Tuesday, April 30, 2013


Annie curled up on the leather sectional watching Vikings on demand. She likes that show. Says it's like the Flintstones meet Sons of Anarchy. You know, shaggy ponies instead a choppers? She wants a ask 'Papa' what them berserker bastids was like in real life. Starts pokin' him. Starts yankin' hairs out a his head. Only it don't do no good, 'cause he ain't there. Still sits in that chair. Still shuffles off to his sleepin' place at dawn. But that's just automatic pilot. 'Papa' has left the building. Or to be more precise, he ain't entered it yet. The nebulous cloud containing the essence of his being, sublimates through space somewhere on the outer fringes of the asteroid belt. For a little while he had company. A tiny, little space probe sent out from some real nerdy planet twelve light years away flew right through him. And it sensed he was there. So now they'll think we're intelligent energy fields, instead of maybe seven billion sit-com families or Price Is Right people. I don't know where the probe is now. It obviously has the ability to travel at relativistic speeds. You know, them nerds can do anything.... 'cept dance and shit. But 'Papa' don't go that fast... at least I never seen him do it...not lately anyway. Right now he got like two hundred and fifty million miles to go. But a million miles an hour ain't too bad, though. 

Edith says to Annie - Don't you know them Vikings was a bunch of cruel, blood thirsty bastids?.... Annie sips a Grey Goose on the rocks (even seven or eight year old vampirinas can metabolize alcohol) and goes - Yeah, now shut up..... She wants a see a 'blood eagle.' But I don't think they got one in this episode. Think the Screen Extras Union is touchy that way. You know, some a these shows is real realistic. 'Case you don't know what a 'blood eagle' is, I'll tell ya. It was like a Viking magic trick, only they didn't need no stinkin' cards or rabbits. I think battle axes was about it. Two warriors run up behind a guy, like a cryin' trembling monk, or somebody and grab his arms. Then, the one doin' the trick, smashes the battle axe into one side of his rib cage, crushing the bones from the clavicle on down. Before the guy goes guhk, he real fast does it to the other side. Then he reaches in, yanks out the lungs and throws 'em up over the guys shoulders. That's where the 'eagle' part comes in. You can see the pink, wet, spongy sacs fill up with air every time the 'volunteer from the audience' bastid takes a breath. At this point, the other Vikings rapin' all the people stop and clap. Then the guy trembles. His eyes roll back and he dies. The Vikings go - Awwww. 'Cause they like a good show. But show's over. What can you do?

Only another, more local production, is about to begin. You see, ghouls are not the only creatures with animal allies. Mole-folk have them too, via their lovingly cared for hoards of domesticated  (or semi-domesticated) rats. After many generations, most are piebald, raised for food in huge, rustic pens cobbled together from scraps of wood plus whatever they can find underground. They feed them special mushrooms grown in damp, dark tunnels. And conditions really are quite sanitary. No fleas or dirt. Much cleaner than butcher shop rabbits. But a particular strain, grown for defense is different, with rich, black, glossy coats and dark, red skin. Their teeth are white and razor sharp. Giant soldier ants they are, even if individually they make quite nice pets. And armies of them swarm 'round the tunnel dwellers, ready to go to work. You know, sewage pipes are rodent freeways... And the great, urban fortress of Tobias Maxwell has many, many toll booths... some, complete with bidets. Certain handlers among the mole-people open the 'gates' with large, ancient wrenches kept for just such a purpose. Some foul smelling, watery gruel runs out. But not that much. And the flesh eating swarms race in. Most inside are sleeping.... What a pity. 

Each, sleek, rather weasel-like specimen scoops out a fat, lima bean sized dollop of flesh every time they bite. Their manic jaws average at least fifteen mouthfuls per minute. And there are SO many of them. Some like tongues... Others eyes.... Genitals too, I am told.

The mole-folk will groom them after. Don't worry about that. 

And if you think these roiling multitudes will set off motion detectors, you're right. But what are the cops gonna do... run in with flame throwers? 

So Jonathon sits on the cold lead floor, leaning against an equally chilly wall, as vampire dreams begin to trickle into the clammy darkness...
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Monday, April 29, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: IN ANSWER TO THE WOMAN SUCKING HARD CANDY

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: IN ANSWER TO THE WOMAN SUCKING HARD CANDY: This is what the woman with the Jolly Rancher said . She said - You were telling us that vampires have to be practical...... Marianne chuck... THE FIRES OF THE AUTO-DA-FE DRAW CLOSER. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A VAMPIRE BURNS.. But, as always, please recognize that this is not the text. To experience that, you must click on the words...'IN ANSWER TO THE WOMAN SUCKING HARD CANDY... up above. And if you want to see other episodes, click on THIS .. Your COMMENTS along with your own LINKS are very welcome...

Sunday, April 28, 2013


This is how a soul, or spirit travels through space. The trip is not instantaneous, so you can pretty much ditch that 'speed of thought' crap. I suppose, where vampires, or the spirits of (living) vampires are concerned, it's rather like a sublimation..... a rapid progression of tiny, sub-atomic, charged particles. Maybe it's wrong to call them particles, for they have no mass. 'Dark matter' might be a better term.

Well, that's what 'Papa' is. He rose up through the icy crust and hovered over the surface, a quiet place, dwarfed by the immensity of Jupiter. Huge swaths of incomprehensible winds raced ' round the giant planet. I don't know how human astronauts will ever withstand it. Perhaps they'll close their eyes and turn away? Jupiter... a violent, 'baby' sun with magic toys. And Europa is the favorite..... a vast polar ice cap, sheltering a water world filled with wondrous creatures. And the 'cloud' that is 'Papa' says 'so long.' as he leaves this special reality. He ascends up into the void, climbing through the near vacuum of space one thinly spread molecule at a time. Think of them as stepping stones, or hand-holds on a climbing wall. Earth is but a tiny beacon shining in the dark. Mars is even smaller. The sun, itself, a barely discernible, burning disc..... In less than two days he'll be home, back inside his body in the townhouse far away. Space is really big.

But the mole-folk are already there. They swarm into the dusty ruins of the long buried wig shop. And then the chirping stops. Yes, they can talk like mortals do, but some are quite adept at clicks and whistles too... A cozy, private communicative technique developed through the years..... And they listen... And they think....And they plan.

Jonathon, or that part still remaining, heard them. He cannot chirp fluently, but he hears beyond the noise, picking up the 'flickers' from their brains. Aura is there... so is Silvia. In the past he bathed them both. But now, he is monogamous and Sarah is the one. 

She walks through the city, focused and powerful, a 'granddaughter' of 'Papa' herself. And her steps are silent. Vampires can do that. But a new pair of 'Chuckies,' all soft, light and comfy helps too. Occasionally a mortal respectfully points her out. They know she's a life-eater. But for the last month or two, since Jonathon's preaching from that place beneath the bank building, it's all right. The magic and the mundane are one now. And the city is a better because of it. 

The old man gets a premonition. His cells have been bathed in vampire blood, after all. And he tells the technicians who operate his urban fortress to close the gates. Nine heartbeats later, light, titanium (flavored with a lead alloy) storm shutters roll down, magnetically locking into place. And the life craving ninety four year old, partially restored, billionaire, retreats to his own lead lined room.... though it is much more commodious than Jonathon's. 

'Star light...star bright... first star I see tonight... I wish I may... I wish I might... get the wish I wish tonight'......... That's what Doctor Franklin whispered, as he threw the switch waking his Grand Armonica. And all the ether for perhaps a radius of seven miles 'round trembled with intricate chords and glissandos, changing the basic structure of certain special substances. Did the old patriot see a star then?... No... But practical philosophers can be so superstitious.

The birds around the city wake and sing, four hours before the dawn...
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Jonathon hung suspended in a dark gray void. He occupied space, but felt nothing. Thoughts were nebulous at best. He had no name, nor was he self aware. He existed. Perhaps rocks and snow storms feel this way? 

Tomorrow they'll begin the transfer. His blood, now within the body of the old man, will come back to him. Every particle of his being will grab hold of it and his physical form will be restored. Powers will re-ignite and four hundred thousand dreams shall dance again. That which is now but a papery lantern will shine.

Such is the enchanted recipe necessary for vampiric birth. But this is not a love story, or even one of lust. A violation happens here, unless someone can stop it.

The old billionaire, known as Tobias Maxwell eats soup. Seafood Lorraine, I think it is.... a rich, velvety, shrimp and lobster bisque.  He loves the stuff. And where, before, it would dribble down his trembling chin and onto a loose, flabby paunch, now it stays inside him.... and he says - ahhhh. Even the first step of night-folk transformation has benefits. 

While a mile away, 'Papa's' body sits in the usual place. He stares at the flat screen. Some home restoration program, I think it is. Annie, his vampire descendant, colors on the floor. This is a new one..... The Kardashian Sisters Go To The Czech Republic, I believe. Kim wears a bikini and a fur coat, as she leads the singing in a lively beer hall.

And then he mumbles something. For the first time in months, 'Papa' talks. The words are not important. No one knows what he said. Edith, their Piney woman, seer, friend and housekeeper goes - It's that ugly light fixture what done it (referring to a retro, 'Memphis,' monstrosity on TV). But she's only guessing...... Annie goes - Who the hell cares, you fat, old bitch... as she colors Kim's belly a vivid green..... But Edith isn't listening. She watches 'Papa's' eyes come back to life. He sees something ..... and it's very far away.

Half a billion miles hence the 'diamonds' start to dance. Tiny iridescent lifeforms, somewhat like sea slugs, though also resembling eels, undulate through the Pan Europan Sea. And 'Papa' swims with friends. Stately ray-like beings glide toward the ice-crust roof, there to dine on hanging moss-like gardens. Bio-luminescence lights this cloistered world. Every soul doth shine. Some glow green and others blue. A few pulse red and white. ..... And the ray-king communicates with his spirit guest. He tells 'Papa' things. He tells him of home. But, in truth, 'Papa' knows too. Jonathon needs help and 'Papa' is coming.....

The call goes out on the Human Home World (also known as Earth) too. Mole-folk whisper and congregate. They stream through tunnels toward a rendezvous in the dark. Perhaps Jonathon feels it? Or, maybe, he does not. But that boy has friends. 

Sarah puts down her book. The mortal friend, named Phyllis says - What's wrong?.... But the lonely vampirina doesn't answer. She just pulls herself up out of the old wing chair and walks out of the shop. The small brass bell above the door rings as she departs.

And deep within his leaden tomb, her mate appears to hear.... Jonathon's crepe paper face smiles.
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Saturday, April 27, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ESCAPADES ALONG THE WAY

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ESCAPADES ALONG THE WAY: Please excuse any errors. I am channeling this too fast. It is I, Marianne. The old gentleman is all right. I gave him a few more drops. He...If you've been following the elferina-vampirina MARIANNE, as she makes her way through the nighttime streets of Amsterdam, with The Inquisition hot on her tail, here's what happens next.... Of course you realize this is not the episode. You MUST CLICK on the ESCAPADES ALONG THE WAY phrase up above to see that. as always, should you want more of our night world, click on THIS ...thank you. COMMENTS & your own LINKS are always welcome.

WHAT'S GOING ON INSIDE 'PAPA'?........ 4/27/13

Annie said he's not in there. She says his body is on like automatic pilot. It's like a house with the lamps on timers and the burglar alarm turned on. Edith says - How do you know?..... Annie (our juvenile, little bastid, vampire gal) says - Same way I know who's gonna win The Voice or who Khloe Kardashian's daddy really is. My brain just knows. OK!?.... So they sit there in the kitchen eating yogurt. Yeah, Annie's a life-eater and most mortal food makes her throw up. But she likes yogurt, especially Shop Rite store brand strawberry yogurt, even if she's gonna donate it all to the toilet ten minutes later. Every time she does, she looks down into the bowl and takes inventory. Vampires, some of them anyway, are intrigued by mortal habits. Not so much the younger ones (except for Annie), because they still remember. But older examples of the breed can look at a snotty, crumped up kleenex for hours, contemplating the zeitgeist of a sneeze.

Now let's look out of their eyes and see 'Papa' as they do. He sits in that chair...the same chair... the big one, right in front of the flat screen in the 'family' room. And he stares. Whether at the images on the television or the empty space before it is hard to say. But his eyes don't blink. Well, they do, though not very often. Annie plants herself before him. She makes faces and twists herself up and does little dances. She sticks out her tongue and says curse words, real fast, right in front of his face. Like twenty five 'f' bombs all in a row. But he don't do nothing. 

Sarah don't like when she gets like that, but she ain't here much. Stayin' at her old book shop's like a security blanket. Makes her forget how much she wants Jonathon back. Right now she's sitting in that wing chair, under a warm, little pin-up lamp, reading an old copy of THE AGE OF INNOCENCE. She likes all them old bigoted, howdy-do, white glove, social niceties. 

But Annie got it right. Papa ain't there. He floatin' around out on Europa. That like a moon what wants a be a planet. It go 'round Jupiter. That like a planet what wants a be a star.  He under the ice, Papa, I mean, wrigglin' through that cold, salty ocean wit' them fishy folk.....manta ray people, I think they is. But don't look like no people I know. That vampire partial to aliens. But you gotta remember... he been 'round for like 'leventy seven thousand years. That boy seen lot a aliens...and (whispers) I think he play 'gidgie' wit' 'em. heh heh heh....

Still, he thinkin'..... It just move through his mind like maggot through a rice sack.....Heh, heh, heh..Edith all angry now. She watchin' late night re-run a Hoda/Kathy or whatever they call it. And she don't like when that dumb weather girl come on at two forty five, tellin' folks how warm it gonna get. Dumb girl always talk 'bout New York, Boston and D.C., but don't never say Philly. Edith go - Don't that orange hair bitch know Philadelphia bigger than Washington and Boston put together? Don't she know we got more fancy eatin' places and theaters than them two either?!.... Then she say she never gone watch that girl, or buy what they sellin' on them station breaks. Annie say - You want me to go to New York City and bite her up real bad? But Edith make like she don't hear and mess wit' crapped up plates in a sink.

While all this goin' on, mole-folks havin' a pow-wow. They heard something (see last night's episode). They got suspicions. Sound travels real good underground. 

That why dead folks know all the best secrets. 

This be Mister Never You Mind... But all my good friends know that. 

Right now, TV got Michael Buble singin' - Fairy tales can come true. It could happen to you....... Boy, is he ever right..... Nightmares too.

Heh heh heh heh heh....
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Friday, April 26, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MARIANNE IN BRITCHES

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MARIANNE IN BRITCHES: An hour or so before dawn the barrel maker's boy rapped on the trap door..... What? - said the dominee...... You see, vampires are not ...If you read yesterday's 'Marianne' arc, here's what happened next. VAMPIRE ADVENTURES IN THE NARROW STREETS OF OLD AMSTERDAM.... The 'elferina' talks... BUT as always, this is not the post. You must click on 'MARIANNE IN BRITCHES' up above for that..... COMMENTS & LINKS ALWAYS WELCOME. More on the JONATHON IMPRISONED arc later.

Thursday, April 25, 2013


The old man sat there and stared into the mirror watching the changes take place. Was he a vampire? Hardly... just a blood thief. But a very good one. And he smiled at the partial restoration of his jawline plus the new found suppleness of his skin. Yet this was just the beginning. The soft, baggy paunch was still there. And his liver spotted pate continued to resemble nothing so much as a large, speckled dinosaur egg in a sparse, wispy nest. But subsequent measures will take care of that.

He clapped his big, loose, flipper-like hands so the two Jamaicans would know he was ready to be tucked in. The women put down their Gator Aide, climbed off the sofa and hoisted him up from his chair and over onto the bed. Then they carefully powdered him like a baby (mustn't get too much on the sheets), while they rapidly spoke to each other in an island patois he did not understand. But Maxwell didn't care. In fact he hardly noticed. The powdering was the thing. Then they gave him a little tickle (He liked that part) snapped open a fresh, clean sheet and watched it float down to his body, before layering on two soft, cashmere blankets and tucking him in like a little papoose. In two to four hours they'd do it all again, since he always peed the bed. Lucky the linen closet was immense. New mattresses were delivered on Tuesdays and Fridays. The staff, after hopefully adequate sanitizing, took the old ones home. It's good to be rich. 

Jonathon, on the other hand, trembled in the corner of his cold, leaden cell. The long, skewer-like needles pulled back into the rough, metal surface. Blood-letting was over... for now. In a night or two he'd get it back. Then they'd steal it again and repeat the whole thing. Vampire crafting takes time.  How fortunate he couldn't see his cadaverous body. If you've ever seen statues of The Emaciated Buddha, you know. The dazed vampirino simply hugged his knees, rocked from side to side and groaned, sealed in a darkness as bleak as death.

Now out in the wide world some things had changed, while others had not. The streets were still safe. Dedicated vampire 'Jonathonites' saw to that. And most of the homeless were in hotels, bathed and dressed and fed. Vampire coffers are deep, you know. Sarah spent time at her old book shop. She avoided customers, hiding in the back and leafing through old classic novels. But when they left, she quietly came out and looked at the cozy nest that once was hers. The present owner, Phyllis, obviously knew she was a vampire. Night-folk were everywhere now. But they never spoke about that, preferring to spend the nighttime sipping coffee. Sarah sat snug in an old wing chair bought at a tag sale in her mortal days. Phyllis nested behind a big antique desk that served as a counter. Sarah thought about Jonathon and how they met, one late autumn night in the shop. She still felt him. So did Edith. But they hadn't found it yet. At times she cried. Phyllis didn't know what to do for vampire tears. Basically, she just held out a box of tissues and buried her face in a book.... Two friends in a warm, cozy shop, lit by small, silk shaded, pin-up lamps spread here and there among the tiny maze. 

But there was another world far below the streets. And the mole-folk know everything. They sneak through deepest tunnels and scurry through long forgotten cellars, collecting dust and secrets on their way. Sometimes they hear things. Water pipes conduct sound very well. And the current Silvia and Aura (Philadelphia mole-folk always have a Sylvia and Aura) picked up a bit of something in the dark and moldy ruins of a nineteenth century wig shop. Women's voices. Two of them. Down in a basement locker room. Changing clothes.... preparing to go off shift. Strange talk... Strange words, muffled by some dirt and floorboards up above their heads. If  people ever knew what lay beneath their sculleries, they'd never go to sleep. 

But Aura did know. She knew the cadence and followed the sounds. Creole talk it was... Jamaica talk, tinged with a bit of Guadaloupe. Third Step Mother sang those songs. Third Step Mother told those tales. And Aura has a spongy mind. She remembers everything.

So she hurried back to the mole-king and told him of a blood drenched old goat, secure in a warm, soft bed.

And the mole-king understood...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE SHEDDING OF OLD SKIN ----- VAMPIRE RITE OF PAS...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE SHEDDING OF OLD SKIN ----- VAMPIRE RITE OF PAS...: There was a door fronting the alley. The dominee sublimated his hand through the stout oak boards and fiddled with the heavy, iron bolt. Fou...Here's a real good episode from the MARIANNE IN BRITCHES story arc, about a young girl from the low countries who gets waylaid into vampirism and survives The Inquisition. Scroll up or down, or click NEWER POST or OLDER POST if you want to see more....As always, these BIG LETTERS are NOT the post. You gotta click on 'THE SHEDDING OF THE SKIN' up above for that. thanks and (hopefully) enjoy... COMMENTS & LINKS always welcome.


They sat in the kitchen playing cards and watching the Hoda and Kathie Lee 2am rerun. That's like a tradition. Edith served some kind of tea. Even vampires can drink that. Little fresh bakes biscotti were for the mortal. Not a big party. Just four of them. Doctor Franklin was there. He doesn't go out much, but sometimes he does. Baylah shuffled the cards. You can tell she's a vampire. She does it with such finesse. Very crisp. So precise. Conrad blew on his tea. He's that kind of vampire. Sure he's new. But I think he's always gonna be that way. What can they do? He's their's and they love him. 

Edith said - That woman came back. She wants to mush up with a vampire...... You can say 'sex' my good woman - chortled the Doctor. We had it in the eighteenth century too, you know. Quite a lot of petticoats to get through, but that only added to the fun.... For any newcomers out there, he is not a vampire, just artificially kept alive via his extensive manipulation of harmonics. Sometimes his teeth vibrate. You might think it's the refrigerator, but it's not. 

Edith added - She has a lot of money. Was a follower, of Jonathon's, I mean, since the beginning... Says she'll donate a lot (gets sad and wistful). He would like that....... Look, Jonathon isn't dead. We can feel him. You can feel him. He's out there. We just don't know where. OK?..... Edith nods. Doctor Franklin tells of some communications he's had with the merfolk, but nobody's listening, so he shrugs and breaks off a piece of biscotti. Conrad says - Who's she wanna have sex with?..... Not you - says Edith. She wants Jonathon, but he'd never do it. Not now. Not when he's in 'Biblical mode.'....... No, I understand - said Conrad... I understand.... But Baylah started to laugh. She knew he wanted to do it. 

I am the ghost from the basement... the boy who died in an iron lung. Polio, you know. Haven't narrated in a while, but tonight you got me. So, hi, how you doin'? Baylah's been out with the dogs... the special ones... the vampire hunters. But they ain't found nothin', 'cept a whole lot a empty cans a Dinty Moore beef stew in a dumpster 'round here. Guy from the restaurant had a fit. Told her he'd call the cops. So she told him to go to hell and die. I like when vampirinas curse, 'specially hot ones like Baylah.

Conrad was thinking. He wants the game to be over. Think they're playing pinochle. Did I spell it right? Wants Doctor Franklin to go home. Wants a sneak out and find that sex woman before it gets light. He knows about her. Ain't wearin' no Dockers tonight. Did you notice? Got on new jeans. Bought 'em on South Street in one of them cutting edge boutiques. What the hell they gonna do with dungarees? Make 'em tight? Make 'em loose? Who's edge gettin' cut anyway? 

Out of town vampires went to 'Lantic City tonight. Baylah's mortal boyfriend, the rich one, fixed it up for them. Gonna wait out the sunlight in a real nice beach house just down the coast in Margate. Neighbors won't know. Bunch a rich,drunk gamblers... That's what they'll think.

Conrad's getting antsy. Say's he needs air. That's a lie. Oxygen don't do nothin' for them. But it still feels good. So they all say 'OK,' and let him go. wilkravitz plays his hand. He once came in third at a pinochle tournament at Penn State. He likes this. Lucky I'm a ghost with psycho-kinetic powers. I can press the keys myself. Let him play cards. I don't care. I like this. 

Five minutes later, Conrad zips 'round the corner. Got a new leather jacket and everything. He be makin' a move. This a big thing to him. Not every vampire slick, you know. It's all quiet. Society Hill's real quiet. Just a mess a red brick townhouses, matching sidewalks, pretty little curb trees and more authentic gee-gaws (my mom was Southern) than  a pre-Revolutionary whore house. Doctor Franklin knows. Then he pulls out his cell phone. Taps in a number. Gets it off a little piece a paper ripped from a Burger King coupon book. Don't trust his memory. A vampire who don't trust his memory. Can you imagine that? Whispers something. Then says - Yeah, yeah, yeah.... Hangs up. Paces back and forth. He don't make a sound, though. Vampires are silent when they walk..... completely silent. 

Eight minutes later a car pulls up... electric job... No noise... no nothing. Conrad goes over and gets in. They glide away. That lady with the money gonna get her wish.... sort of. But look how still it got now. Like a stage set. Like a nice little stage set, all cozy and cobbled. Betsy Ross comes by every once in a while. But she one a them stuck up ghosts. Never says 'boo' to me.... I gone back to the house. Gattaca on Antenna TV. I wanna see it... dying in an iron lung and all

     +     +     +     +     +     +     +     +     +     +     +     +

While .92 miles away, Jonathon rests suspended in darkness, as the unbelievably elongated needles piercing his body lock him in place. He runs his tongue against the inside of his cheeks. Never have they been so dry and thin. The blood is all but gone... And even the dreams are through.
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Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah..How 'Papa' Jonathon's creator was captured..... 9/23/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Sarah and I have much in common. We both lost our parents at a most vulnerable age. She, after they lost their money. Her father had a stro...A peek back to the early days, when Jonathon was created and 'Papa' was abducted. A vampire's talents and abilities are so fluid, you know...Please click on that BOOK OF SARAH phrase up top and explore. Only three people saw this when it first appeared. It explains a few things..... COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome. thank you...

Tuesday, April 23, 2013


Jonathon passed through other rooms and different chambers. He saw interior courtyards and high towers, hidden from the outside world by soaring mountains. Young, elferina girls (waif-like, pointy eared, pubescent vampires) ministered to the good natured cherubs, sharing tiny blood drinks and wrapping them in warm, woolen buntings. Even night-folk children appreciate comfort. 

And there were hospice-like dormitories where silent vampirinas cared for seriously ill mortals, usually much loved retainers, but occasionally a sympathetic local tribesmen or two as well.  

Many vampires assembled for the Creed Song, their version of a religious service. The Choir Master, reputed to be a former liturgical composer from Hagia Sophia,  mother church of The Eastern Roman or Byzantine Empire, led them through intricately layered chants and hymns. The gold leafed, rough stone walls echoed with fine, clear, more-than-natural voices. 'May He Who made the universe, make us forever one,' they sang. And the song had many verses. At certain intervals they stopped for silent contemplation, or prayer-like recitation. Toward the end, each took the wrist of a neighbor and drank a bit of blood, before offering his own wrist to another.

Now all these sites were wonderful to see and Jonathon was truly appreciative. The gold embroidered robes, influenced by Persian courtiers, had no equal.  And he savored wine tinged blood, drawn from the arteries of faithful mortal attendants, who were rarely, if ever, killed. Indeed, the memories would fill many pages in his journal. 

But the one who led him here sensed something and  said - What troubles you?....... Jonathon quietly answered - Everything...... The man with the sharp, cunning fangs whispered - A true vampire, I might say...... And he smiled. Then, in a small, soft, tiny voice added - Lose yourself. Become a vessel. Gather in the blood and let it out...' for those who must be saved.' Let the wicked die. Help the worthy live...... Jonathon said - Who taught you that?.... Though the man only shrugged and smiled.

The young life-eater from Al-Andaluz stayed in that place for perhaps three or four moons, sheltering there through the worst of the winter. And then he simply left, retracing his steps back toward home. Each day he hid from the light. And each night he assisted the worthy. Sometimes he ate. Not often, but monthly as was his habit. He fell into a rhythm and even forgot his name.... in the manner of the truest night-folk of all.

Jonathon has seen many things.

But please do not forget that what we've discussed are memories. For now he waits, pierced by many long, thin needles and unable to free himself from their bite.

His blood, so filled with many things, belongs to his captor now. And his tissues thirst because of it.

The old man, known as Tobias Maxwell, dips his hands in the red, frothy brew and rubs it on his face. But the large, golden bowl holds so much more....

As Jonathon quietly suffers, within his leaden tomb.
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Monday, April 22, 2013

Night-Folk Holy Men and Scribes..... 4/23/13

The floor was paved with onyx-like tiles. Each one emitting a warm, creamy glow.  Large crystals made from the same material dangled from the ceiling, suspended on thick, leather cords, filling the over head space with a dazzling display. Long tables, perhaps eight of them, ran the length of the room, flanked by legions of quietly toiling, night-folk scribes.  Jonathon whispered - What are they writing?.... His vampire guide said - The truth. 

Jonathon looked for permission. The vampire nodded. And he quietly made his way through the tables, observing the work. He saw books and scrolls... some in old Akkadian... some in classical Farsi ... some in Greek and some in Hebrew. Other scripts were represented, but he did not recognize them. And some composed original script in Sanskrit, also unknown to him. While a few lounged in a corner, delicately licking up rivulets of blood from the necks of specially conditioned human retainers. I guess they were on break. 

Jonathon said - What IS the truth?..... The other one shrugged and answered - I don't know. Then he laughed and said - Do you see war here? Do you feel it?..... Jonathon said - No..... The man said - Well, that's a part of it. I suppose anything that makes us better is true... and anything that makes us worse is not. Look at them. Look at the faces. We have Goths and Scythians and Mongols and Tamil. We have Latins and Byzantines and Jews. Even the Sunni and Shia get on. There are females among them too.... as well as devotees of Siddhartha and the Vedas. Some from old Roman lands call us Shambalah. But there are many Shambalahs. We are but one. 

Why am I shown this place? - said Jonathon.... Because we have to go through to get in there - he said, indicating yet another narrow passage.... Jonathon said - Oh... and casually waved back at a fat vampire girl making eyes at him, as she drew curly-Q kissie faces all over the border of her smooth, white, vellum page..... I wonder what future generations will make of that? Some look rather like Betty Boop, you know....

In the next space, old women (whether life-eater or not, I couldn't tell) worked with finely wrought lapidary tools, excising little discs of bone from piles of  clean, dry, ivory skulls, which they fashioned into decorative pendants and earrings... What are they for? - asked Jonathon.... For the tourists - said the guide... But Jonathon didn't know what that meant, so he just went - Uh huh..... Vampirinos don't know everything...

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While he reveled in this balm of nights past, his captor, the evil, or perhaps more accurately, the amoral, Tobais Maxwell, downed drop after drop of rich, red blood (stolen from his own enchanted tissues), as he chortled with selfish delight.

And in another part of the city, not so far away, Doctor Franklin met with Sarah and Baylah (over drinks at the bar of the Hotel Monaco) to see what they might do. As out on the streets, God intoxicated bands of 'Jonathonites' (mostly good hearted 'goth' girls who'd heard him preach in the basement of that bank building) walked down the pavement singing psalms. 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' was a favorite, though it's lack of Biblical provenance bothered no one...
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Sunday, April 21, 2013

The Vampire Known as Jonathon Reaches The City ........... 4/22/13

He stood there in the crisp, bright moonlight and listened. They sang. The choir sang, but the language was unknown to him. At times he heard a chant. Then a single voice broke forth in an aria, or perhaps an old cantorial. After a while it stopped. But there was a faint, metallic echo in the air. Snow began to fall, light and clean and dry, powdering the rocky path before him. And then, after perhaps ten score heartbeats he saw them..... footprints made by an unseen soul, going up before him.... The vampire known as Jonathon followed.

All was silent, save for the wind. 'Earth breath' they called it. But he did not know that then. The path was steep and slick with gravel. But night-folk are strong..... Soon there was a change and the unseen soul began to congeal. A tall, spare figure materialized before him. Jonathon spoke. He said - Who are you? Tell me your name..... But the figure said nothing. Nor did it turn 'round. So they went on.  The air grew icy. But 'cold' is just another flavor of reality to a life-eater, like a perfumed breeze, or spiders in the dark.

As they neared the summit, a portal opened (or disappeared) and small, plump beings flew out. Wings, they did not have. Yet they sliced through the night tracing patterns like skaters. 'Cherubs' they were.... tiny children, stolen into darkness by demon vampires of the noxious sort, but redeemed and sheltered by they who lived within. 

They danced about the Andalucian pilgrim ... tiny moths 'round a flame, tasting him via quick, sharp nips from their pointy tongues. Too young for teeth they were, though Providence blessed them in another way. And by the blood they knew him. And they smiled. Their kisses tickled. Jonathon laughed, as tiny trickles of red ran down his cheeks...

He reached a flat place, a natural terrace. Ten steps hence there was a door, a plain, strong, thick, wooden door, with naught but a loop of rope, wrapped 'round an old iron hook for a handle. Instinctively he pulled it and went in. Then he heard a voice. The ghostly figure from the ascent was real now and seated on a simple, rough bench against the far wall of a small, gray, cave-like room. Fat, yellow candles in small, natural niches popped and sputtered, washing the space in a rich, dim glow.

Close the door - he said. So Jonathon did. And the sound of the wind disappeared. Where the cherubs went, I do not know..... Sit down - said the figure.... Jonathon slowly took a seat at the other end. He was wary, for even a vampirino knows fear. The figure laughed, lowered his hood and smiled, revealing the fine, sharp tips of lethal fangs. ..... Are, are you 'vampirici'? - Jonathon said.... The being thought for a moment before responding - We prefer night-folk, or life-eater, if you must, but yes, you can call us that...... What is this place? - the young vampirino quietly asked...... What do you want it to be? - said the other..... Then he got up and proceeded down a narrow, raw stone corridor.  Jonathon watched him leave.  Seven heartbeats later the fat, yellow candles began to go out, til only one was left.  Jonathon (not eager to be abandoned in this place) carefully took it from the wall and hurried after the man with the fine, sharp fangs.

There was knowledge here. Jonathon knew it. So he followed the mysterious guide deep into the rock-face, til they came to another room, lit by a radiance independent of flame...

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But back in the dream that was real, he still slept within the cool, leaden chamber, as drop by drop, his blood was drawn away...

Tobias drank it and was glad...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Chupi...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Chupi...: The essentially human, Tuva-Tuva aren't the only reconstituted life form on the red planet. Due to the vacillating conditions, many orga...YOU LIKE MARS and you ain't read EL RANCHO TEXACO yet!? Take a look at this 'hinky-dink' (Martian 'outback' talk) 'bout what it's like living with a reconstituted MONSTER... Click on them dark yellow letters up above. If you enjoy all the carnage, click 'newer post' or 'older post' at the bottom for much more. You know all about @MarsOneProject ...well, what you think it's gonna be like after a couple generations? 8^).... Some lingo....First Families, them what came over on the first few fleets, are called 'Troopers' (from the classic John Ford cavalry movies).. Martian 'national' anthem is SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON. Them fold take it serious...

Saturday, April 20, 2013


Jonathon recalled a city. Actually, more of an elaborate citadel, but they called it a city. He traveled there once many centuries ago. None went with him. It was a singular pilgrimage. Merchants and ambassadors returning to the western world via Venice spoke of it.... a fabled place of ancient magic and great spiritual calm. Some referred to the Caucasus. Others claimed the far side of the Urals, or the westernmost ramparts of the Hindu Kush.

He saw skulls with fangs.... very odd, in itself, since vampires always burn after death.... the 'cool' blue flame and all that. Some bejeweled craniums (the lower mandibles missing) are esteemed relics in basilicas throughout Christendom. I don't know what they say about the teeth though. 

Now travel can be an easy thing for night-folk. Roads are empty after sundown and deep, dark winding caverns make perfect bedrooms. Root cellars, or deserted 'haunted' ruins serve just as well when caves are hard to find. In this way vampires slowly move from place to place, should sublimation prove too taxing. 

Jonathon kept to the borderlands.... unclaimed, or contested places between vast feudal holdings, given to brush, forests and other feral conditions. Outlaws frequently disappeared there too. He fed on them, but also on an occasional cruel knight or man-at-arms.  Few ever saw him, although he did spy a satyr or faun once or twice. Centaurs are mythological, but they are not. Most likely an atavism harking back to an earlier time.

Then one evening at moonrise, he saw it... a silvery white pinnacle atop the craggy heights. And off in the distance, he heard a choir sing....

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It was at that moment things began to change. The impossibly long, sharp hypodermic needles began to slide into the huge, leaden box. And Jonathon was oblivious to it all, as he 'slumbered' deep in a night-folk sleep. 

The first needle came down from above, honing in on vibrations unique to vampire bodies. It pierced his scalp and via tiny, judiciously applied bursts of laser light, penetrated through the skull and into his spinal column. Another moved in laterally, easily melting through the soft tissue of the torso, before coming to rest in the blood-rich liver. Others traced different paths, til the thousand year old soul in the eighteen year old body was caught. And then the siphoning began. 

How happy his captor was, capering about as much as his wheeled conveyance would allow. He clapped his hands. He chuckled and nodded. Liver spotted skin never looked so thrilled.

But not too much. This was just the first time. Don't want to rile the beast. Mustn't injure himself. Vampires had been known to split in two attempting to sublimate through lead. Sometimes the head gets through... sometimes.... and then it stops. The rest of the body solidifies within the metallic barrier and the head falls off. ... But not this time. Maxwell's technicians were well trained and used to exacting tasks. The sedative, specially formulated for life-eaters and distilled from the original Ithican recipe, worked well. 

So Jonathon slept, if you can call it sleep, as tiny morsels of longevity (if not yet actual immortality) pulsed through unimaginably tiny channels, before finally being collected in an ancient, golden bowl...

While deep within the cube, he scaled the moonlit heights...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK: The noxious vampire beasts made short work of the torn and battered humans, draining every remaining drop of blood from their ruined bodies....Please click on that ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK link up above. Only three people saw this back in the early days, but it's a portal into some good stuff from when Sarah and Jonathon went traveling... 'noble' vampires and 'noxious' vampires and trouble in the Carpathian highlands. Sympathetic monks and vicious monsters. If you like, click on 'newer post' at the bottom for more.... 700,000plus words up now. new episodes daily. a three dimensional world. PLEASE COMMENT & leave LINKS.


I sit here looking at that damn cat and I think... how vividly pink the insides of her ears are. I wonder what blood actually tastes like. Not the little trickles we suck up from rare steak or cut fingers... I mean thick, red rivers of it. But I am not a common slob. Those elevators filled with human life fluid in THE SHINING looked like melted sherbet.... Like ruptured cartons of loganberry sauce meant for the dessert table at a cheap buffet. 

I want quality...smooth firm skin and protein fed goodness. Soon I'm, going to stick him... that Jonathon you all love so much. He will be crucified and pinned in place like beef on a three dimensional shish-kabab. Like Saint Sebastian, or one of those other dreamy eyed, Counter Reformation poster boys.... While my carefully constructed apparatus drains him dry.... Then he will have to bite me, for I'll be filled with it... his crimson elixir, I mean.... 

But should he try to take too much and send me too my death, the roof will retract and he will burn... Sunlight, you know... Oligarchs are witty. We have many tricks.

And my necromancers can see him. They can taste him... right through all that lead. Such talented 'manipulators' they are.... an Inuit shaman.... a Highland Druidess.... the facilitator from a Long Island Weight Watchers' Meeting who discovered her abilities while hunched over an Atlantic City video poker machine. Five royal flushes in a row, don't you know... Even 'The Donald' took note. But I grabbed her first.

Soon they'll roll me into the dining room and feed me savory tid bits.  Alexander Hamilton once dined here, you know. So did Totie Fields. My tastes are so diverse. 

I gaze in the mirror imagining what I'll see after the transformation.... tighter skin... clear eyes, perky, youthful testicles... Tonight I'll have my liposuction. Dangerous for a ninety four year old... but 'billionaire' ninety four is like fifty six to you.

I wonder if my hair will grow back?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha (cough... wheeze... guzzle some pomegranate juice) ha...

Tobias Maxwell has spoken!
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Friday, April 19, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MARIANNE IN THE CHAMBER OF DEATH

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MARIANNE IN THE CHAMBER OF DEATH: The housekeeper is all right. We laid her out on the little sofa in the morning room  and ladled some Jack Daniels ( spiked with a few drops...Here's a bit of what MARIANNE (our elferina) told high paying mortal guests, assembled in a plush, Society Hill townhouse, about her encounter with Inquisitional vampire catchers. Torture, intrigue, pain and superstition in dark, sinister places....


Conrad tapped away at his p.c.. Actually, he could have blogged for them, but the thought never crossed his mind. wilkravitz did that. It was already a done deal. Why rock the boat? Vampires are like that. Oh, they can adapt. They just don't like too. You see this when you've known them a while..... a really long while. The same individual may move around every ten to twenty years. People begin to notice the youthfulness, after all. But somethings never change... a penchant for Handel..... antique tall clocks... a certain Spanish sound upon the tongue.... references to the court of Timbuctu. We are all creatures of habit and some 'creatures' even more so.

But he saw something on line, a reference to a certain program, an organization promising to establish a human beach-head on Mars by 2013. @MarsOneProject they call it. And he wondered how soon it would be til night-folk made the trip. In all probability, not until the population reached a certain point. Life-eaters gotta eat too, you know. Yet the thought of such a thing intrigued him. So he pulled on his jacket and went outside. 

His block, a very tiny space, was quiet. But it was always quiet. The small, curbside trees were in bud. And even in the darkness, he could see them 'neath the streetlights. Two sleek cats prowled the shadows, sniffing out disoriented pigeons.... Last night they had rodent. Most other windows were dark. An old lady near the corner was still up. She liked the old black and white movies on that cable movie station. But so did Conrad. 

He thought about Jonathon, as he turned the corner onto Chestnut Street. Twenty somethings left the clubs. Old City closes up at 2am.  Last drinks morph into coffee and sticky buns at all night diners for those not hobbled by jobs. And he nodded to a few tipsy baby-ladies heading toward a cab. They self consciously tittered back. 

Edith said they'd find him. She had a feeling... a hoo-doo (frisson of magic). Tomas, known as Jonathon wasn't lost, but merely detained. Baylah said so too, though she and her friends still looked, searching the night with blood-fed dogs.

While not far away, the 'young' vampirino dozed, lost in ancient dreams. Tobias, his nonagenarian captor, waited. No lengthy needles pierced preternatural flesh tonight. It just didn't 'feel' right. The old man was funny that way, superstitious in a subtle, sober Quaker way. Though in all truthfulness the family hadn't followed the creed for years. So he sat in the keeping room, a small cozy space off the kitchen, staring at the tiny flame in the small brick, corner hearth. Soon they'd take him upstairs and arrange him in his bed. But he still felt out of sorts. 

Let it be known that Doctor Franklin caused that slight malaise via precise refinements on his Grand Armonica. His large, vaguely 'steam punk' harmonic apparatus could do many things. Vibrations are power. And the old reprobate had plenty of that. So Jonathon remained unmolested. His blood was his own for a few hours more.

Yet the movement continued. People remembered his sermons from that place under the bank building. After all, it's only been a couple nights. Food banks were fill. Out of town vampires here for the spirituality of it all gave out money. All night-folk have cash. And cleaned up, formerly homeless souls slept soundly, between crisp sheets in fine hotels. Even the sequestered hoodlums stuffed into the dungeons of old Eastern State Penitentiary had pizza... pepperoni... donated by a consortium of well known chains. So the resident ghosts shrieked for naught. Good, hot, runny, tomato pies take precedent, don't you know. The guards got their share too.

Conrad met a man sitting on a bench, deep in the shadows, near the perimeter of Washington Square. The man looked at him and said - You're a vampire fella, aren't you?..... Conrad said - Yep... The man said - You ain't gonna eat me? You ain't gonna make me go 'guhk,' are you?..... Conrad said - Nope.. The man said - I like the way things are now. Vampires... Magic. Met a witchy-woman just before. Got rid a my headache. She was real good. Sang real nice too. Think her name's Minerva. You know her?..... Conrad shook his head 'no.' ...... Man said - Sorry. Didn't mean no offense. Don't mean that all you hokus-pokus folk know each other. Sorry..... Conrad gestured as if to say 'Don't worry 'bout it.'.... Then the man said - Wanna go for coffee? Coffee shop at the Omni's still open. My treat. Come on. Tell me some a your vampire stories..... So they got up and went. But Conrad told him he hadn't been a vampire very long and didn't have all that much to tell. The man said that was OK. He'd tell all about the army.

But that stuff we told you 'bout @MarsOneProject a while back is true. They gettin' ready to go. Human beans all set to plant theyselves in another garden.

Let's hope they tend it real nice this time...
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Thursday, April 18, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: GHOSTS ARE NOTMONSTERS

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: GHOSTS ARE NOTMONSTERS: When the last of her ashes rose up to the sky, the vampires came back inside. Sarah was quiet. She felt bad. Tomas repeated the prayer for ...Ghosts are just people who've lost their bodies, but managed to hold onto the good stuff..... please click on to that little sentence up above for a really nice episode you might enjoy...

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

THE MAN IN THE LEADEN BOX....... 4/18/13

The old man studied his hands. And they looked more like a grotesque panel in a gothic, graphic novel. So he called for a stethescope and they gave him one. Then he scootered over to the chill, metal wall and listened. But all that came back was white noise. Vampires can be quite still, like waxen figures in strange museums. It's instinctive. No practice necessary. Their joints don't lock... muscles don't cramp. Nothing happens. They just sit there, or stand there and that's the way it is. 

Jonathon wandered the markets of  Old Cordoba... the Street of Rubies.... Book Sellers' Lane... Apothecary Square. He loved that place. Spices from Serendip. Gossamer fabrics from far Cathay. Silver menorah from the Caucasus. And Johannan was with him. Mortality was his. Those words may sound incongruent to souls faced with such a prospect. But vampirinos feel different. He purchased a parrot. He liked parrots. Some rabbis, especially they who believed in 'the arc of a death,' as well as 'the arc of a life,' thought they might be spirits mistakenly (if such mistakes are possible) incarnated in avian form. And our eighteen year old aristocrat was eager to find out. So his servant (Johannan) bore the bright eyed, irridescent beastie on his forearm and they proceeded on their way.

Now the leaden box had certain features unknown to the prisoner within. Apparently, Tobais Maxwell's billions could work subtle magic even a vampire couldn't 'see.' There were sharp, tiny tubes protruding from the exterior of the trap. And the Maxwell patriarch had to be careful when he approached its surface lest one didn't pierce him. Via a system of intricatly installed magnetics (plus a cunning, little remote control device) he could 'push' these needle sharp hypodermics far into the black interior.... like a magician's box bristling with many swords.  And in this way impale the vampire on multiple axises. Then other needles, coming in from other angles (but not going all the way through) could syphon out the blood.  What he had was basically a 'milking' machine made for reluctant donors. And Jonathon was certainly one of those. 

But blood, taken in this way, might restore health and vigor, though it could not grant immortality, for there is no give and take. A certain closeness... A certain agreement is necessary for that.

Jonathon approached the stream... dropped his clothes and walked in, savoring the cool, fast moving current. And then he began to swim.

Blessed be the power of dreams...
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Jonathon awakened. His mind cleared and he had absolutely no idea where he was. First of all, it was dark...beyond dark. This was absolute darkness, unseen even in the vastness of space. He carefully moved 'round, using his hands like a blind man. The floor was smooth and cool, so were the walls. No seams. No bolts. No nothing. A cube... He was in a cube, roughly fifteen feet square. And it was made of lead. Escape was futile and he knew it. So he sat down with his back toward a corner, hugged his knees and thought.

Other night-folk, 'younger' ones faced prisons like this. Elferinos and elferinas knew. Many of these pubescent vampires crossed the ocean sealed in cramped, leaden casks, tossed by the currents and lost for decades before (finally) touching shore. Imagine sensing the crushing weight of the abyss just beyond the metal. Luck ones came to rest on their backs, or maybe (second best) on their sides. Some faced years upside down, wedged 'tween a rock and a hard place. A few never escape. 

But the 'elf' folk have tools. There are things they can do. Magical thoughts envelope pathetically trapped beings in clouds of 'reality.' Other times and other places congeal 'round the victims like mold on a berry, til they see better things and taste salty blood. And in this way time passes. Occasionally friendly whales nudge them on their way. The night-folk have a treaty with the princes of the sea going back to the days and nights of Lemuria. Or was it Mu? Indeed, some true vampires cross the sea on cetacean steeds. But that's a whole other story.

Jonathon cried. At least his tears were salty. And after a time, he too had visions... of plant filled courtyards and tinkling fountains.... of poetic troubadours and well formed horses. He was home, safe, among the sunny hills of Old Al-Andaluz, surrounded by the poetry of classical Arabic, Aramaic and liturgical Hebrew. Then he took up the oud and he played. How sweet the Berber song.

But what would he do when the moon came (his time to feed)? How would he find food then?

A few miles away, in the town house, Edith told the others she 'felt' him. And the twenty eight thousand year old (though resembling a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere) being known as 'Papa,' smiled. For him, at this time, that was a lot.

Yet other beings 'felt' him too... and they were much nearer. The ninety four year old sickly billionaire sat staring at the dense, gray wall. Then he raised a palsied hand and a functionary wheeled him closer, so he could reach out and feel the cool, unyielding surface. He thought of the treasure within. Vampire blood does many things. It can heal wounds, cure melancholia and confer immortality. And the old man, known as Tobias Maxwell savored each sweet possibility.

While sealed within his six sided shell, the vampire, known as Jonathon went riding.... 'Drinkers of The Wind,' they called them..... Horses of the desert.

And the young, mortal Andalusian aristocrat rode for miles.....
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Monday, April 15, 2013


Jonathon helped us make some progress. The streets of Philadelphia are a little safer. Nights are quieter. Thugs and drug dealers squeeze into cracks, even during the day when the vampire vigilantes aren't out there. But Jonathon didn't rise tonight. He's been taken. And no one knows where he is. Some people went to hear him preach (what else would you call it?) in that place under the bank building on The Avenue of The Arts. But he wasn't there. So they discussed all the things they could do to help humanity and then they went out and did them. A few went for pancakes and sausage instead, but even they left a nice tip. 

Sarah doesn't know where he is. She saw the heavy, lead-clad horse drawn van. She saw the men in the  strange black suits. But she was drugged too. Vampires can be drugged now. Someone figured it out, or at least rediscovered it. Sure the alcohol tinged blood of certain victims provided a little tingle. But this was different. This was helplessness. 

So she went back to the townhouse and slept in their special chamber... alone upon the rose scented sheets.... Edith knew she was there, they all did. Conrad whispered to his eight year old mother in her six and a half or seven year old body. He said - Where's the other one? Where's Jonathon, or Tomas, or whatever he wants us to call him? But Annie was busy coloring..... Wilma Flintstone cracking giant eggs in a rustic, lumpy pan... it calmed her down. So she told him to shut the hell up and leave her alone. 

All the vampires in town, locals and others come to hear  Jonathon's speeches, obviously know about the Boston bombings. I don't know. I hate to call what he does sermons, because if they are.... I don't know, but that makes it a whole other thing. Small bands of night-folk quietly walk passed the town house. They don't want to attract too much attention. They just want to see if he's there. 

Edith, their Piney Woman friend, clairvoyant and housekeeper, called one of the 'familiars.' He arranged for more security. So now some guys with dark windbreakers and concealed guns, chew gum and hang around the place. Must be retired or off duty cops. Night-folk nod to them. They nod to the night-folk. Everybody's cool. Edith runs out with this hot apple cider (hard cider) drink she makes. The guards take it. Too cold for beer. Even some of the passing vampires have some. You know how they are with alcohol?

Baylah wants to mount a posse. She knows where they can get some dogs. Conrad knows to from when he was an almost monk. The brotherhood he belonged to had these hounds. Used to mix vampire grease in with their Kibble n Bits. You know, the fatty residue that's left when a vampire dies? Claim it makes them demi-vampires or something. Trouble is, no one feels like doing much of anything. 

They're thinking 'bout what happened. 'Make the world a better place.'..... That's what they were trying to do. And I'm talking about vampires. Yeah, some humans too, but mostly vampires. Moral ones, 'noble' ones just are that way. Look, I can't tell you every night what 'noble' vampires are. You gotta be a regular, or at least like a semi-regular 'round here. OK? I do not mean to jump on nobody, but you know how it is. 

Barbarity rules the range, people. And what are you gonna do about it? I will repeat that Kabbalah thing Jonathon likes, or at least the Coke commercial version of it ~~~ You give a little love and it all comes back to you. You're gonna be remembered for the things that you say and do..... Right versus wrong. Who you gonna vote for?

'Downtown' Boston's all roped off. Patriots' Day is changed forever, or until people start to forget. Who remembers Pearl Harbor Day, right?

I once sublimated through this place, it was a death camp somewhere in Europe during the 1940's. Saw a big vat, just like a giant tin shoe box, right out in the open. Thing was all filled with dismembered human body parts. Some looked neatly amputated, like the heads. Some looked ripped off. Like a turkey leg what got twisted off a still intact bird. Big old thigh bones stickin' out a whole mess a white, people-hams. That is just what they looked like.... strange, skin-covered chunks a meat with skinny human calves and feet glued to 'em. Torsos to... not with arms, but with all the man and lady parts intact. Well, judgin' by size, some were boy and girl parts. And they were just there, floating (although packed very tight) in a salty brine, so devil-doctors could fish 'em out an' have fun with 'em. The sky was grey. The buildings were too. A few pathetic still breathing martyrs walked around. A few devil-people laughed and tortured 'em. And that was how it was. I couldn't do nothing, bein' a disembodied spirit and all.

Thing is, you gotta ask yourself... are you disembodied spirits, or do you have hands?

Make things better.
Tomorrow night they'll tell you what that ninety four year old Maxwell guy wants from Jonathon, but this night is different, so we won't talk 'bout that...
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Sunday, April 14, 2013

LIKE FIVE HOUR ENERGY, but better...... Tobias Maxwell Gets His Hands On 'The Elixir' ... 4/15/13

They had suits too, special heavy garments made from thin filaments of lead.... like 'footsie' pajamas with gloves and ski mask-like hoods. There was some extruded carbon in the mix to bring down the weight. The driver of the Black Maria wore one and three other men did too, but they rode inside. Now it was just a matter of time until they had him. 

True, there were other vampires out there. A certain number of 'strangers' were in town now, attracted by our Andalucian's (Jonathon's) teachings. But the old man with all the money wanted this one. He wanted Jonathon. It had to be that way, ever since his forebears and the vampire crossed on the same ship... ever since the months on The Welcome. Three hundred and thirty four years is a long time to wait. Not everyone on board knew... but the Maxwells did. And now they get the prize. The old man is ninety four years old. Perhaps his money and the medical services it pays for can buy him a few more years? Yet life-eater blood guarantees so much more.

So he sent out the coach. Tourists liked it. They took pictures next to it. The guy up on the bench with the heavy black suit was a little strange. But maybe that's just the way they did things here? Ever see the Mummers? Google them. You'll see.  Thus the black, threatening conveyance rolled through the city, passed Benjamin Franklin impersonators and ladies in Betsy Ross drag.

Sure it was safer. Vampire vigilantes saw to that. People were nicer too. Jonathon's teachings and all. But others were still the same. The girl with the curly hair had been compromised. They turned her and that was easy. Maxwell's men made a salve. I don't know what's in it. I'm just a disembodied spirit. I'm not a dead scientist. I'm a dead bra and girdle salesman. OK!? So don't blame me. Look, I signed on to be a narrator... like what you call a 'muse.' We don't give 'em the idea. We just help 'em get it out there. You don't like it? Go read Moby Dick. 

But the curly haired girl had the salve. And she smeared it on her lips... And she kissed him. They knew it would go that way. Maxwell's men, I mean. Jonathon's sympathetic. He's always been that way. She had a problem and he helped her. I don't think he even detected it. guess they used a 'no sting' formula. 

He's drugged now... special drugs, formulated just for night-folks like him. Hear it's based  on an old concoction, first mixed by the necromancers of ancient Ithica........ And I feel what he feels, since I am the conduit and the teller of the tale. He walks with Sarah. They circumvent Fitler Square, a small park, just a few square blocks, in an old residential quarter of Center City. Jonathon talks of his youth... the bazaars of Cordoba and the harbor of old Sevilla. Sarah holds his hand. She hears the slurred speech. She stops when he stops. They sit on a bench. The trees are in first leaf now. No more bare branches, each node kissed by a fat, little pale green newcomer.  You can see them in the streetlights. Jonathon likes that. And he almost falls asleep. Sarah wants to go back to the tunnels, or maybe a snug berth somewhere deep in the storage rooms of a favorite museum. She'll even chance the townhouse, if it comes to that, even though they've been avoiding it, since all that's happened in the city. Not everyone approves of safer streets and nicer people, you know. 

And she almost has him to his feet, when the heavy, black, windowless coach rounds the corner. Odd how quiet horses can be. Perhaps she's been drugged too? Maybe there was something in that can of Sterno?... Who knows. 

The Black Maria stops at the curb. The man in the dark lead suit looks down. Thin tendrils of steam rise up from the fine, matched percherons, as the heavy, rear door opens and the three matching henchmen jump down.

Jonathon says - Look! A street show!.... And Sarah tries to protect him, when the strange, shadow figures drag him off. Vampires cannot sublimate through lead, you know. But the suits weren't even necessary, since the old, Ithican recipe worked so well.

Nineteen heartbeats later she was all alone, sitting on the cobbles, bewildered and dizzy, as the monstrous darkness pulled away.... And she would have disappeared into the sunlight, if a caring vampirina from Norfolk hadn't found her. So she spent the day cocooned and safe with her new friend.

But Jonathon was gone and none knew where to find him...

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