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Papa has a theory about the Enemy, the alien enemy, I mean. He thinks they've always been there watching and waiting. How can we, both humans and vampiric, know how long other races have existed? Is it not possible for some to be millions of years old and perhaps even far older than that. Look at the Neanderthal vampires inhabiting the unexplored vastness of Siberia. What would happen to them in a modern city? How would they function? What role could they play? The evolutionary line known as human has moved on. They no longer appear to be one of us. Might we not seem just as primitive to other beings? What regard would they have for us? Do farmers in Africa turn away to avoid disinheriting troops of chimpanzees?
It could be that we were merely curiosities up to now. They must have occupied other worlds. They must have exploited other resources. Maybe they need more? Maybe we have them? But isn't it reasonable to assume they'd possess the ability to artificially fabricate the necessities of life? Could they not be World Builders instead of destroyers? Yet things change when faith enters into it.
I think Papa knows more than he lets on. It could be that he has had dealings with these beings in the past. What do they call them, the Aninaki, the Nefalim, the boogey man? Please understand that Zebulon (your ever obedient disembodied spirit) has never encountered such entities, neither in the flesh, or in the spirit. Perhaps their dead pass on to another part of Heaven. Perhaps they do not die?
The mysterious Red Paint People know something too. I've seen them, the two Captain Jean-Luc Picard clones and their Picabo Street women. They sit together under the trees. Look, they're doing it right now, all wrapped up in their plaids and mackinaws. Do you suppose they order from L.L. Bean? (even disembodied spirits know things like that). One of the women holds a raccoon. See how she strokes it. No fear at all. Her mate (I assume) warms a little snake in his hands. How bright and colorful it is. Do not serpents sleep through this time of year? But this one seems so lively.
And a subtle frequency passes between them, an electronic vibration. How do they generate such a thing? Papa feels it. He senses it. Look at him, sitting up there on the porch. See? He's not rocking anymore. He's just 'listening.' The others are off exploring, Sarah and Jonathon, I mean. Annie 'flew' off with the elves and cherubs. I don't think she can actually float up into the air by herself. She needs them. Look, maybe she's managed it once or twice, but it's not something she can rely on. Not yet.
Jonathon likes to silently pick his way through the old ghost towns. They have them here in the Pines. Tiny, isolated settlements dating back to the Revolution, or to the dawn of the industrial age. He finds things, old discarded cups holding snips and snaps of shredded ghosties, wandering memories, the moaning echos of ancient songs. Sometimes someone greets them. Perhaps a long forgotten granny woman left shivering under thin, worn blankets? Look at her bones shining in the moonlight. I wonder if she sees the stars? They leave the tumble down shack and sublimate down into a deep, dark mine. Men are buried here. Let your fingers feel what your eyes cannot see. How contorted they are. What was it like to be buried alive? Did the soil scrape their corneas? Did the pressure crack their ribs? Sarah passes through the body of a young boy. She tastes the words of his final prayer. Jonathon adds benedictions of his own. They rise up into the dappled moonlight, playing through the crispy lace of brown and crumbling leaves. A bobcat studies them. So does the still twitching rat in its jaws. Even the fleas take notice, kindred spirits. Blood suckers all.
Yet someone with out eyes sees them too. No ghost eyes, or jelly filled ones. It feels them. It savors them. It measures them. And then it moves on. Papa 'sees' it. He freezes, as if listening to the wind. But then it passes. And Edith puts down her knitting. She steps off the porch, moves out into a moonbeam, spreads her arms wide, looks up toward eternity and smiles. The night birds provide haunting accompaniment.
And when night comes to Jerusalem, the night birds sing there too. The aliens are everywhere......Shhhhh... don't move......Can you hear them?
~"~"~"~"~~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~~~~""""""~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"""""~~~~"~~~""~~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""_"
http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/ RSS FEED LINK http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default TWITTER http://Twitter.com/wilkravitz AND FORGET NOT OUR WORTHY ALLIES AT http://Twitter.com/billoberstjr http://Twitter.com/Caballoblue and http://www.getfanged.com/ PLEASE WHISPER OF US TO YOUR FRIENDS. AND KINDLY CLICK THE 'SHARE' BUTTON YOU SEE BELOW.
It could be that we were merely curiosities up to now. They must have occupied other worlds. They must have exploited other resources. Maybe they need more? Maybe we have them? But isn't it reasonable to assume they'd possess the ability to artificially fabricate the necessities of life? Could they not be World Builders instead of destroyers? Yet things change when faith enters into it.
I think Papa knows more than he lets on. It could be that he has had dealings with these beings in the past. What do they call them, the Aninaki, the Nefalim, the boogey man? Please understand that Zebulon (your ever obedient disembodied spirit) has never encountered such entities, neither in the flesh, or in the spirit. Perhaps their dead pass on to another part of Heaven. Perhaps they do not die?
The mysterious Red Paint People know something too. I've seen them, the two Captain Jean-Luc Picard clones and their Picabo Street women. They sit together under the trees. Look, they're doing it right now, all wrapped up in their plaids and mackinaws. Do you suppose they order from L.L. Bean? (even disembodied spirits know things like that). One of the women holds a raccoon. See how she strokes it. No fear at all. Her mate (I assume) warms a little snake in his hands. How bright and colorful it is. Do not serpents sleep through this time of year? But this one seems so lively.
And a subtle frequency passes between them, an electronic vibration. How do they generate such a thing? Papa feels it. He senses it. Look at him, sitting up there on the porch. See? He's not rocking anymore. He's just 'listening.' The others are off exploring, Sarah and Jonathon, I mean. Annie 'flew' off with the elves and cherubs. I don't think she can actually float up into the air by herself. She needs them. Look, maybe she's managed it once or twice, but it's not something she can rely on. Not yet.
Jonathon likes to silently pick his way through the old ghost towns. They have them here in the Pines. Tiny, isolated settlements dating back to the Revolution, or to the dawn of the industrial age. He finds things, old discarded cups holding snips and snaps of shredded ghosties, wandering memories, the moaning echos of ancient songs. Sometimes someone greets them. Perhaps a long forgotten granny woman left shivering under thin, worn blankets? Look at her bones shining in the moonlight. I wonder if she sees the stars? They leave the tumble down shack and sublimate down into a deep, dark mine. Men are buried here. Let your fingers feel what your eyes cannot see. How contorted they are. What was it like to be buried alive? Did the soil scrape their corneas? Did the pressure crack their ribs? Sarah passes through the body of a young boy. She tastes the words of his final prayer. Jonathon adds benedictions of his own. They rise up into the dappled moonlight, playing through the crispy lace of brown and crumbling leaves. A bobcat studies them. So does the still twitching rat in its jaws. Even the fleas take notice, kindred spirits. Blood suckers all.
Yet someone with out eyes sees them too. No ghost eyes, or jelly filled ones. It feels them. It savors them. It measures them. And then it moves on. Papa 'sees' it. He freezes, as if listening to the wind. But then it passes. And Edith puts down her knitting. She steps off the porch, moves out into a moonbeam, spreads her arms wide, looks up toward eternity and smiles. The night birds provide haunting accompaniment.
And when night comes to Jerusalem, the night birds sing there too. The aliens are everywhere......Shhhhh... don't move......Can you hear them?
~"~"~"~"~~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~~~~""""""~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"""""~~~~"~~~""~~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""~~""_"
http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/ RSS FEED LINK http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default TWITTER http://Twitter.com/wilkravitz AND FORGET NOT OUR WORTHY ALLIES AT http://Twitter.com/billoberstjr http://Twitter.com/Caballoblue and http://www.getfanged.com/ PLEASE WHISPER OF US TO YOUR FRIENDS. AND KINDLY CLICK THE 'SHARE' BUTTON YOU SEE BELOW.
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