Sunday, June 30, 2013


I haven't been channeling this for a while. I don't know why. In the night-world, things just happen. But I felt the all too familiar spinal tingle and the subtle echo up beneath my scalp, so I sat down at the keyboard and waited. In six hours it'll be my birthday. You see, birthdays don't really begin at 12AM. They begin at the time you were born. So like my birthday runs from 7:31AM on July first to 7:31AM on July second. Twenty four hours..... That's why they call it a birth 'day.' If you start celebrating at 12AM and you weren't born till later, that would be jumping the gun. But some people ain't so fussy.

I don't know why I just said all that. Maybe Jonathon engaged my psyche before he had anything to say? If this turns out to be a two way conversation, I'll ask him. But usually he talks and I type. 

OK, here it comes..... He has a new toy... a new way to kill people, for those nights when he's not hungry, but just bored. I guess because he's still in a more or less feral state it's all right. And Jonathon ain't in State College no more, or the woodlands surrounding it. He don't know where he is. County roads and borders mean nothing to orange-eyed night wraiths. He scampers through the leafy canopy with a quiet grace unseen among hominids since the days of homo-erectus. And he catches things... little things.... fast things... tiny mammals out on the prowl... snakes... large, unidentified species of arachnids plus the occasional unfortunate common forest gnome. Boy, do they squeal like pigs. 

Oh, he still enters settlements, human mortal settlements, I mean. And he still kills bad people, only not with his teeth. Got a whole set a toys... got a lot a props... Gets 'em when he sublimates into stores and places... Stashes them with his clothes, mostly brand new, hard, scratchy, dark demin blue jeans, tighty-whities and tee shirts. Got a hidey hole in a little sub-basement under a old lady hair-fixin' salon. I don't know if it say that on the sign, but that the kind a place it is. Nobody been down there in eighteen years, so he's pretty safe. Watches TV and everything. Had a boost a transformer out of a motel to make it work, 'cause it an old one what had less picture lines than them new models they got today. That where he get the idea. Sees an infomercial 'bout vacuum bags guaranteed to wrinkle up all your bestest stuff and keep out them spiders. What they really mean is keep out them roachies, but it more civilized when you say spiders. Steals some a the biggest ones from a storage room in some old folks jail (nursing home) out by a Costco. They the best, twelve gauge  plastic and all, like what used to get made into slipcovers (more like hazmat suits) for granny sofas. But since most a the grannies what liked that stuff is dead now, companies use it to mummify wool sweaters and such.

Jonathon got a whole lot of 'em. Got an old vacuum cleaner to... canister kind, what got long, snaky tubes. Only he don't store blankets in 'em. He fill 'em up with people. Give 'em the vampire fish eye, scramble up they brains a little and take 'em down... to that sub-basement, I mean. Gets 'em drunk... Get's 'em sleepy. Keeps a case a beer down there for just that purpose. Then, soon's they pass out, he strips 'em down and shoves 'em in, all curled up like freeze dried Incan corpses. Zips 'em shut and sucks out all the air. Shrink 'em up to nothing... Real flat, just like beef jerky. Noses get smashed to the side. Titties look all funny. Man-junk get all smushed up. Skin get all wrinkled. Sometimes they eyes is open. Sometimes they's closed. Ears get all bent too. Most of 'em look kind a stupefied. Few look like they jus' don't care. 

Got fourteen stacked up right now in the corner. But he startin' a get sick a that game. Wanna play something else. Gonna move on soon and leave that crap behind. 

Don't know what gonna happen when some dumb bastid find 'em.

Guess now all you serial killers what got storage problems gone start doin' the same thing ...

Shit, jus' 'cause you got issues don't mean you can't be organized...
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Saturday, June 29, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SARAH GOES 'VAMPIRE CRAZY'...a true story from when ANNIE was STILL a vampirina... 6/30/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SARAH GOES 'VAMPIRE CRAZY': Sarah usually fed with Tomas. Not always on the same night. But he often accompanied her. Their cycles weren't congruent. She was a ful ...How to make vampire quacamole or hummus out of deserving human beans... This is a little seen re-run. I'm weak with fatigue...Dizzy too. If you want to thumb through all we got, click on this~>VAMPIRE STUFF THAT WE HAVE TO PRETEND IS FICTION... bon soir.... 


They spotted each other one day in the park. Annie liked to sit on the benches and watch all the people. This wasn't a big park. It's a square.... Washington Square Park... That's what they call it. And even though Annie, with the help of some of the Piney people, managed to regain her mortality, she's still something of a witch, or a magic girl. 

The other girl, the one whose mother feeds her shitty pizza, likes the park too. She brings food for the pigeons, little bags of passed date 'Goldfish' she gets from a dollar store. Annie and her used to play when the vampires lived in Chestnut Hill. They sort of kind of knew  about the vampires and all. Shitty pizza mom had a thing for 'Papa' and he went over to give her a bath and groom her every once in a while. Vampires like to bathe and clean up mortal women. Jonathon did it to Silvia and Aura. Their sponge baths down in the tunnels were a big thing. Oh, they hit other notes on the scale too, but the cool trickles of ever so slightly rusty water tickled so. 

Shitty Pizza girl saw Annie and said - What you doin' outside? Ain't you scared a burning up?..... Annie went - Shows what a dope you are, you dope. I ain't no vampire no more.... Girl says - What'd you do, lose your license? My grandpop lost his license. They can do that to you, you know. Cops just grab 'em and run away. They run away real fast. You know how cops run. 'Specially them young, skinny ones. 

Annie goes - What you doin' 'round here? Your mom kick you out?.... Girl goes - Moms don't kick you out. Well, they do sometimes. But not when you're little. They need you to run in the kitchen and get 'em 'tateh chips when they watchin' tv. Or like maybe a piece a kleenex. You miss bein' a vampire?...... Annie goes - Nope. .... Girl goes - What you do with your coffin?...... I ain't never slept in no coffin - says Annie. I slept in a bed from Crate and Barrel. I know, 'cause Sarah told me...... Girl goes - Oh..... Then she tells Annie how she used to play that the boxes her Barbies came in were their coffins. But she used to wrap tin foil around them, 'cause the plastic windows in the front were see-through and in some religions they make you get buried naked. And it wouldn't be right to have see-through coffins, 'cause people might not listen to the minister when he tells everybody about you, plus old people would look too sickening and their grandkids would run out screaming.

Annie says - What kind a religion makes you get buried naked? Where they sendin' 'em... whore heaven?...... The girl whose mom feeds her shitty pizza said she didn't know. Then she sat down, reached into her bag, crumbled up some a the stale Goldfish and gave them to the birds..... Annie felt bad, 'cause the little starlings weren't gettin' much. She witched the pigeons so they'd go away... and they did. Then the starlings got a little more.

The girl told Annie she and her mom lived 'in town' now. They had a nice condominium 'right over there.' (just across from where they sat). And she didn't realize that Annie witched it so they would. 

Maybe Edith could take them to the movies, or like an all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffet? 

Maybe they could go down the shore and stay at Baylah's boyfriend's house? Annie liked the daytime.

After all... she was just a little girl... even though she still had powers...
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Oh, and also (they were so nice, I told them I'd pass it on) if you're in Philly and want phones, digital equipment, or some kind a phone/tablet/computer hook-up, go to the corporate owned AT&T Mobility store on Cottman Street and ask for Melissa and Kyle Durham. I went in there desperate for somebody to help me make sense out of my convoluted (my fault) antiquated phone  set up and they did... Took their time (with a tech dummy like me) got me hooked up right and saved me money too. Maybe they can help you too?

This isn't an ad or a product placement, just a 'thank you' for their help...

Thursday, June 27, 2013


They made me a puppet...a complete and fully articulated doppelganger. He looked just like me, but with the blush of mortal skin and less cunning eye teeth. My brain was his brain. We shared it. My thoughts animated his body. Indeed, he really was not a separate, sovereign thing. The mechanical thing...the automaton was me.

They put crystals in my brain and in certain points throughout my body as well. The puppet moved as I moved. He looked. He heard and saw and felt and smelled and tasted too. I  lived through him and the daytime opened up to me. 

I'm told the price for it all topped twelve point eight million American Dollars. But my coffers are deep. Vampires collect things over the years. I have paintings gathered from many places... a Giotto from a Tuscan duke.... a Chagall from a Parisian collaborator.... and something from the beach house of a Hollywood mogul. Look, I won't highlight them all. Nor will I mention every bank account.  Just know that I'm well fixed. You've heard your Jonathon speak of such things. Baylah does too. So you know. If you 'live' long, you prosper. 

Sometimes I stare at clear blue skies for hours ... and sunlight on the waves ... and butterflies... and grandmothers buying peaches at road stands.  They speak to me and I respond. Green leaves... I love green leaves too. They look so different at night. And sunbeams streaming through stained glass windows... And orange clouds at dusk. Now even in my nocturnal form I can come out after sundown and see the last bit of purple in the sky. I always liked doing that. But now I see much more. I see everything. 

They tell me such things are called 'avatars' after similar constructs from the cinema. And I am the first vampire to have one. Eight hundred years in darkness, done. 

I feel so much better now. Sometimes I dance and sing. And when I do my doppelganger does the same things too. 

But you know what else I, love? I love making the acquaintance of mortals in the daytime and bringing them home to dine.

How shocked they are to see my 'cat toothed' twin.

I bite them and they die...

The best of both worlds... don't you think?

It's good to be rich...
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Wednesday, June 26, 2013


I know not what I am, or how I came to be. Some say I am a carving shattered from a pediment atop a Florentine church. Renaissance artillery was so imprecise. But now I have a soul, of sorts, and eyes that see and skin that feels. 

I scamper in the darkness, lest people should see. For the artist made me naked and I am bashful. 

Oh, I know you are waiting for the resumption of the tale. You follow the vampirini of Philadelphia. But it is hot and the disembodied spirits narrating this thing pick up on the energy of the ether, as rising temperatures stir the atoms and make them dance.

Now I rest, wedged between a bench and a planter, not far from il Duomo, listening to the chatter of New World gawkers, plus occasional Alemanni . This one wants a lemon ice. That one craves biscotti. Another seeks a lover. The thin one wants to die. 

Sometimes I whisper. My lips never move. But they all hear my words. 'Travel to Vienna'..... 'Buy the silver sugar bowl'..... 'Marry the foreign Jew.' 

People listen to what I say. Catherine De Medici called me 'pet.' She sat me in her boudoir, right by the bed and told me secrets in the dark.

I know so many things, yet still don't know my name. Tomorrow night I'll scamper somewhere else.... a fat, little angelkin diving into shadows.

But indulge me for a bit. Play 'cat' to my magician. Let's see what strangeness we can do. Let's see what powers hover hence.

I will whisper a play.... a favorite of 'the Bard,' performed in Shoreditch long ago, yet known to you and me.

Please COMMENT if you hear the name. Tomorrow we will see if our souls proceed apace.

Farewell for now. I have to race. Some students from afar draw near....
And I have secrets yet to hear....

A cherub made of stone...
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Tuesday, June 25, 2013


There was a hangman in our town... a true sadist... a devil much worse than any life-eater (vampire). He had a way to let the victim swing. No snap. No neck break. No quick drop into oblivion. Just a pendulum swinging in the breeze.. They gasp.... They drool.... They pee and shit. The crowd laughs. They clap and throw chestnuts. Throwing chestnuts is a tradition here. 

If the family of the victim can afford it, they give the hangman three silver crowns. This happens during the final visit. He ushers the victim into a marginally cleaner and brighter cell... No greasy stones... No black soot from eons of cheap, fatty candles wafting smoky dreams to nowhere. Three dirty bowls of stew. Well, not too dirty, but you know what I mean. And the beef is fairly free from mold and mildew. One for the victim. Two for his chief, not yet mourners. Most bring their own spoons. They sit on stools and eat. They talk. Some people cry. The crowns trade hands. The victim mouths a heartfelt 'thank you,' then silence. After a bit the clergyman comes in. What a coincidence... Everyone believes the same as the king and has done so for one thousand years. They even control the souls.

Then, when it's time, they do it. The poor soul walks out. Peasants cheer. They throw the nuts. Children caper about, miming 'the hanged man'... lolling tongues.... eyes rolled back... twitching arms... kicking feet. Bawds sing songs and flash their wares. as churchmen take down names. But death will be quick, for the rope is long and wound just so. 

Does the crowd like that? No, they don't. Dirty faces droop in disappointment. Eyes dart about. Perhaps there's a witch to burn? Or a heretic? Or a Jew? But the Jews were banished years ago. And they burnt their last heretic after the witch flew off. That one really could fly. Pity they didn't grab her feet before she got away. Young toughs began smashing market stalls run by immigrants, Walloons and Lombards and the like...... Oi, what they jibber-jaggin' about? Smash 'er teef.... And they did.... At least she had teeth.

I fixed the hangman. I fixed him good. Not that he was the biggest villain in all this. But that night it was his turn. Made him swallow each and every silver crown he had. Kept them in a secret niche within the stout stone wall.  Tipped a pewter chalice and spilled them out.... like rain upon the floor. No one heard. His cell was like a fortress, though he possessed the key. And moonlight filtered in to gild the coins. 

How he cried. Was I a demon, or a witchy-man? He wanted to know. And I just laughed. Sublimation is a special talent of mine and stout stone walls meant nothing to me. Though some of my ilk might have been scared. Condensing in stone is a terrible way to die. And had he lived in a more public venue, say a room over the tavern, I might have passed him by. Night-folk shun notoriety.... Well, back then they did. 

First I bit his nose and chewed it off like gristle. He moaned and trembled. Then I licked the blood that poured down from the wound. Then he went limp... dropped through my arms and rolled under the bed. I grabbed his legs and pulled him out. He whimpered like a puppy, as I sliced into his nethers and drained him dry. 

They all expect the neck. They all protect the neck. But me, I like variety. And it's disorienting to the night-meal when the lungs and heart and brain are still intact while the blood is drained away, like a great, internal tide rushing out to sea.....

He gasped... He wheezed... The whimpering stopped and then I watched the flames....' Spontaneous human combustion' they call it...

When it was over and he was gone, I scooped up all the coins. How greasy they were. So I took them home to wash them and gave them to the poor.

'Saint Francis' they called me, as I blessed them and mumbled prayers...

Was I always so honorable? No.... But that night, I was....
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I wish to continue our discussion. Vampires still perspire. And we do not ooze blood. What comes out is sweat. Which is odd, for we do not crap. At least I do not. They tell me the magic (not all consider it a burden. that jargon belongs to Judaeo-Christian types) settles differently on each and every one of us. Some excrete a paste-like substance. In the middle ages, dried turds were considered relics and sold as 'angel shit.' But I don't think they do that anymore. 

Most nights I frequent the East End. I recommend it to all visiting vampires. The 'food' is quite divine. And poor folk die so conveniently. No one cares. Few notice. It's all so easy. 

Did I tell you I saw The Ripper? I could smell the blood. There was so much of it, so could the rats. He had her on a bed... a filthy, crusty pallet in a dank, mildew cellar. And, I must say, he was a true virtuoso of the blade. I believe he favored a Neapolitan stiletto, long and thin and sharp. Your California 'Zorro' couldn't do any better. Such a juicy ripping sound. How appetizing. Please, I have to admit it. Don't hate me.

He hummed a little tune.... something from the music halls. I don't know the name. And she was spread open like a Prussian eagle... internally exposed from trachea to pudenda. Though not at all self-conscious. Death cures all manner of phobia, you know. 

Did he see me peeking through the small, street level window? Well, I think he did. I think he knew I was there.... An audience and a safe one at that. 

Oh, I can tell you who he was. But why should I spoil your fun. Night-folk know many things.... eternal witnesses we are. We know which miracles were real. And we know where all the bodies are buried. 

Your Jonathon does not like to hear that, for he believes 'with a perfect faith.' I think he has a messiah complex. I've spent evenings with the young Doctor Freud. Oh, how he wanted to analyze me.... a night fiend... a vampire... I ghoul. Well, to him I was a ghoul. But if you've been reading this for a while, you're familiar with the one they call Johnny Jump Up and you know what a ghoul really is. 

I stroll through Covent Garden looking for my own Eliza Dolittle.... East Enders.... Sloane Rangers.... Pearly Kings and Pearly Queens.... My tastes are so eclectic. 

Six quarts of blood. Where do I put it all?

I think she picked me for my looks.... 'Mama' Jeanette, I mean. I've been told I'm a pre-cursor to the young Lawrence Olivier. 

You should see me play Macbeth.
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Sunday, June 23, 2013

SILENT WALKERS ON HOT MUGGY NIGHTS..... Mysterious shadow people..... 6/24/13

And while that anonymous English vampirino prepares for his evening dalliances, permit us to tell you of other  things. 

Have you ever walked down a tree lined thoroughfare late at night? Street light flickers through the leaves. It's quiet, save for a faint rustling, natures 'white' noise. You look down, lest you trip on an old, cracked, raised portion of pavement. Sometimes you smell mice. Sometimes you don't. And shadows, or perhaps I should say 'deeper shadows' provide sinister frisson. 

Images snap in and out of the ether. A person... A raven... A being... A wraith. Merely illusions, or something else? A voice filters out of a house... laughter... anger.... But at least you're not alone... Till a window slams and the sound disappears.

Then the 'white' noise changes. A foot fall?... A cough?.... You pivot 'round to see.... And 'it' stops.... You continue past a neatly trimmed hedge... maybe six feet high.... Then you hear low, subtle mumbling on the other side.... Shhh, be quiet. If you're careful no one will hear you pass. Sneakers can be so quiet. Tense your foot a certain way. Take care with every step. 'They'.... 'He'.... 'It'.... won't hear you. At least that's what you hope... But the mumbling comes back.

Does the shadow by that curbside tree up ahead seem a bit thicker and darker than usual? Is there a tiny glint where an eye would be?... A strange, unexpected movement?... 

You flip open your cell phone. That's what they tell you to do. Look purposeful. Make like you're talking... Act strong. But darkness can be stronger. You hear a sniff.... Shhhh, where'd it come from?....You hear a name...a word... a 'something.'.... All the windows are dark.... Maybe a car will go by?... Maybe it won't?.... 

Then your scalp begins to tingle. You want to walk. You want to move, but you can't..... Hide... Do it....Slip back against a tree... Melt into a shadow. Why did you stay out so late? Why did you walk this way?

A shadow floats toward you... A person?... Can they see you? Do they know you're there?

Oh, come on. What do you think? 

And then it happens... The street light winks out.... That's when you hear the whistling.... very quiet.... very soft.... but 'there.' 

When you go into the woods tonight, you're in for a big surprise..... That's it. Those are the words. You know the song.

But you'll never, ever hear it again...

There is no help and no reprieve. Too late for that. But you pray, you hope, you beg.

And then it happens.... Neck bones snap so easily.... you even hear them 'pop,' as strange, cold hands caress you in the dark.   

A centipede tickles your corpse...
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I did shed my skin, but not in a pit. She, the one who made me scrubbed it off in an old claw foot bathtub. And a servant girl sworn to secrecy scraped up the wet, viscous strips and burned them in the furnace. I lay curled in a fetal position, moaning for days. Fortunately, the tub was in the cellar.

Now I know there were other life-eaters in London then, but we never fraternized with any and they left us to our own devices. She taught me to feed... when, where, and how.  Tiny bites above a blood vessel. Arteries are best. Always raise the head above the feet to slow the flow. Sedate the victim with alcohol before the ordeal. Fortified wines, like Sherry, work best. We didn't want to torture anyone, just 'eat' them. And she who made me didn't  confine her appetites to the wicked... not always, anyway. Though she preferred taking isolated souls who wouldn't be missed. I liked watching them ignite after it was over. I liked the 'cool' blue flame. Sometimes in the autumn, when the air was cold and dry, we'd watch as large, flaky ashes rose up into the sky and disappeared.

Do you know I never once addressed her by name. And to this night I'm not really sure how old she is. I did hear her talk in her sleep. She mumbled in  Vahmperigo.... an Eastern dialect quite akin to Old Slavonic, but with an admixture of Byzantine and even Hunnish words thrown in too. Being educated, I knew a bit of Greek and picked out some of the words. She was lonely. I knew that, but not overwhelmingly so.

'Jeanette,'.... The British people called her Jeanette, except when they called her India, or Tess, or Francine. She didn't care. 

But she dressed me like a prince. My linen was spotless and starched to perfection.... Not stiff, just white and pristine. My suits were fashioned from the best worsted wool.... long frock coats and all that. And my boots, ankle length, were of a high polished leather. Dragon skin, I believe they were. Vampires knew where to get it. Certain Indian rajahs and naywobs still kept select specimens in carefully constructed enclosures. But the Congress Party put a stop to it. I don't know why. Gandhi cried to see them go. Though I'm told a surviving root stock still survives high up in Nepalese valleys. Perhaps, one night, I'll go there.

Oh, did I tell you? Sometimes I drink from the wrist, or the breast, or the buttock. An affectation of mine. But usually from the throat like everyone else.

Tonight I'm having a Sloane Ranger. 'GOOGLE' it. You'll see what I mean. I'm really looking forward to it.

Now let me be. I have to dress... and Mordecai , my valet, takes such pains.

Where's that flask of sherry?....
(more tomorrow)

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Friday, June 21, 2013


I never knew it was coming. They invited me to a party...more like a symposium, actually. I believe Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was there too. There was a house in London, a stylish townhouse, owned by a group given to paranormal investigations and magical experimentation. They brought a goldfish back from the dead once. But the West Indian stevedore stayed that way, so he wound up in the Thames. Perhaps he revived down there. 

An older gentleman, though quite well preserved identified himself as 'the facilitator.' Some of the others seemed to know his name, but I did not. He said we would attempt a levitation. None of that parlor game nonsense... No rigid body 'tweet two chairs. They had a subject already picked out. Now I know she was obviously a vampire. Yet those in attendance hadn't a clue.

She wore a blue dress... quite dark... almost black. They said her name was Jeanette and she sipped some type of French cordial from a small green glass. I believe it smelled of chocolate.

They had us stand up and hold hands. We formed an oval. She lay on the rug. It was quiet, save for all the clocks. Inquiring folk in the nineteenth century had quite a thing for clocks. Maybe it was the intricate mechanisms? After all, computers were still very far away. 

An attendant came in with a long metal chain. I think it was aluminum.... back then a precious and little known substance. He draped it 'round our shoulders. The facilitator said a prayer and we replied in Sanskrit. 

Approximately twenty four heartbeats later, that Jeanette, laying on the floor between us started giggling, as if tickled by unseen fingers. And then she began to rise up. Our charade had nothing to do with it, but we believed that it did. Vampires can do many things and this simple demonstration was a specialty of hers. Needless to say, the night was a success. 

We repaired to the library, an octagonal chamber with a leaded glass roof, for light refreshment and conversation, quite secure in our new found wizardry. Khartoum was the big thing back then...Lord Kitchener and all... the eighteen eighties... the Mahdi. And this group was very progressive, since the ladies joined in too.

When we left, I shared a cab with the vampire woman. The coachman was her 'familiar,' but I didn't know that. Two squares hence, she had him turn off the thoroughfare and proceed down Rotten Row, an equestrian lane much loved by the horsey set, though quite dark and empty now. I noticed, but said nothing, for I was young and desperate to appear less so.

She began to kiss me and nuzzle my neck. I pressed against the door. She moved closer. Her fingers were quite adept. Five minutes later I was naked.... and six minutes after that a vampire, although the shedding of the skin had yet to occur.

We exited the park and entered a little mews. One of the well appointed bijou was hers. She gave me a black, satin cape, neatly folded for that purpose. I put it on, lest any neighbors saw us arrive. When the coachman hopped down and opened the door, I followed her out and into the dwelling, more or less oblivious of my hasty transformation.

Once inside, she pulled it off and then I began to learn.....
explore more at ~>Billy Kravitz' VAMPIRE WONDERLAND ..... please COMMENT here or join us on Twitter, click ~>@wilkravitz ... thank you..... tomorrow night the tale will continue.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

MUST SEE TODAY the best of movieclips channels (playlist) ...Oh, you gotta subscribe to this.. If I did things right, should be a touching tribute to James Gandalfini and, as always, some of our poignant bits of EL MUNDO VAMPIRIDO .. 6/21/13

James Gandolfini lost his physical body today. But the rest of him is here. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed... and boy does he have a lot of that. 

If I did this right, the video I 'shared' should have a real nice tribute. I'm not too digitally savvy, but I do my best. 

Take care of yourselves. Eat right. Move and jump around a little. If you do it to music, you can call it dancing. 

<>  <>  <>  <>  <>  <>  <>  <>  <>  <>  

Now here's what our night-folk have to say. I believe we've been talking to RENATE (reh-nah-tay).....

And she says ~~~~ I pity your mortality. Even if you endure for one hundred years that is still but 36,500 days... Maybe a little more, allowing for the leap years. Such calenders you have. Such artifice. Such conceit. Every little tribe thinks they have it right. But who cares about the details? Renate goes by the moon. What more do we need?

Am I the first life-eater (vampire)? No. Those who've journeyed with us for a while know that. There is no first. There always was. Time is only an explanation for accumulated entropy. They who have 'passed' are not erased. All lives still exist.

Though I can tell you a bit about changes you (or your descendants) will see. The primitivism you relish will begin to evaporate. It already is. Each will know the other and nation states will wither. Or rather, Earth will be your nation... and perhaps some other orbs along the way. 

Your children shall conquer the stars. Pity you were born so soon. Yet the atoms of your body will be there when it happens and they will cheer.

Renate knows. I've seen the birth of Sumer and polities far 'older.' Mud and stone and wood were always there. And even children build temples out of blocks. They always have. Legos are not new. There are records of those days. But you will not find them, for the seas have swallowed them up. And calamari swim through tombstones in the depths. 

It's hot. Summer hastens decay. Tiny piercing mouth-parts spread disease. But that's their job. And vampires do the same. I take lives at will. No moral vows for me. I am far too practical for that and was already old and set in my ways when organized morality appeared. 

But I lie. The being you call Jonathon thinks me a saint. And since we are but one or two links apart on the great eternal chain, I permit him to have his illusions. 

Now I rise from the waves and walk toward the shore. Tiny phosphorescent lifeforms say hello. There are houses near the coast and salty, blood-filled people within. They sleep, as I creep close, scratching at window screens and whispering through doors.

And the black beetles run and dance. They say - Renate comes....

Night birds sing my name.....

Flowers kiss my feet....

And even though a human soon will die...
the atoms of their body will go on.....

for more peeks into our world click on~>EL MUNDO VAMPIRIDO ... please leave a COMMENT. please SUBSCRIBE. Share with your friends and visit us on Twitter at ..... thank you...

Wednesday, June 19, 2013


Must rest. Even disembodied spirits need to re-charge every once in a while. Flickering in and out like a weak cable signal. So here's a trio of varied, talented and well known people to fill the breach. Plus Andrew's got some real good paranormal serial fiction too. 

1) see Andrew Harding's fiction ( a PG or PG-13 taste of what's in his books) at ~~> .. attractive, near-vampire cops fight perverse killers and get kinky in their spare time... plus they're real rich too... Google ~> THE HYBRID SERIES by Andrew Harding for more.

2) Erin Morgenstern, author of THE NIGHT CIRCUS orchestrates a magical blog filled with writerly insights and whimsy from her eccentrically cozy garret at ~> ... Perfect place to visit for a warm, little night time chat...

3) Joe Hill, author of just released supernatural thriller NOS4A2 (nos-for- know, that vampire word... only this isn't that, but something innovative and different) can be reached at ~> ... He's penned many other worthy tomes too. He wrote the story for Graphic Novel series LOCKE & KEY... re-defines the genre.

4) and, as always, if you'd care to look through my 700,000 word universe, highlighting vampires, settlers on Mars, poor little children on the icy streets of Old Prague, hard scrabble romance under the 'el' tracks and a whole lot more (think of them like movie treatments), Google ... Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... THE LITTLE MATCH BOY by Billy Kravitz... EL RANCHO TEXACO by Billy Kravitz... or BINGO BOY by Billy Kravitz... can also click on ~> ...

Thank you. that's it for now. must sleep. starting to break out in hives. please grace us with a COMMENT or tweet YOUR LINKS to me at ... and I'll re-tweet them forthwith. (just give me a day or so). and now we swim off to dreamland ><> ><> ><> ><> ><>

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

THE ANCIENT ABIDING PRESENCE known as RENATE tells us more... 6/19/13

I am not knowing why I even communicate with you. Many have seen me pass through this nuanced account. But I never trade words carelessly. Those who devour what comes forth from these magic triptychs care not for the truth. They tingle for copulatory acts, blood drenched dismemberment and cents-off coupons. 

Renate knows. She can hear the worms of ignorance feast on your brains. Well... not all. Renate recognizes the vibrations of certain spirits. Those friends in the Tin Isles and various large population centers scattered about the land mass called North Americky, plus the duskward edge of what you call 'The Old World.' 

Forty thousand years of consciousness. I saw the ice sheets melt and witnessed other facets of humanity, or near humanity, waste away and die. Scraps still remain... but only scraps. 

And I have no recollection of my own transformation. I can't even tell you who did it..... A feeding.... I saw a feeding.... Wandering 'vampires' perhaps two or three, devoured a human play thing... a mutilated one. The creature had no legs and no arms. It's crotch parts were excised as if by sharpened ice-cream scooper. And  protruding facial appendages.... nose... lips... ears... were missing too.  That is how we dealt with strangers, for no good came from the unknown.... In a sense, each small band was it's own 'humanity.' All others were but thieves.

Do you know when living spirits are thrown into volcanoes they do not scream. The shock is too great, as red hot, viscous rock envelopes every part of their being. And even when they slip beneath the surface life remains. A brain is a wonderful thing and takes so long to die.

Why do I tell you this? No, really, why? I am hoping there are brain-readers among you.... 'head shrinkers' I think you call them. For I do not know. 

But until the others, the ones you know best, regain their voices I will tell you things.....

What it is like to glide through the clouds as monstrous waves crush people like chalk, or to walk across the surface of the sun....

My spirit has done many things..... And I have eaten many souls.

Right now I sit beneath the sea, down in the blackest depths, watching crab-things play amidst thermal vents. 'Devil's Chimneys' I call them... calliope reeds from hell.

I close my eyes and taste their sulfurous breath.
for more click on ~> SECRETS OF THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND ... please leave a COMMENT and tell others. thank you...

Monday, June 17, 2013

Ragnarok Official Trailer #1 (2013) - Norwegian Action Movie HD...and what part do you play in it all? THE LADY RENATE TALKS... 6/18/13

I do not even remember My nativity... My life-eater nativity, I mean. And the details of my mortal existence are just as lost to me. They say I come from an area north of the Black Sea. But of course it had another name back then. We lived in houses made from bones... ivory shells for human habitation. You call them Woolly Mammoths. Our names was more poetic... The Rock that Moves... The Horn of The Spirits. 

Can  you imagine how cold it was then? Urine froze upon leaving the body, starting on the ground and working it's way up.... arcs of icy piss. Animals would snatch one and run away... I suppose for the salt. and when one of the people died during winter we'd eat them. There was no other alternative. The ground was hard and cold. Even in summer graves were shallow, for the ice never strayed too far. 

We had a captive. Later generations would term her a slave. To us she was a curiosity brought from the warm, arid lands to the south. Only we did not say 'south.' To us the four directions were hot, cold, dawn, dusk.

Some men brought her to us as barter for hides.... musk oxen... woolly rhino... things like that. Mammoth pelts were never sold, for they were sacred. Babies were whelped upon them. Transgressors died in them. Do you want to know how? Wrapped up tight and sewn shut like a burrito. Odd that I know that word, but I do. For I have been walking forever. 

Those who study the lineages of mankind would say we were first. First to call the gods... First to name the children... First to capture souls.... By that I mean the creation of images. Others came before us, but they were different.... Simple folk... Brutal folk.... And they died very young. I'm told some still live in the endless woods among the Siberiaks. You've encountered one. The 'Old Man,' or the 'Old Bones,' I think you call him. Well, maybe not you, but they who tell the tale.

And if I am to tell the truth, we were brutal too. Though to us it served a purpose. Don't ask me what. I have forgotten. Yet I remember the practices even now. 

A man would be caught. One leg, below the knee, would be taken. And the same fire used to seal the wound would cook the meat. We ate it right in front of him. Next full moon was for the other leg, then the arms... Sometimes we'd feed them. Sometimes we'd keep them alive, until a need arose. They did make good bait you know... for bears, or great cats, or 'snow people.' Yetis, sasquatch, big-foot I think you call them. I can still remember their cries. 

And sometimes we fed them to night-folk. No one watched. None dared see the deed. 

But I did.... And so I was abandoned...

Please... this is still a very painful thing. Let me sit and keen my ancient songs.

Renate needs her rest. See the captured dream displayed below. 

When next the sky grows dark I'll tell you more...
the tale is endless. for more click on this ~>THE BOOK OF ALL THINGS ... grace us with a COMMENT. for more beguiling reads, look here ~> ... ...more will appear next time. I meant to make a list but I forgot. if any were entered incorrectly, the mistake will be rectified. if you'd like your link to appear, tweet me and it will. thank you.

Forks Over Knives - Official Trailer...STAY YOUNG, STAY SMART, EAT HEALTHY... and go see what Mindy has to say too

If you want to live long and prosper, watch the clip down below and see what Mindy has to say. Mindy KNOWS.... Go to ~> PRETTY_VEGGIE ... and click on the blog too ~> .... The vampires I blog for CARE about the physical state of humanity...Thank you. Let food be your medicine...ENJOY!...And please tell others...

Sunday, June 16, 2013

More Musings From The Elferino-Vampirinios...(and Elferina-Vampirinas too)... 6/17/13

There is no video tonight. I do not know why. Perhaps the disembodied spirit orchestrating this couldn't find any?  I have such a hard time deciphering disembodied spirits anyway. Let the dead take care of the dead and the living care for the living. I am an elferino. Tell me, where do I belong?

Tonight we wander the financial district... the mid-town thoroughfares housing great banks and brokerage houses. Philadelphia has a stock exchange, you know. And it's quite a respectable institution. Indeed, when Gotham was laid low during the Twin Towers catastrophe, trading resumed the very next day down our way. 

But the arteries of commerce run slow in the dark. People go elsewhere... to Rittenhouse Square, or Fitler Square, or Society Hill, or Old City... to the condominiums and cooperatives of style and grace. Yet the streets are not empty. Isolated smidgens of consciousness make their way through the shadows.... Drug dealers looking for quiet, though convenient corners to hawk their wares.... Temperamental, bashful doxies seeking to fill the emptiness and earn a centime or two.... semi-runaways searching for imagined independence.... They sit on benches passing bottles... Cups are not necessary. Alcohol kills the germs.

We see them. We nod. They respond. We sit down and talk, mostly in whispers. Nighttime quiets things. Perhaps a behavior learned in prehistoric times. No telling who else (or what else) might be listening. 

Do they know what we are? Who cares? There is brotherhood in darkness. We taste the grog and smoke the crack, sharing our wealth liberally... an emerald here... a Krugerrand there.... could be a greasy wallet fat with bills..... Night-folk pick up many things.  Victims are so rich. 

I dance for them. Elferinos are good dancers. And they tell me how much they appreciate the show. The whores dance too. Drug dealers don't. They just do not.

Police cars cruise the streets like silent barracudas. We freeze, blending with the shadows til they pass. Hungry souls trolling for narcotics or sex, or both, or whatever approach, standing in the distance and looking... always looking. But our friends know the signals. Each side knows the moves. And in that way trades are made.

I tell them stories of Old Amsterdam... of vampire brothels in Vienna and elfin pick-pockets in Glasgow alleys. They like the stories... and my accent... not quite French... not quite German... I teach them Vahmperigo... My Vahmperigo... the night-folk tongue... Not like what Jonathon speaks... His is based on Spanish... Mine is a northern dialect, more akin to Flemish.

Before dawn I buy them pancakes. Sometimes I drink the syrup. I can tolerate small amounts. Alcohol is a syrup... a fermented syrup. Perhaps that's why. 

Then I fly off to sleep away the fiery day in thick walled tombs. God bless Laurel Hill ( a vast necropolis for wealthy bones).....

Shhhh, it's time for pancakes

The waitress sees my pointy ears. But she has Mayan plugs in hers. I think she's not impressed.

Look, I know the vampiric world 'round here is dull, what with Jonathon and Sarah running off and all. But something will happen.

It always does.... Johnny Jump Up still walks....

Oh, God, why did I say that name?...
(until next time)
link to more ~~~> 700,000 WORD UNIVERSE ... leave a comment here or on @wilkravitz ... that's Twitter. good night. 

Saturday, June 15, 2013

2013 2014 Upcoming Movies (Latest) with Trailers..... ALBION, one od our 'Elferinos' talks about juvenile vampire life and why he loves film... 6/16/13

There is a beautiful assortment of recollections down below, featuring past dreams and those yet to come. For cinema is just that... gift wrapped visions shared in the dark. 

We elferinos and elferinas love such things, savoring chill, fall nights at 'the movies.' I like to sit up close, bathed in the platinum radiance coming from the screen. Vampire dreams are like that. And what are we, but juvenile night-folk? I know many of you have GOOGLED - Marianne in Britches by Billy Kravitz . Can you tell me that would not make a haunting film? Or his BINGO BOY, or the sweeping saga that is EL RANCHO TEXACO. But I digress. Possibly because that writer, also known to you as wilkravitz misses the life-eater known as Jonathon. Yes, he appears from time to time, but our trim friend from old Al- Andaluz walks alone now. And we have no control over it. wilkravitz misses the tiny vials too. They're like tonics. Regular recipients need no physicians. Sometimes mortals, through judicious infusions (taken orally) live long lives. The 'Old Woman' whom you may recall from the earliest nights of this ... whatever it is... was roughly one hundred and forty years old at the time of her disappearance, yet still technically mortal. wilkravitz isn't that old, but far, far older than you'd expect. He needs the blood... not much...tiny drams to hold decrepitude at bay. I'm sure Baylah will help. 

Should my references puzzle you, wander through the entire vampire canon at ~> ...It's all there, from 'Papa's' earliest days by the alpine lakes of neolithic Europe, to Jonathon's time in the pit. Just scroll back and back and back to the beginning, almost 725,000 words ago. 

The Night-World is very rich. We've shared but a tiny morsel. 

Right now, I sit with my companion, the dear Celeste. She keeps close counsel and is quieter than Marianne, though if enough of you ask, she'll talk too. We watch a movie. The projectionist runs 'late' shows for beings like us. Minnie comes too. That's why we ran the Cab Calloway short some nights back, on the blog, I mean. She's named for his theme song. Minnie The Moocher. Gave it to herself. 

So we sit, all alone, save for a few disembodied spirits, and we watch. do you know there are special films the public never sees? Small jewels fashioned by little known names. They screen them at The Bilderberg Conference... at The Vampire Revels. That 'Golden Horde' magic house in London gets them, Camp David too, I believe.... other select venues too. I do not know them all.

This projectionist gets them too. He screens them for influential locals. Money can't get you in. So don't even try. And I cannot tell you anything about them. No, really, I can't. Shhhh, I don't want to talk anymore. Let me watch my dream....

But you can drift through the movie down below. It has a certain evocative enchantment. I particularly enjoyed the score.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Honest Trailers - Superman IV: The Quest for Peace...Sometimes the cast may be super but everything else isn't

First thing you gotta do...Go to You tube and SUBSCRIBE to the HONEST TRAILER people. But I think Earth needs a mirror image  SUPERMAN. By that, I mean a genetic human, one of us, transported to an Earth-like planet and culture where he or she develops extraordinary powers due to local conditions. I don't know what kind of suit they'd wear. Perhaps the form fitting ensemble comes from a Vegas or Atlantic City casino showroom dance review. Hero could be part of the corps de ballet who wanders into a tardis at a hotel movie prop show, only it's real. I don't know. I'm dizzy and tired. Don't take many nights off, but this is gonna be one of them, 'cause I'm staring at the screen like it's all just gonna appear there. Like I'm watching a movie and my brain and fingers have nothing to do with it. 

But think about it... A franchise where a human bean becomes invincible on another world. What would that be like? What would that Chamber of Solitude have in it? Would there be an alien 'family'? A second identity? Yo, Mel Brooks, where are you? I have to repair to my Chamber of Solitude. It's right next to the Chamber of Toilet, which houses The Throne of Contemplation and The Eternal Scriptures (old magazines).... G'night. 
read more here~> CLICK ON THIS ... thanks. leave COMMENTS and visit me on Planet Twitter ~> ... Scotosh bedosh... Bedosh boposht... Boposht skeedosht.... (that's Krypton least now it THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND we use it for everything)... 
Now look down and watch the video... Subscribe to HONEST TRAILERS too!

Thor: The Dark World Official Trailer #1 (2013) - Chris Hemsworth, Natal...DESTROY the turkey with your bare hands THIS THANKSGIVING and throw the bones to the hounds. .. See the trailer and commune with our night-folk after 6/14/13

Tried to post the clip up at the top, but some nights the demi-gods defy us and we've learned to pick our battles. Does THOR seem like a peculiar choice for a 'Holiday' film? Well, he does hail from a cold, icy climate, so maybe he's Santa Claus' neighbor? We of THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND do not judge. Looks like a good picture, just right for the dark chill time between candy corn and mince meat....Enjoy..

And now our story (don't worry, the movie clip is down there)... The thousand year old organism, known as Jonathon, or Tomas, take your pick, walked along the narrow pathway. Seemed to be more an old Indian trail than anything else. Every so often deer, raccoon, bobcats or other unidentified life forms peeked out to mark his passage. Vampires love the woods. They relish the shadows and the cool, damp decay. Tomas was no different. But of course, if you've been with us for a while, you know that from the time spent in The Pines. And now, he's gone feral. First went the shoes. Then the shirt. Then the jeans and everything else. The lithe, young native of old Al-Andaluz vaulted through the tree tops, savoring the starry skies. He flew with owls, slicing through the ether as they soared on silent wings. One proved to be an old acquaintance from his time in Bohemia and was quite pleased to see him. The fastidious raptor offered him a sleek, nocturnal rodent. Tomas thanked him, but declined. 

He slept in old dead trees, slipping in through friable cracks down near the dirt (where they usually occur) and shimmied toward a tighter berth up in the dark. How natural. How comforting. Like a spider in a cave. And he dreamed of earlier times, some mortal, some not, occasionally muttering to himself in Old Vahmperigo (a vampire dialect like Castilian or Catalunia). At night he bathed by moonbeams  in still, cold, sylvan pools. His long, dark, wavy hair smelled like summer.  And he ran with small, trim wolflings. Coyotes, I think you call them. The cubs called him 'uncle,' and snuggled up for kisses.

Sarah knew where he was. They had a bond. Distance means nothing. Words mean nothing. He hears her heart and she hears his. Will they ever reunite? Of course. But they're vampires and solitary sojourns are quite natural. 

But Jonathon, known as Tomas, isn't always by himself. Campers play here too, not many, but some. At night, while they sleep, he visits them. And certain dreaming camperinas play hostess to an incubus, or succubus. I can never remember which is which. Who cares? It does not matter. 

There are towns nearby. He visits them to feed. Well, so far only once, first sublimating into a shuttered store for clothing. Mustn't shock anybody after all. I don't know who he ate. But I'm sure the food was good... and delightfully rich and evil.

Now there are night-folk live like this forever.... 'forest wraiths'... 'windago' they call them.  But I don't think Jonathon, also known as Tomas, will.....

The gnomes are taking bets. Oh, and if you missed last night's episode. Please scroll back and read it. I want you to know what gnomes are really like.  Fairy tales can come true. They can happen to you....

That's why you gotta be careful....
for more, click ~> THIS ... please leave a comment. thank you. visit ~>  too...

And now... the clip... Ladies and Gentlemen..... 'Thor.'

Thursday, June 13, 2013

JONATHON KILLS SOMEBODY ELSE and gets DRUNK because the guy was an absinthe addict ...6/13/13

He took Tillie home. She didn't want to go and she wouldn't get out of the car..... No, no, I don't want to go in there. Please! Please! Take me with you - she begged......You ignorant, clueless bitch, 'that' I will never do - he said - You think I want to relive all those mistakes over again? Why do you think I left Philadelphia? Please... get out of the car.... But she didn't move and whispered over and over again - Please, please, please, please, please. So he quietly opened the door, stepped out and left her there. Eight heartbeats later he vanished into the darkness.  Tillie sat there crying til dawn. And later that day a nondescript man in a white shirt and dark pants walked up, entered the car and drove away. His 'familiars' have contacts everywhere.

Tillie got a letter directing her to a bank in Lockhaven, Pennsylvania, where she was given a parcel containing a small, Picasso canvas worth 1.2 million dollars.... The woman behind the desk said - He wants you to use some for your brother, for laser treatments. A doctor in State College thinks he can help. It may take years. But the hands, forearms, head, feet he'll clear first. Your brother will be able to go out again. Use the rest any way you want. If the auction goes well, you may get more. And it's already arranged. I don't know why he gave it to you this way, but he did. I don't know. He was agitated. Had a guy drive it up from Philadelphia. Didn't know what was in the box, but he brought it. Can you imagine? Be at Freeman Brothers (two hundred year old Philadelphia auction house) in ten days. They'll take care of everything. And don't try to sell it on your own, because that'll be a real fiasco. Tillie took the parcel and left. When she got home, on a city to city bus no less, and told her brother he laughed. He laughed for the first time in years.

But it's hard for a mortal to forget the magic and she had seen a lot. The world was a new place to her, fluid and ever changing. No more 'Tillie.' She was Taylor now and she planned to study cuisine.

Now to backtrack a bit, Jonathon still killed someone 'that' night. He had to. Maybe it's not just the 'culling' of an evil life? Maybe the blood does provide some type of nourishment? The tattoo man was gone. He was dead. So that part was all right. The vision was fulfilled. Yet he was hungry and the 'hater' boy in the Beaver Avenue (a cozy, college town street just off the PENN STATE campus) tavern was so tempting.... Hitler was right. They should a won the war. Who the hell cares about the death camps? Shit happens. Jews, Jews, Jews, Jews, Jews..... Granted, he was an absinthe addict, a growing novelty among the young, but this was John Gallianos all over again and Jonathon wanted to make a point. So he walked the kid home. And when they cut through a dark, leafy alley (or what passed for an alley in this beautiful university town) he opened his mouth and flashed 'the teeth,' actually small and discrete, but keen and lethal just the same.

Yo, dude, what the f*ck is wrong with you! - said the kid. But you could see how scared he was. Tried to run, but vampires are fast. And Jonathon scooped him up as he continued to rise through the ether. Twelve heartbeats later, on a secluded rooftop, he did the deed. The hater-boy was gone. Jonathon watched as the body ignited into a cold, blue flame and disappeared, til all that remained was a little Nazi pin among the ashes...

The hunger passed and he was sated, but the absinthe in the blood made him dizzy...

Was the kid evil, or just  dumb?

Tonight the vampire didn't seem to care....
(more tomorrow)
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