to the new, not quite blushing bride. But as I said, I was not like the other females. I was the Wise Woman, a best beloved of the Sky. The night was mine, for the stars shone down for me. So I wandered, observing nature and learning what I could. Did the animals molest me? No.  For I smeared myself with noxious gall. Few creatures can withstand that.

But what I met was not a creature.......and, strictly speaking, not a human, at least not our kind of human.  Your learned men and woman would label him Neanderthal, since the bones of the breed were first uncovered in the valley of the Neander River. But they foraged all over. Some bands occupied territories not far from this city of Jerusalem we find ourselves in now. Others sojouned along the Bay of Biscay, in what is now called France. Not brutes, as you have been told, but attractive beings with an exaggerated gymnast's build and broad, pugnatious faces. Mine had sandy hair and green eyes. Did he ravish me? more ways than one, for he bore the enchantment. He was a life-eater.....a vampire 'caveman' if you will. Life must have been hard for him. 'Human' victims were spread so thin. Constant travel was a must. Rest came under a pile of mud and leaves. The earliest vampires would occassionally share dens with bears, especially during hibernation. Indeed, some still do so today, as regular visitors to this nocturnal conversation already know.

The second oldest vampire alive today, the one you call Papa, is my 'son,' but he came along much later. I was approximately twelve thousand years old by then. Did I have other 'children'? Yes, but they are all dead, or have been carried off to other realms in the sky. Am I talking about aliens? Of course. Oh, the things Icould tell you. If only you would understand. Not now. Some other night. For I have 'miles' to go before I sleep. And I have 'promises' to keep.

It's time to 'quicken' things. The three musicians are not enough. The miraculous parlor tricks of Jonathon (my 'grandson,' as yet unaware of his true potential) and the others are too slow. So I go to whisper in the ears of powerful men. May The Sky stretch over us. And may they listen to my councel.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Magic (real magic) Travels Faster than the Speed of Light

This is wilkravitz talking. The egg laying has subsided...actually it's disappeared all together. Honestly, I do not miss it. I mean what am I supposed to do when it happens on the bus? You can't hold back with a thing like that. The egg pops out when the egg wants to pop out. And considering the orafice 'chosen' for this miraculous occurance, the physical sensation can be very confusing. Lost a couple good ones down the toilet at Micky D's. Once, when I was feeling a bit playful, I gave a couple to a bum on the street. He thanked me for the goose eggs and proceeded to roast 'em over a can of sterno. And don't worry. He didn't get salmonella. They were fresh.

I guess the spell, or whatever it was, just wore off. Edith says magic can be like that. It's mostly just illusion anyway. They can't create actual matter out of Elizabethan rhymes and pastel colored talcum powder.......BUT, Papa says they CAN transport things (and most things are made of matter) from one place to another. So like on Bewtitched, when Samantha made yadda yadda and conjured up an elephant, that meant there had to be one less elephant in Africa, or India or Wild Country Safari. Unless it was just the illusory type of enchantment. Then, we'd look at a spider, or something and just THINK it was an elephant. So maybe I never actually laid any eggs. Maybe what I produced was a more ordinary bodily product.......Yeeeech!.......Only if that was the case, how come Edith was able to cook 'em?   They smelled all right, a little beefier and gamier than chicken eggs. That's what made 'em special.

I called that number, the one written on the back of the paper the witches gave me. Only instead of hearin' their phone ring at the other end, I picked up what sounded like a gale force wind tearing across the Antarctic ice fields. Could a been the Siberian ice fields too. I don't know. It's hard for a layman like me to discriminate between the two.

Papa says magic travels faster than the speed of light, because when conjuring folk suck a live, screaming, baby lemur right out of the air it all happens instantaneously. Ain't no 'wait' time. Not like Domino's Pizza. So maybe, according to the latest report, magic has something to do with neutrinos, those little sub-atomic particles that race through the omniverse at faster than light velocities. I asked the kid at Radio Shack if they had any neutrinos. You know. Not individual ones, but a whole bunch of 'em, in like a plastic bag or something All he knew about were the AA and AAA batteries. I told him that wasn't it, but he gave me one a the coupons anyway.

I have to go to sleep. The neutrinos in my brain are startin' to coagulate

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


My name is Tommy. I guess I'm a ghost. They twisted my head round and round till it got all wobbly and fell off. Then they burned me up and ditched the greasy, ashy remains in The Little Egg Harbor River. Ain't much of a water way, just a bitty stream sneakin' through the edge of The Pines. If you take County Road 561 (I think it is) from Route 73 to The Black Horse Pike on your way to the shore, you seen it. Probably drove right by where they did the deed.

I  would tell you why it had to happen, but my family is still in the area and it would kind a make them shit themselves...All at the same time too. So, just know I did somethin' real bad. That's why I been wanderin' the late night South Jersey highways all these years. They killed me in nineteen fifty eight. I been 'ghostin'' for fifty three years.  But that's not why I want to talk  to you. I got other stuff to share.

Ever notice how some of the smaller shore towns almost close up completely right after Labor Day. Sure, a few try to tack on an extra weekend or two. Maybe some bar owner wants a few more bucks. But September's dying, so those days are over. Soon it's gonna be like an empty bowling alley rounnd most a these places. I could roll my frozen-in-pain-and-terror head down all those Ocean Avenues and Atlantic Avenues without hittin' a soul......Well, without hittin' no living soul.

But a lot of 'funny' stuff starts to happen right after the Harvest Moon and by the time of the Hunter's Moon, the Dance Macabre is in full swing. Take a ride down some day. Park near the luncheonette. All the towns got a luncheonette, or a submarine sandwich shop, or a pizza joint. During the day, everything looks OK. Kinda like the movie set where they filmed Jaws, a collection of weather-worn summer cottages creakin' in the orange, autumn light. Maybe some forgotten bike layin' by the side of some street...a dead doll ...a dried up, smashed pigeon....some twisted up old salt water taffy wrappers.....metal sign on a Five & Dime scratchin' out a rusty dirge, as it swings in the wind. Even the seagulls know somethin's up. They just stand around in tight, little gangs with their heads pulled in and their wings all folded up, like a bunch of avian bums settling in for the cold months.

Then, when the sun starts floatin' out over Pennsylvania and the sky gets all Maxfield Parish looking, go into one a them luncheonettes. Sit down, jus not too close to the one or two locals who practically live there. Don't wanna spook 'em. Gotta leave some room, so they can discreetly give you the snake eye.  Order somethin' simple....a burger....some fries.....nothing that spoils too fast. Don't know how often they replenish in the 'off season.' Then jus listen to the talk. If you want, tell 'em you're out collectin' stuff for the next issue of WeirdNJ Magazine. Won't be no lie, 'cause alls you gotta  do is send it in when you're through. Pull out one a them midget tape recorders. That'll impress 'em. And sit quiet listening to all the gruesome recollections of murders long gone (mine too, I hope), or sticky-clawed giant spiders scrabblin' out a the marshes, or just plain mentally deranged hairless, albino killers. One a them families of hairless, albino killers is real good singers too. The fat one strums a  mean 'parlor' guitar, if I remember right.

After, when it's dark, go out and wander around. You won't be alone. Listen to the plump, crunchy cave crickets chirpin' away like crazy people. Look for them sqinty, little hot red eyes shining back at you in the dark. Don't expect much in the way of artificial illumination . Tax cheap bastids take care a that. Listen for the whispering, mournful song of the seasonally homeless drunk driftin' out from behind some rotting garage. Better hope he ain't got no straight edge.  Be nice to the wide-eyed, grinning little girl starin' at you from the shadows back a the church yard. She won't hurt ya, not if you have a friend with ya. She's just dead. That's all. And don't make no eye contact with them two or three twisted, naked mutants they got wanderin' 'round from the closed up experimental hospital over on the mainland.

Just follow the rules. Use common sense. You 'should' be all right.

Sorry to intrude on your vampires and crap, but I thought you'd like to know. And let me thank Papa for settin' this up for me.......

That's all..... Nitey-Night.......Gotta go scare some speeding shithead too-rich-for-their-own-good teenage f**k ups over on Delilah Road. Look for the rain soaked teddy bears and store bought artificial flower covered crosses tied to a tree by the highway. That's how you'll know I was there. Guess it's the headless part that gets 'em.....


please leave a comment. share your views. what do you know about strange things in the night? leave a link. we'd love to get back to you

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Baylah loves the shore in the autumn time. All the loud-mouthed 'look how fat my wallet is' turds go home. The picturebook strrets are quieter. The restaurants less crowded. And the fresh, clean sky seemms even prettier. But do not think that it is dead down there, for the home owners are still in evidence. It's merely the renters who leave.

This makes fall the perfect time for coastal vampires. The pickings, while not overwhelmingly bountiful, are still adequate. You might say the offerings have  been refined. Evil doers, unfortunately, are rarely in short supply. So our Beyonce look-alike sat by her dressing table, perfecting her make-up. Not that she needed much, but her human companion told her it quiets the razor keen, electric brilliance of her exquisite face. She played a bit with the rich, creamy ungents. She brushed a pinch of microscopically fine gold dust onto her well-formed cheek bones and dabbed a moist, buttery deep orange gloss upon her luch, pouty lips.

Her dress fit like a coppery, metallic skin, showing off more than enough of her long mocha legs, yet keeping secrets up above via a shoulder-bearing, halter neckline. The shopgirl said it was called a 'kiss me now and f**k me later' sheath. At least that's what they said in Elle Magazine. But believe me, our  girl, Baylah, needs no such help.

Her banker, honeybunch, quite the dashing specimen in his own right, came up behind her and brushed her hair. She enjoyed that. It relaxed her. It made her purr (a phenomenon observed in certain preternaturally sensual life-eaters). She got up and turned to face him, smoothing the crisp, expensive, sea-isle cotton fabric of his white dress shirt over his strong, warm shoulders. Quite the couple. Let me tell you.

A discreet, little table awaits, tucked away in a cozy, club-like, woody corner of the Knife and Fork Inn. If you're familiar with Atlantic City, you may have seen it...a hundred and ten year old reproduction of a seventeenth century Dutch manor house. Even Nucky ate there. The two upper floors were notorious trysting grounds for 'tough guys' and their costly, little 'pussy cats.'  After all, before other places had anything...Atlantic City had everything.

The well trained staff knows how to please each wealthy and sometimes eccentric customer. Private label bottles of the best wines and liquors glitter like gemstones upon shelf after shelf in the club-like bar. Baylah can tolerate a bit of scotch. If you are a regular visitor to our world, you know that some vampirinos and vamperina can imbibe a shot glass or two (occasionally more) of distilled spirits. No one knows why. That's just how it is.

So she'll sit there laughing and talking with her human pleasurer, maybe toying with a salad...maybe not.  Another twosome will join them. They're privy to her special abilities.. The husband pulled through  quite a scare with the help of a blood gift. Rich, sophisticated people know how to deal with such things.

Yet Baylah's appetite will be satisfied. The menu is tryly extensive. The management extremely prepared. So a carefully trussed and gagged young thug awaits his magic moment. Look how he strains against thhe clean, white ropes. Don't they set off his tan, smooth skin? Quite the thoroughbred, this one is. And speaking of thoroughbreds, don't they eat 'cheval' in France?  Funny, because this boy serves a similar function here.

A little later, Baylah and her entourage will descend the worn, brick stairs down to an old, dimm, secret chamber. They hid booze there during Prohibition. Tonight it hides another illicit commodity.... a meal of living, human flesh. But the hot, thick blood is the special part, the 'prime cut' you might say. And three priviliged humans will quietly stand off to the side watching her savor this gourmet treat. She'll stroke him as she eats. He'll probably enjoy it. And maybe his violent life will be blessed with a 'happy ending' before the cold, blue embers begin to glow.

Just another night out in Atlantic City.....for a fine-tuned vampirina and her friends.........Perhaps, some night, you'll join them?

Monday, September 19, 2011


My vampire consort (or am I the consort? terms like that confuse me) is off traipsing through the Divine Here-After and so far he hasn't so much as sent me a tee-shirt, or some of that 'heavenly' salt water taffy they make up there. But I persevere. I make the best of it. Just in case you forgot my name, it's me, Sarah, his realitively new born vampire wife. A 'yearling' they call me.

So what do I do with myself? Well, they kicked me out of their rehearsals. Lennon, Dylan and Islam, I mean. Said that for a suposedly more-than-natural being, I lack any true musical sensitivity. I said - How can you go and hurt me like that when we're all here  working to improve the world?....They didn't answer me. Then Yoko started singing and they listened like she was Placido Domingo or Carmen Miranda, or somebody. 'All You Need is Love'.......Yeah, right.

But I still do my part in the hospitals. I wander about late at night dribbling assorted trickles of my blood, my enchanted ruby elixir, onto the lips of desperately ill people. Then I retreat into the shadows, watching as they reflexively lick it off. No more kidney failure. No more last-stage diabetes. No more tumors, or life-threatening acne....Hey,  to a kid, it could be. I don't judge. I just help. No one sees me. No one bothers me. No one talks to me. And some nights I wish they would. Although, that is not quite true. One night, as I sublimated through the children's ward, I encountered a little girl. She wore a cute, flannel nightgown and  cuddled a much loved Cabbage Patch doll. I waved. She waved back. Then she motioned for me to come closer. I crouched down. The cute, little dumpling ran over and whispered in my ear. She said - How come none of you ever came by to help me?.......Then I felt an icy kiss. And I saw her. I saw how she looked before she died, an innocent, skeletal, wide-eyed, frightened child.........I sat down on the polished, vinyl floor and cried......A nurse hurried by oblivious to the whole thing......I'm good at veiling my presense.....But I heard the little girl's voice. I heard her whisper - That's all right........And then she was gone. Now don't ask me if she was speaking Hebrew or Arabic or Russian, because I wouldn't be able to tell you. But I understood her just the same........What is it the old Jewish preachers used to say ---- He who saves but just one soul has saved the world entire? Well, I do my part. Let the others call forth multitudes. I don't care. I do things a different way..........

Vampires rarely see ghosts, but that doesn't mean they aren't real. If  you're curious. If  you'd like to see some, turn out the light. Sit near a window and peek through the shade. Watch the street. The wee, small hours of the morning are best. Breath slowly and observe. You'll spot a few. Passing through the shadows just beyond a streetlight. Talking to a knowing, purring kitty. Don't be afraid if they look up at you. Nod your head. Wave back. Acknowledge their presense (is it an 's' or a 'c'?) Who knows? One might pass through your door.......


PLEASE SCROLL DOWN TO 'THE BOTTOM OF THE BOTTOM' FOR OUR GADGETS AND STUFF......thank you from he who channels all this


This is still wilkravitz. I know I planned to blog again later last night, but those coffee bar witches did something funny to my venti. whether on purpose or by accident, I do not know. But my stomach is a lot better now. Other stressed-out body parts are improving too. And one a them eggs was actually a double-yolker. That made me, at least, feel a little better.  Edith took a picture of it. If we knew what we were doing with this computer, we'd post it on You Tube. But as it stands, all we can do is make Xerox copies at the Office Max and shove 'em under the windshield wipers of cars in the parking lot.. Still, I'm not sure how proficient those witches are. One was carrying a dog-earred, yellow trade paperback called Witchcraft for Dummies and the other one had a light, little, mousy colored dusting of hair on her upper lip. I figure any real witch would at least know how to get rid of that. I mean can't she at least melt some wax in that cauldron? How hard can that be? I'm still gonna give them the benefit of the doubt, 'cause I thought they liked me. Who knows? Maybe the eggs were meant as a gift?

Edith fried up a batch. I wouldn't eat 'em. But the two Red Paint guys we got living here tucked right in. Said they had a certain rich quality, like duck eggs, or goose eggs. Hey, you know, one of my great-great uncles was a butter and egg man. Maybe it's in the family?

Jonathon is attempting to get through to me. It's hard what with him on an all-expense-paid tour of Heaven and all. I understand that. When the guy who always fixed our roof was dying, he said he'd try to reach out to us from the 'other side.' Ran out to Toys R Us for a Ouija board and everything. But after two hours of scrunchin' up our faces and carefully dangling our fingers over that little plastic sliding piece, all we got was a new steady leak over the diningroom table (our seance/talkin' to dead folks chamber) and a damp stain in the ceiling plaster shaped like Buddy Hackett. The dead roofer's son DID come over to fix it, though. Only charged us sixhundred and fifty dollars too, even without the coupon. I guess THAT was something. But every year, on the anniversary of the late roofer's passing, that Buddy Hackett stain reappears. Some of us thought it was a miracle...others, just cheap primer.

But I think he's trying to tell me to look for 'the dream' to start spreading around in this country (America) too.  So if you, or your friends have had it, please contact us and leave a comment. Also comment if you know the language that 'scotosh beedosh...' comes from. They say the Red Paint Folks know something about that. Only the ones I met don't talk much, kinda like taller versions of that little guy from Penn and Teller. One  a the R.P. guys we got here claims he was 'smacked in the head' by lightning seven times. One ear does look a little crazy, so who knows?

Oh, and one more thing... Lailah wants to make her father into a life-eater too. Hasn't done anything yet, but she's thinkin' about it.....I guess she's lonely. I guess she's havin' second thoughts. Maybe she shoulda picked a different 'major"? Maybe being a vampire ain't for her? Shame, too, because she's so damn good at it.......

Oh, jeez!!! Look, you're gonna have to excuse me. But I hafta go. I hafta run out to that pile a blankets we got in the garage. An egg is comin'.....I can feel it! I can feel it! I can feel it!!!


remember. scroll down to the bottom. that's where some son-of-a-bitch banished  all our best gadgets. and we don't know how to get 'em back..... gotta get me some 'click and drag' lessons...

Saturday, September 17, 2011


this is not a regular post. It's me, wilkravitz. I am tapping this out in a coffee bar on Germantown Avenue, the trendy, cobbled, neo-colonial commercial spine of  Chestnut Hill. All is copasetic back at the Glen Gary Road house. Maybe we should not  name the street all the time, but what difference is it going to make? Most of you go right on believing we're just fiction no matter what we say. maybe it's better that way.

Although, some of the locals know better. younger readers sommetimes know who I am. they recognise me. How? not sure. I think a few of them are witches. Like the one sitting near the stone fireplace (first flame this season). Always takes her coffee black. Sprinkles some kind of dried, crumbled leaves in it. And she wears this talisman around her neck. Don't know what it is. Looks like a naked Barbara Walters holding up a plate of spaghetti. Not sure. But I don't want to stare.

she sees me. she nods. I nod back. Everybody else sits bent over their magic keyboards. no one so much as looks up. I think they live here. another twenty-something female quietly enters and joins the might-be-witch. they exchange greetings in some unknown tongue. The onne with the naked barbara walters around her neck laughs.

But here's the funny part. I could swear I ate all of my big oatmeal-raisin cookie (quite the toothsome treat). Yet upon glancing down at the small white plate, I discovered that was not so, for a complete, unviolated fragrant one was staring  right up at me (two of the raisins looked just like eyes). then, when I picked it up to take a bite, the witches began to giggle. Plus, the sound system, or Surius, or whatever they got, started playing Days of future Past (or is it Passed? I can never remember) of my favorites.  Best of all, this big, painful zit I had commandeering the left side of my nose was miraculosly gone. I could feel it. I was healed.

the witches gave me a knowing look........I nodded and mouthed a quick 'thank you.' .....they nodded back, gathered up their things (fine, tooled, leather satchels...thin, wool chalis scarves... you know, 'witchy stuff'). But as they exited out into the chill, gray afternoon, a rogue gust of wind...a  tiny, whip-like tongue, blew a scrap of paper up from their table and sent it swirling and dancing over to  me. It came down right over the third button on the fly of my vintage Levis blue jeans. I picked it up. there was a phone number and one short sentence. it said - take us to your leader..........No, two short sentences. there was something on the said - call us...........

I told you this wan't a real post. that will probably come later. and I don't know who I'll be channeling. but I just thought I'd fill you in on what was happening. you know, give a little bit of the 'back story.'

Let me finish my cookie. We'll talk some more tonight............


please excuse my erratic typing. the experience left me a bit 'aggitated.'  please leave comments, plus a link where we can get back to you.........thank you, wilkravitz


Why did Roland do it? Why did he share the 'night kiss' with Lailah? To what purpose? He had never done the like before. Did Papa send him? Could it have been Renate? No...not her. She was more like a benevolent observer. She rarely plays around with humans. So whay's she doing running around with three iconic singer songwriters from the 1960's, one of whome was temporarily dead? I do not know. This one (an unmaned spirit) only shares those bits of the akoshic record made known to me.....They (whoever 'they' are) do not show me much. That's why we're compelled to deal this out soap opera style.......Ooooh! A clue! why did I say soap opera? I do not know. Could it be that this one was once a player in a company of soap opera performers? I do remember a certain recurring Dreft commercial. And this one seems to remember being spoken to on the radio by some human organism called Cindy Adams.......I wonder if she could be related to Morticia?....No....'they' spell it with two d's.

Lailah's been dispatching victims on a regular basis. Claims she has the visions. Who am I to judge.......Oooh! There's another word......'judge.'........I think I served on a panel  with a bunch of desperately insecure, lesser known actors and political hopefuls. I think we were responsible for chosing a new Miss America.....Such a heavy burden. I hope and pray the nation prospered under her moral direction.

She hunts in a diverse manner. One time it's the marketplace. Another time, a hotel lobby. It's hard for her to gain entry to the bars they usually have there, since she's chained inside the body (her own) of a fifteen year old girl. Soon, with more experience, she'll develope the ability. She'll be able to make 'vampire eyes' at them. Then our little Lailah will be able to go anywhere she wants, Her modus operendi is still the light, almost painfree kiss. True, there might be a slight pinching, or tugging of the flesh, as she breaks the skin, but so what? Didn't you ever apply pressure to an especially stubborn pimple?....Well, then you know what I mean. The 'pop' that comes after makes it all worth while. I'm told the guilty organisms she (and other 'noble' vampires, as well) dines on experience a certain karmic release when they die. No more guilt. No more responsibilities. Lay it all in the Lap of The Lord and let Him deal with it....Does he ever burn them in an eternal Lake of Fire?......Well, I've never detected it.....From what I can piece together, it's all a matter of tit for tat.....Reap what you sow and all that. Eat all the pain you've caused in the world. Die with each of your victims. Experience the torment till you've paid it all back.....Then, I don't know what they do with you. Maybe send you back into the flesh, or if not that, a spiritual muse to inspire the living. My cousin wanted to be the tooth fairy, but they just laughed and told him he was crazy. So now he's a muse. Whispers in the ears of butt sculpting 'doctors' and permanent boobie vendors. You see his work in New York and Philly mostly. Somebody else does it in L.A., but I do not know who that is.

Jerusalem, especially the Old City and the immediately surrounding districts, is a small place. Lailah often spots people from her old congregation. Some of them even approach her. Her distraught father hasn't told everybody. Most of them probably think she's still alive. Girls don't wander the streets much in their culture, especially at night, so how many times could they have seen her anyway? A few after dinner visits, maybe? Yet they'll come over to her. They address her by name. They speak to her. Usually, she just turns away and walks off, leaving them to wonder if they've made a mistake. Sometimes she feigns ignorance. Her dress is still modest and dark. What worked for the daughter of an Armenian Orthodox cleric, works for a vampire too. Maybe it's good she still remembers all those prayers, because she cries and shakes a lot after every kill. Mouthing the old liturgy over and over seems to comfort her....Who knows? Maybe she's just hypnotized?

She sleeps in a lot of different places now. Dark cellars mostly.  And yes, the insects and rodents still scare her. Jean-Michel wants to do something. You know how he has some type of subliminal relationship with her father (go back and wander the tale). He feels responsible. But give her time. I'm sure she'll construct a more comfortable 'life' for herself. She's smart. She'll learn the ropes. Maybe then, they'll get together. After all...she must have been created for a reason?.....Right?

Maybe Jonathon will find out.......

Thursday, September 15, 2011

A VAMPIRE APPROACHING HEAVEN MEETS AN OLD TEACHER.....zsa-zsa gabor and eddie fisher make quick, cameo appearances too

Oh, so he was stoned when he was only thirteen years old! So what!? I died in a fire at the hands of barbarian Crusaders. And it did not happen quickly. Not that I like to brag, but I endured that ultimate torment for what latter generations would call fortyfive minutes. True, there were periods of numbness (more or less), but only  till a fresh new layer of nerve cells could be accessed . Then the danse macabre started anew. And it all went on till my skull exploded. The mingled screams of eight score innocent souls, many just children,  still echoes through the firmamment, though their blessed spirits swirl  'round the Throne of God.

Come on. You must recall my name. I am Johannan, guardian servant to the young Jonathon at the time of his ordeal. And I stand close behind him as he climbs the Heavenly Stairs. How is he Here? I do not really know. Why is he Here? The complete truth of it eludes me. I think it has something to do with 'The Dream,' a Message sown by the one you all call Papa, though The Seeds belong to Someone Greater still.

It is spreading. Fibers of understanding weave through Creation, binding tight the whole. Some hear clearly. Others detect only muffled bits. They gather in the squares and meeting places, hungering for something better. You saw it in, ecuse me...Cairo...and in the American Empire, as concerned individuals came together for 'tea.' We (those of us Up Here, I mean) can smell it everywhere. The World that is Earth approaches a New Age...... Call it Aquarius......Call it the Post 2012 Improved Edition.......or maybe One of  The Comings.....First or Second.....take  your pick...................For it is true that The Great Carver is vain, but not that way.

A man comes down to greet my young charge. He is dressed in the clerical garb of a Great Teacher. And Jonathon encounters the Esteemed Rashi, as he was meant to do all those many lifetimes ago...

While down among mortals the dance still goes on. Twelve nights and days till the Scriptural New Year. A like period of time  till the Leader of the Near At Hand Ishmaelites speaks to The Peoplehood of Nations.
So much opportunity. So much work to do. Cut the pattern. Stitch it tight.....Just be sure you get it right.

Johannon waxes poetic. For before the fire, I had a bit of  'the bard' in me too.

Oooh1 Look! There by the star-gilt balustrade! Zsa-Zsa Gabor...and Eddie Fisher!!  Quick, let me get their autographs!

Come back on the morrow, to learn of Lailah and her sorrow.....

There now...Wasn't it nicer visiting with me, instead of that troublesome, little, false-prince, Zebulon?


Wednesday, September 14, 2011

DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S SCIENCE WAS AHEAD OF ITS TIME....the arcane mysteries of an old city

We sublimated through this material almost a year ago, but people still ask about these things, so here's a quick review. Benjamin Franklin did, in fact, construct an armonica. The original is not a huge contraption, like the Grand Armonica in out narrative. It's about three feet high and four feet long. Finely polished crystal discs, each with a hole drilled in the middle, are carefully mounted on a horizontal, bronze bar resting on a sawhorse-like  support. The discs, arranged in size order, can freely spin when 'played' by human (or maybe our killer monkey could do it too, I suppose) hands.

The instrment, an early tool in the study of harmonics, produces ethereal sounds akin to choirs of angels singing in Heaven. I said 'produces' instead of produced, because it still works. You can see it in the subterranean remnants of Franklin's Market Street  home. The great inventor suspected that the 'vibrations' produced (what later generations would call frequencies) could tap into other 'planes of existence.'  Indeed, urban legend claims that the accomplished nation builder never really 'died,' in the true sense, but was instead  'sublimated' into one of these parallel realities with the help of his intricate, glistening creation.

True, there is an old style 'slab' grave in an iron fenced, Society Hill church yard, but who knows what lies within. However, each dawn, when the light returns, early risers report seeing bright, copper pennies sprinkled on the site. How do they get there? The security camera shows nothing. Another old Philadelphia story, or something else?

And if you ever go wandering through our venerable municipality, know this, the large, busy and rather Norman French, castle-like City Hall Courtyard, rests upon the old hanging field. The granite and bronze compass rose inlaid into the pavers marks the 'drop.'  X marks the actual spot where n'er do wells and pie thieves met their Maker. I wonder if the capuccino laden  masses hurrying into work even know that? Thar be ghosties here.

The vampires and their other unusual friends will shimmer back into our realm tomorrow. Please take this opportunity to pierce the veil and wander through our 346 testimonies.. A pixilated magic awaits.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

SHOT-UP STARS GET EARTH-SIDE PASSES in the pixilated universe of the VAMPIRES

Edith is real mad. Some bitchie-poo knocked a clean, white bakery box sheltering a rich and satisfying, butter cream birthday cake right out of her hands. It went boom, splat, futz, all over the catefully swept brick pavers of Germantown Avenue. She hardly ever shops there. Can't stand the posturing phonies pretending to be boarderline 'society.' Them girdled in Mrs. Drysdales make her sick. And this one just  kept right on going. Rubbin' her thighs together like Eskimo blubber sand paper. Hope she prickly heated herself to death.

Our well meaning, rather demure and motherly, Piney Woman considerately scooped up the debris and dumped it down behind a bush (they got lots a mini-parks 'rounnd here) for some bums, starlings and rabbits. It was not anyone's birthday. And Papa doesn't eat cake. Neither do the elves. Only she thought it would look nice as a centerpiece, right there in the middle of their never used diningroom table. All that fine Henredon veneer must be good for something. You know, make 'em feel like a normal family.  She gets that way sometimes. Papa feels bad for her. He actually talks to her more often than Bob (I think that's his name), her husband, who is off right now fishing and crabbin' in some New Jersey, tidal estuary.

Papa could taste the sadness in her. Made him feel bad too. So he splashed a tiny bit a magic on that ersatz Miz Drysdale. Gave her a hot case a the Volga Shitskies.....right in the middle of the first row at the Kimmel Center...right in the middle of the Grand, Triumphal March, from Aida. Yep, she went marchin' all right. Trottin' would be more like it. Gave her pink domed, slack-jawed, mumblin' bastid of a husband a good excuse to crab his way out of the jammed,  rarified splendor of the main auditorium, knock on the portal to the bastion of the ladies, collect his wilted (and slightly stained) big-boned flower and haul ass home just in time to watch the market report. Lucky he had a copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer in the back seat, 'cause he made her sit on that. The Nicaraguan, whoever she was, could clean it all  up in the morning.

Later, after doing his good deed, Papa settled back in his favorite leather club chair (thank God for central air-conditioning.....although vampires hardly ever really sweat) and  got that far away look on his face, as he sublimated into Jonathon. Now, of course you know I am speaking about his soul. The rest of him stayed right where it was, off to the side of our 'family room.' nestled deep in the wilds of old and semi-old money Chestnut Hill. I think he had on the market report too, since the 'Phightin's' (that means the Phillies) were unbelievably allowing the Houston Astros to win a game. I guess they must have been bored.

The vampire 'father' (looking out through his 'son's' eyes) saw everything. And he rose up with him, climbing the alabaster and moonbeam staircase we call Jacob's Ladder. Stars danced all about them. They passed through nebulas and long, empty voids. Acapella choirs produced breathy resonances in the distance. Chubby toddlers (another species of 'cherub') gave forth with that warm, chocolatey laughter known only to the very young.

Pious, reverent Hindu women, not to mmention truly spiritual aliens of all sorts traveled with them, for the righteous of all groups shall share in the World To Come. even the fifty-six eyed, bouncing, ice-cream head goonies from that place with the giant, fire breathing Yorkshire Terriers. They do make a good pizza on that world, though, I must say. But don't ask me what's in the pepperoni, because you would not want to know.

I'll desribe more of the sights in transit next time. Just know that Jonathon was soon to enncounter a very disgruntled Elvis and a pouting, heavy breathin' Jim Morrison. Seems they wanted to be resurrected along with Lennon. But God works in mysterious ways. That's why they had to stay behind up here, teaching three-legged shimmy-faced, hairy people how to do the hula......Ellvis remembered a little from Blue Hawaii ....Morrison just improvised some moves based on his 'obscene' gyrations in Miami, or someplace like that.  But Sam Cook was happy, 'cause he was the next one goin' down.......

Monday, September 12, 2011

JONATHON, the 'eightteen' year old vampire of a thousand suns, GOES KNOCKING ON HEAVEN'S DOOR

Jonathon felt the pull, like a tide rushing through his body. He was walking along an outlying lane beyond the city walls. It was an attractive district of old villas. Most were built by wealthy German vintners who made 'aliyah' during the mid to late nineteenth century. They helped raise synagogues and schools, contributing greatly toward the rebiirth of spoken Hebrew.

He heard their voices. He heard whispers moving through the atmosphere. Innvisible fingers pulled at his clothing and tugged his hair. And then the sublimation happened. His body crackled with a clean, white charge, tickling his molecules and freeing his essence. The soul that is Jonathon's moved through solid walls and leafy gardens. He saw lovers embracing deep within cool, dark shadows. He drank in the perfum of roses and orange blossoms.

And then he was back within the sacred walls, rising up to the Temple Mount and finding rest upon it. A man came forth to meet him, his face hidded by a cloak wrapped 'round his head. No words were spoken. None were needed. The identity of his guide was unimportant. His mortal or immortal state even less so. For are we not all immortal? And is not the flesh and bone supporting your true self little more that the trappings of a coach, useful for a time, but eventually breaking down and wearing away.

So they walked, if you'd like to visualize it as walking. They passed stalwart guards, upright in the moonlight and noble sanctuaries constructed by men. Then they flowed down through the rock, into a huge cavern known to exist beneath the anciennt foundation. Smooth and deep. Rather like the interior of a rough hewn egg. Soul-like wraiths swirled all about them. Some called out their names. Some said prayers. Others just laughed. A caretaker, attired in the robes of a desert sheik, trembled as they approached, quickly disappearing through a secret door.

Then the man with the hidden face stopped. He pionted at Jonathon and he stopped too. All forms of artificial illunimation trickling down from the shrine above evaporated. And the moon shone down through the miraculously transparent layers of human toil.

Then he knew. Then Jonathon knew. This is the Well of Souls. Hark unto my words! Think not that we are discussing that ficticious charade constructed on the gloaming shore of the New World's northern isle. For we are not in Tanis. This is not a nurse's tale. We speak not to the innocent, but to the profane. For they need it most. So open your ears, as well as  your soul. Bind yourself to our traveller and progress with him toward this midnight rondevous.

Our bodies pass through stone. Our ' hearts' as well. Look about and see. We are there, assembled at the foot of God's Great Skyway.... Take a breath. Move forward. Hold on. Have faith. Look up. Look up and see! Hold fast to Jonathon , as he ascends Jacob's Ladder..........

Fear not.........for it is written that.........



A vampire stripling, originally meant for the earthly court of the great Rashi, rises up to knock on Heaven's Door.....................................................And boy, was Dylan jealous (read the'll know), but Lennon just laughed and Islam just prayed.........
please leave a comment...please tell others.....the vampires sincerely welcome you.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

#ENTOURAGE AND THE #VAMPIRES.....the world needs them both

Even el mundo vampirismo is in shock. #ENTOURAGE is gone! You can't realize what Ari Gold meant to these life-eaters. They got Israeli and Ishmaeli vampirissi cryin' around the same tv's over here in Jerusalem. People are flooding out into the streets hugging each other and blubbering (I'm talking about the ones with U.S. video feeds). It's worse than when the North Koreans shot Fonzie. Yoko, who as you know is over here trying to arrange an advantageous recording deal for her resurrected husband, says it reminds her of what happened in Strawberry Fields. Yusef Islam is disgusted by it. He understands, but is never the less disgusted. Dylan doesn't watch much television, so he don't care one way or the other. He would be disgusted but Stevens (I mean Islam) commandeered that emotion first. Sarah says it was one of the best series 'finales' (remember, they got movies in the pipeline) she ever saw. Actually almost squished a full grown royal Saluki (traditional breed around here) as she was watching it. Poor dog shit all over the rug. The L.A. types in town to oversee the arrangement of the new milleniuum (did I spell it right?) say that the 'Making It In America' show will slip right into the sweet little slit left vacant by Vinnie and the boys. A new 'entourage.' A new glamour biz (fashion). Neurotic environs (Manhattan). Great score. Just hope it's not a Jane Mansfield take on Marilyn Monroe, like Friends (charming as it may have been) was to Seinfeld.

Let's see. what was I going to tell you? Oh, yes. Jean-Michel is attempting to arrange a meeting between the newborn Lailah and her father, the Armenian Orthodox priest. I know most vampires frown on such 'after death' reunions, but our gallant, gallic night stalker wants to try. The girl isn't so sure. She has the mind of a fifteen year old. She wants more time. While her father blames himself for all this. He spends hours each night (after his priestly duties are through) pouring over arcane church texts searching for the proper exorcism ritual to flush the blood of Lilith from his daughter's nubile flesh. So far, all he's been able to do is kill a few innocent water bugs and sour a container of Lactaid.

Jonathon was mobbed when he went out on the street. You know about his resemblence to Adrian Garnier, so what else would you expect, tonight of all nights? He enjoys it though. Sure he wants to improve humanity, but our finely drawn, tight-bodied, little Andalucian has a vain side. I mean we know how he feels about a good Dolce & Gabana, not to mention all his cunning, snug-fitting, black leather bootkins.

And speaking of #ENTOURAGE and @jeremypiven and #VAMPIRES and all.....did you know that a few well known movie actors actually ARE VAMPIRES? Think about it. You'll figure out who they are. Listen for the vampire cadence to their speech. Look for the carefully crafted features and the exceptionally well fitting garments. Give us a lot of hits. Get me in a good mood some night and I'll tell you who they are. Although one's face isn't so carefully crafted. And I don't know who let him in the 'club,' but just consider him the exception that proves the rule.

More on who has experienced 'the dream' tomorrow night. And Doctor Franklin appears to have stumbled on some significant piece of esoterica. More on that as well.

The Red Paint People? I truly believe we covered this already, but I'll condense.....A stone-age European strain of humanity subscribing to a culture believed to be more than twenty thousand years old. Relics belonging to this group were uncovered in Maritime Canada and the northern U.S.. Most pieces bore faint remnants of an ocher coloring agent, hence the name 'Red Paint People.' A small, surviving band of such individuals resides deep in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, living side by side and sharing 'magic' and secrets with the general 'Piney' population. Many American Indian groups are believed to bear admixtures of Red Paint DNA, since these people were entering the continent from the east at the same time as their people were migrating in from the west. Red Paints are known for a stoic all knowing gaze and tall, sinewy, angular bodies. Some experts believe them to be highly telepathic and possessed of an extremely fine tuned sense of intuition. That 'scotosh beedosh' phraseology seen in our posts is thought to stem from an old Red Paint dialect.


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This post is from the house in Chestnut Hill (Philadelphia). The vampires are very dissappointed. We did not get many hits yesterday. Today too. I know that happens over weekends, but THEY don't know that. Indeed, Papa still doesn't recognise the seven day week. Remember, he comes from a time far prior to any culture we're familiar with. Our contemporary faiths and beliefs seem as temporary fads to him. Five thousand years ago is like last Wednesday is to us.

And he is in contact with the others. He thinks...they know. Not exactly mind reading. More like a biologically based Surius radio station for liefe-eaters. Renate can do it to. They all can, the older ones, that is, up to a point.

I hope you googled that stuff we told you yesterday about Glen Beck in Jerusalem, so  you know it wasn't a fictional fabrication. None of this is. We've told you a million times. Do you just not believe us, or are you afraid to believe us? Scotosh beedosh, beedosh baposht, bapost sketosht.....In other words....Don 't be afraid to see what you see. Donm't be afraid to know what you know. The world is changing, hopefully for the better. All I can tell you is the vampires (the noble ones) are certainly doing their part.

Over in the Holy City, Lailah's been 'cullin' people left and right. A nip here. A cut there. Just trim off some of the fanatics. She has a way about her. Gentle...everything's very gentle. A soft kiss (well, not too soft). Eyes flutter. A quick swoon. The cold, blue flame...and hello eternity. That old French vampire, le chevalier, Jean-Michel saw her do it. He tried to speak with her, but she flew off. Roland's still here. He hovers 'round her. Papa wants him to come home, but he fights it. Look, we all know Papa could transport him right back to the house on Glen Gary Road in a second, if he wanted to. But this seems to be imprtant to the soft hearted 'elf.' So Papa hasn't forced him.

Edith is back. she brought us some of this really good Italian style bread they bake in Atlantic City. Well, she brought it back for me, mostly. Except for her and a Red Paint or two, I'm the only genuine human here. But we gave some to the woman next door...the one who feeds her kid shitty pizza. Maybe this will make up for it.

September is a dull month. Everybody pretends that it's not summer, but we still sweat like it's summer (not the vampires, naturally). It's like Limbo...It's not fall...It's not anything......I walk by a school. The kids just sit there, listening to the teacher with sad empty eyes. Their plastic 'swimming pools' are still up, for God's sake. All they want to do is go home.

I think the guy who owns this luncheonette I go to had 'the dream.' I heard him mumbling. I heard him mumbling. He said, 'I am the Unity,'.....over and over and over and over. Then, when I ordered, he told me not to get the tuna. First time he ever did that. So I got the turkey wrap. Sandwich was a little heavier than usual too...lotsa meat. It was the dream. I'm sure he had the dream.......I'm positive...........


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Saturday, September 10, 2011

Glen Beck (and enchanted vampire minions) IN JERUSALEM

Glen Beck is in Jerusalem too. I know I said I's tell you more about my transformation into a disembodied spirit, but last nights pow-wow took a lot out of my. I'll share a bit more of that bloody, lurid stuff. Just let me fill you in on what's happening in the street first.

We don't know who conjured him up. Nobody knows if it was Papa, or Renate, or one of the other vampires. Some thought it might have been one of the jinns. But it looks like he bought a ticket (or leased a private jet) and flew over on his own. It's crazy, but in our enchanted universe, we often forget such mundane forms of voyaging are possible.

So he's been giving these speeches. Let me see. The last one was right by the Southern Wall of Temple Mount. Popular spot. Glen Beck and half the prophets. Gee, is he trying to tell us something. Still, the  audience seemed to eat it up. Renewal of faith. Support for Israel. Striving for a secure peace. A few plugs for his GBTV internet 'television' station. Look, I can't blame him for that last one. Guy's gotta make a living. Right? But (and it is a BIG but) Sarah says he had the dream. Some of the others picked up on that too, however she's really very young, yet able to zoom in and out of people's brains (both mortal and the fancy, improved vampire kind) like an F-16 fighter jet. Actually, most of the aces around here prefer the older Mirages ('ray France!), but Zebulon cares little for tools of violence. And before I forget.....have any of you had the dream? You know, the 'I am The Unity, like unto there is None Else. No thing can seperate Me from thee.... ' soul movie. Papa started it. That's what they say, only he's not so sure.

I've become quite attached to Lailah lately. she's a bit like me. Granted, they did me in before I actually became a vampire. And I would a been a great vampire, hollding court deep within some old abandoned, windblown, desert caravanserai. Nomadic minions at my beck and call. Human familiars securely hidden in glittering throne rooms throughout the known world. Rupert Murdock eat your heart out. Bill Gates too. But... it was not meant to be. And so I drift, a will  o the wisp, sharing stories, encouraging do-gooders (mostly) and visiting all the cool, new hot spots. Hey, even disembodied spirits need time off.

Some Israeli promoter tried to get Glen Beck on the same bill with Yusef Islam, Bob Dylan and the resurrected John Lennon. Oh, Beck was all for it. But Yoko put a bug in her no-longer-officially-dead husband's ear. And some agent from L.A. (specializing in dead celebrity estates) said it'd be a bad career move. Even dead Elvis wouldn't do it and he was (is?) politically closer to Beck that Lennon. ever was (is?). Bob Dylan mostly wanders off with these Jerusalem 'world music' types. I hear he's working on something new. Hasidic Love Call, I think it is. And Yusef Islam is heavily guarded due to a spate of serious .death threats.......Complications....Jerusalem Fever.....What else is new?

You know the ghost of my father is STILL in this city. Never passed over. Too guilty about what happened to me. Coulda paid sommebody off and shipped me out to Tanis or someplace like that. He wan'ted to. He thought about it. But it all happened so fast. Look, I am over it. I'm willing to swap vapors (a spirit thing) with him. He's the one. Pray for us. Let it all be settled before the New Yearr

Here's to a Joyous and Healthy 5772 everyone! May God sprinkle raisins and almonds (symbolic signs of good fortune and heavenly approval) down on you and yours. Tomorrow we run with Lailah...and maybe with her father too.


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Friday, September 9, 2011


I have told you many things, stories about others, vampire secrets, lies about myself. Some nights I am an adult, other nights I feign indifference. I am young. I am old. I am dead. In truth, I am all of those things. In mortal years I only reached thirteen. But a soul feels many things and life is not only for the 'living.' Think not that just because I lacked two eyes I could not see. I saw. And I knew. Maturity came after death in my case, a little late, but welcome just the same.

Now there  were many ways to kill the wrong-doer. Some nations used a sword, others an ax. Beheadings were accomplished in a multitude of ways. I knew of a tribe, deep down in the southern deserts. They buried the 'criminal' up to his neck. Then they soaked the sand in ass' urine, lots of ass urine, until it had the consistency of dough or wet concrete. You might say that the confiscation of the head was anti-climactic. The poor soul was doomed anyway. It's not as if he could just get up and leave. They could have gone back to their hovels and forgotten all about him. In a few days thirst would finish him off. The crows , quite partial to glassy eyeballs, might make off with a souvenir or two. The ants could have had a party. But the people liked a good show and lacking circuses, they made do with this. A strong man would come forth, usually a favored warrior or some coarse dolt like that. A king's fool. You know the type. He'd strut and flex, rage at the terrified, little head poking up above the ground. Pretend to kick it. Sometimes he'd pee on it But then, when it was time to get down to business, he'd grasp the offending appendage in his thick, rough hands. Oh, how the crowd would roar. Then he'd playfully slap the cheeks like a mother chastising her child. Oh, how they'd laugh. Sometimes the condemned would cry and the onlookers would grow silent, as the remorseless court-killer proceeded to screw the head around and around, cracking the neck bones, tearing the blood vessels and breaking the wind pipe, till the guilty noggin popped off in his hands like a cabbage torn loose from the ground. No muss. No fuss. The stump of a neck wound  up tight like the end of a sausage.

It was customary to present this 'cabbage' to the mother, or whoever came close to being the mother. The body was left in the ground. And some said that whatever grass grew in these parts grew sweeter at that spot, providing a headstone of sorts for the poor departed. But my people were different. We were civilized, so they did not do that to me.

My father accepted his 'loss.' God's will would be done. I had consorted with the Children of Lilith, danced with witches, drank unclean blood. My mother cried. She was unconsolable. But they drugged her with oil pressed from the seeds of the poppy and locked her away. Other members of the household kept silent, lest they too be accused, for wagging tongues were everywhere. You know 'the drill' as they say. Sometimes a city of God is anything but. Look to the scandals in other Holy Bastions. You know... you know.....

They bound my arms to my sides and wound me in clean, white cloth. Cotton, I think it was. Then four soldiers carried me to a place just beyond the city walls. Did you ever see Joshua in The Ten Commandments? Well, that's how they looked, short Israelite kilts, jauntily wrapped head scarves, while I , on the other hand, seemed to be an oversized 'papoose.'

Oh, my mind was gone by then. I'm sure my father paid the officials to dose me with some narcotic. And I 'dreamed' of summers spent in the north, along the shores of the Sea of Harps (where the bards came from). You mmay know it as the Galilee. Please excuse my spelling, but I've known so many inscription systems. It's hard to keep them straight.

I was laid upon a rock, a thick, flat, bed-like rock. It felt cool. I remember that. Up above, on the civic ramparts, a group of men prepared the stone, a large, raw, sharp edged boulder. They wrestled it up to the beginnings of a well, worn grove, an indentation approximately one and a half cubits wide. Prayers were said. Oh, not for me. For them. For the city. For the rest of the nation. And I don't know who else...For all the ships at sea. Then they let loose the stone and sent it rolling down over the walls and onto my skull forty feet below. My final memory was of the gulls. Jerusalem is not that far from the sea and those voracious thieves grew fat on our leavings. I saw them silently glide into possition high above, against the hard, blue sky, until a swift, dark shadow passed over my face and it was finished......

Please. I am so sorry, but after twenty eight hundred years it is still hard for me to relive this. Please, you must understand......Come back tomorrow night.......I'll try to tell you more......


Go to @wilkravitz the profile page...look down the tweets till you see a link. click on it and you will dance among the stars.....SCHMOOZINGWITHALIENS.....contemplations on the cosmos.....

Thursday, September 8, 2011


I was caught. They saw me, or one of them did. A servant. I never liked him and he never liked me. the Philistine bastard. Was he a slave? Who cares. He owed a debt. And besides, we were not like the pagans. Most slaves were freed after seven years. Even if they had no place to go and chose  to stay with their master, they could not remain beyond the Year of Jubilee.

He lived in the little room next to mine. Sort of like an in-house bookkeeper he was. Did a little bit of everything. And I could smell him lighting those tiny, little inscence fires to that statue of his. Nobody else knew about it, but I did. Oh, he was such a favorite. He was so indispensible. Kept perfect records and everything. They fed him the same food we got. He wore all the best cloth from Damascus. Even took part in The Passover with us.

They loved that son-of-a-bitch. Boy did they love him...especially my girl cousin. She lived with us. Her parents were dead. I think a sea serpent devoured them en route to Cyprus, or something like that.  Man, you had to really look out for those sea serpents in my day. Today...not so much. Look, I'm not a dope. I know it must have been a rogue wave, or a storm. But what the hell difference does it make? And wouldn't the Weather Channel be more interesting if that big, bald guy said - We have a huge iron-scaled , fiery sea beast  with five score giant bat wings churning up the waters o'er the remnants of Atlantis........instead of telling you to watch out for little miss  Hurricane Big-Tits? What a poetically barren age you live in. Even the vampires dress like fools.

So my cousin started kissing up to those statues with him. Then she graduated to kissing up other stuff too. I saw. I knew. I was gonna tell. Why? Why do you think, numb nuts!? I liked her! They used to go out in this little courtyard we had out back. It was where the olive trees grew. But none of us went out there after dark. The gnats would eat you up alive. Apparently, not just the gnats.

I threatened them. Said I would 'tell.' But they bought me off. What did it take, a handful of shekels? That's where I got the money to go wandering around the city. And that's how I got in trouble. That Philistine creep didn't run back and tell my father the first time. He waited. He was shrewd. They both were, my cousin too. So they tailed me and they watched. Then one night.....I think it was just before  the Pentecost, they went to him. He had guests, other learned men from Punt. Were they Israelites? Not exactly, but sort of. Our Faith had somewhat of a following down there ever since that Solomon and Sheba fiasco. Look, you heard about Menelik? You heard about the Dissappearance? The Blessed Ark of The Covenant, I mean. Well, my father was meeting with some of those almost Israelites from down in Axum. They revered him, a hereditary priest, a noble. Kind a like some transported cut purse from Australia having high tea with the queen. And my progenitor loved to play that part.

So they barged in, the Philistine and my kinswoman. They told about my 'unclean' acts. They told about the Assyrian vampires. They told about the blood. And you know how Orthodox Jews feel about the ingestion of blood. So they threw their sugared dates and almonds to the floor and raced out into the night to find me.

Ever see someone get stoned? And no, I do not mean how the Ishmaelites or Medes do it. It is not what you see on the internet today. I mean how they really did it. I mean how it was done in Jerusalem. Well, come back tommorrow and I'll tell you. Might say I had a front  row seat.......


speaking of spirits, oh best beloveds.......get a load of this SCHMOOZINGWITHALIENS tidbit

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


I will have to transmit this information very quickly. there are those who do not want me to share these things. they do not believe you (modern humans) are worthy of such knowledge. this is Zebulon. I know I have told you many things about my beginnings. some of them are true (after a fashion). while others were merely burlesques, grotesque manipulations of the truth. But now I speak in a clear voice. this time my words are wrought in gold.

Oh., how I long for those days. May father was a hereditary priest in the Temple of Solomon, a prince bishop, as it were, arrayed in the white and silver robes of a high cleric. He sat in The Great Sanhedrin, part of a noble senate devoted to God and charged with maintaining Earthly purity. Was he First Priest to Zion ?(what many erroneously call the High Priest) No, he was not. Think of him as a cardinal. Indeed, the very structure of the Trinitarian Vatican is based on our beginnings.

A spoiled child, I was. Raised in a palace. Schooled in The Scriptures by the Prophets themselves. And when the time came for my father to be Gathered to Our Fathers and take his place under the Saphire Throne, I would ascend to his chair, joining that blessed assembly.

Privy to miracles he was. Confidant to the angels and earthly manifestation of The Heavenly Host. Yet I wandered the byways of David's City, an urchin among urchins, taking my fun from simple things. Stealing a peach. Upsetting a spice cart. Tickling the ear of a blind man. But I heard thinngs and I saw things. Mundane things and secret things. Some of them torment me to this very day. For I walked with the Night Folk and drank soup from witches cook pots. I saw them. I did. They were there. They fed on us and laughed at Divine Writ. Beings from afar. Assyrians, I suppose. Or at least they were Assyrians when they were alive. But they were not alive. They were something else.

They offered me blood. I wanted it. I needed it. They tempted me. Skill in games? It would be mine. A winning smile? Of course. Strength? Speed? Without a doubt. Drink it - they said. Taste it. Let it trickle down......And I did, durinng the sixteenth night of my fourteenth year. Already a knowing soul in the eyes of God, for I had been Consecrated in the Faith fifteen days before.

It happened that a servant from our household saw me. He ran home to tell the tale......Well, what  manner of truth can I tell you?  I pay for my transgression to this very night. Jonathon is my charge. He must succeed. And the world must grow to be a better place

Now do  not think that all vampires are evil. They are not. If you are a regular follower of our tale you know this. But I was not meant to travel their road. So I travel it yet, in a ghostly form to this day... Some may have read these words before, while others have not. That's just how it is.  And if you'd like me to recount the torment of my death, leave a message (comment)... To everything there is a season. And a time for every purpose under Heaven... Adieu, my best beloveds.......OH! and one more thing. If you'd like to feel my presence (spirit) lay your fingers upon the keys (lightly, please) close your eyes and dream......


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Tuesday, September 6, 2011


This is Edith. I'm sitting on the porch of a snug, little,clapboard, farmhouse deep in the Jersey Pines. It's dark. It's damp. It's chilly. My kind a weather. Could stay out here for hours, just rockin' back and forth, listening to the whispering mist. Got a hand knit sofa throw over me to keep warm. Thought I heard a 'devil,' a Jersey Devil, shuffling through the brush a few minutes ago. Smelled like a female. I got a sharp honker. I can pick up those things. Bud, my husband (yeah, I know. I never spoke of him) is inside clickin' back and forth between some baseball game and a decorating program on HGTV. I can hear it. 'The transformation is nearly complete.' Boy, I wish it was that easy. Am I gonna go back to the place in Chestnut Hill? Well, yeah, I guess so. Only sometimes I need the quiet, old timey silence of The Pines. Juices me up a little. Gets the magic flowing.

I know what Jonathon and the others are trying to do in Jerusalem. Papa tells me. I pick up things on my own. And they are sincere. And they do believe in the basic goodness of humanity. But I know folks who believe in Santy Claus and they still gotta fork over two dollars and ninety-nine cents every time they chew on an el cheapo meal from Burger King. Santy Klaus ain't never once opened his wallet. So you will have to excuse me. I have grown a bit cynical where religion is concerned. Not that I doubt the existance of God, but I'd like to see Him pick up a check every once in a while. And then you know what's funny? A little later, when I go inside to sleep, when I lie down in bed and get all comfy, I'm still gonna say my prayers. Not out loud. Not  so anybody'd hear them. Bud snores anyway. And those Red Paint guys we got squattin' down the cellar got their own kind a heebie-geebie business going on. They dont care what I believe. No, I take that back. they do care IF I believe, just not about all the razzle-dazzle, glitz and tassles I tie all over it. Maybe they should go over to the Middle East. and not just the Middle East too, if you know what I mean.

'Beauty is as beauty does.' That's what my mom always said. And she could fry an egg just by lookin' at it. She was a hum-dinger of a pow-wow woman. She knew lots a stuff. She was right. It ain't hard. All's we gotta do is start doin' beautiful stuff. Brighten the corner where you are. I suppose that puts me in the 'micro' minded camp with Baylah. But, then again.....I ain't in Jerusalem.

You know that dream is still goin' 'round. The one about 'I am the Unity...,' I mean . Trouble is.....some folks think it's a nightmare. They like their biases and they ain't ready to give 'em up.....

Now, be quiet. Don't make any noise. Maybe that little Jersey Devil filly will come back.....And after the summer we had....don't that cool air feel nice......'Potential.' The people inside  on HGTV are talkin' about potential.. I can hear 'em...Yeah, well....we got a lot a that.....



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Monday, September 5, 2011


This is Papa speaking to you. I am in the bowels of the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, suspended in the electro-magnetic web created by the Great Armonica. Very relaxing. I find it very relaxing. Doctor Franklin cranks it up. I strip down and jump in. Oooh, it feels so good. The charge rushes through my body. Far superior to those 'anti-gravity' spinning devices they have at some health clubs. I do not know. Help me. Are they yet coveted by the masses? Do they still have them? The fickleness of contemporary human culture never fails to amaze me.  Ah...ah...wait...wait...Just a moment. Just a moment. Please, please. There, there. Oh, it 'tickles.' It feels so good. It feels so good. Please! Please! Yes! Yes! No! No! Yankee Doodle!! Yankee Doodle!!! Just like fuckin' birthday cake! Birthday cake! Birthday cake!!!! AH! AH! AH! AH! AH!........oh...oh...oh....

The female technicians in attendance appear dumbstruck. Some of the other genders they have 'round here look dumb struck too. Doctor Franklin and his team have assembled quite an assortment. No one can tell what the Jersey Devil thingie they have here really is. And two of the scientists think the mermaid hag is really just an old, droopy breasted, merMAN. You know how touchy they are about their cloacas.

Some nights, when he truly cranks it up, I can see into parallel universes. A few of them are quite nice. People grow cotton candy hair you can eat and all that. Gives a very different meaning to getting a 'Brazilian.' Others terrify me. Solid stone. Just solid stone, filling the cosmos forever, with maybe a small crack eternities apart, harboring strange annd elusive microscopic cultures. Sometimes I can almost hear them sing.

We monitor events in Jerusalem. I am almost always in telepathic contact with my beloved vampire son. Jonathon means the world to me. I pray that he succeeds. I hope they can bring peace. In one universe, it has already happened. The two Kingdoms of Israel and Ishmael rule side by side, dominating the former Roman, Parthian realms in a kind of PAX SEMITICA. You should see the Space Arks they build. And the colonies on the parallel Mars are quite beautiful. Humus flavored ice cream is a bit much though, but what can you do.

Oh, yes! Before I forget...There is this  universe, I have only seen it once (Doctor Franklin maybe two or three times) where the moon drifts ever closer to the Earth. Monster tsunamis (can you say DEEP IMPACT?) regularly scour the coastal regions. And guess what's predicted for December 21, 2012? Come on. Do I really have to tell you?

Laila made her first independent kill. Not with Renate. Odd, she is my vampiric mother, but I rarely imagine her that way. And not with the elfin Roland. She was surprisingly good at it too. The victim hardly felt a thing. She looked so nice. The light from the cold blue flame suits her. What is that? You are not familiar with the cold blue flame? Well, you uninformed, lazy thing you....go and google VAMPIREWONDERLAND, spontaneous human combustion and learn something. I told you, we only pretend that this is fiction...

Now shhhh...Be quiet. He's doing it. Doctor Franklin is cranking it up again. Go! Go! Go!...Go away! Go away!...I have no time for you now....