Wednesday, July 31, 2013


This is a city of vipers. Back stabbers are everywhere and cruelly kidnapped senatorial daughters are regularly sold as whores in the souks of the Levant. Vampires are nothing to these people. They destroyed God's House and vanquished the 'Portal to Heaven' that is Jerusalem. I know. Some Herodian descendants have a villa next door and I think they also have ties to earlier dynasties as well. The son, an earnest young lad, tries to teach me morals. So far he hasn't succeeded. 

And the master recently gifted me some slaves of my own... a matched set of Gothic juveniles.... sandy haired 'Rolfies.'.... you know it's good luck to muss the hair of a 'Rolfie.'.... 'gold' and all that. Leads to riches. Don't know how I'll use them. Have yet to design a livery. Two are boys and two are girls. Perhaps I'll do them up as wood sprites or something like that. Mutes are all the rage, but I don't want to subject them to the operation. Surgical excision of the tongue is no mean thing... Many die right there on the marble slab. I could always mesmerize them into silence. My kind is good at that. And you know what? I hardly ever think about my mortal life anymore. Iberia is as a dream. And the truncated lives of the humans there, some of whom were my 'relatives' hold little attraction. I am Janus, and I will witness centuries.... if I handle things correctly. 

Romans are a clever breed and they have ways to control us. I'm told there was a public 'exposure' the other day. They did it in the arena. Oh, how she thrashed about. Two Numidians done up as satyrs (the loose, curly hair plays into that) carried her in in a heavy, leather sac, sewn shut against the light. Then they threw it down on the sand, read the charge... 'defiance of the master.' And that doesn't mean sassing, or talking back. It represents familial treason. And Romans don't go for crap like that. Power and position is all they have. A 'righteous' man is one who toadies up to his betters and f+#ks the shit out of everyone else. They couldn't say what the bad vampirina did, since it might compromise her owner. Secrets are everything in The Imperial City. So they poured a solution of olive oil and lead dust into her ear as she slept. I'm not supposed to know about lead and all, but I do. It diminishes our powers and makes us helpless. But I digress from the story at hand. 

Attendants ran out bearing silver daggers... actually more 'cutting' and 'slicing' knives than 'stabbers.' And the 'satyrs' used them to rip through the thick, cow hide. She shrieked. How she shrieked, as her alabaster body (nude, of course) immediately blistered in the hot sun. And the crowd hurled oaths and curses as she writhed before them and burst into flame. They say she trembled, most violently too, I am told. Vampires feel pain. Have no doubt about that.... I don't.... It took her forty one heartbeats to die. And what did she want, but freedom?

I am not so idealistic. The master dotes on me. Calls me his best 'ratter.' And I am. The killing suits me and the rich supply of blood is scrumptious. It's truly scrumptious.

But if you want to know the truth, I'm scared. These noble, togaed Romans know things I can't even imagine.... They say vampires can build up a resistance to lead.... Start small... tiny bits of filings. I don't know if that's true.... though I plan to find out.

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Biolo...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Biolo...: Soon we are gonna introduce some representatives of original Martian fauna. They lived there back when the planet was a hot, wet moister pla... Anybody want a full blooded, Martian chupicabra for a pet? We can't keep it, 'cause it killed all the neighbors and peed up all the rugs... (peek into the flora and fauna on the fourth rock from the sun)..... Good entry point into our EL RANCHO TEXACO story arc... HOW THE WEST WAS WON meets DALLAS on Mars. If you like it, just scroll down to NEWER POST or OLDER POST (click on either one) and explore. Think of a highly readable, novel-like film treatment. Join us on Twitter at ~> @wilkravitz ... Some other Twitter sites you might like are ~>@andrewharding4 ... @joe_hill ... @O_GTomes ...@jthomasross ... @eliroth ... (more later)... your COMMENTS are very appreciated. Thank you.

Monday, July 29, 2013

THE ACID BATHS OF IMPERIAL ROME and other loathsome necessities... 7/30/13

First of all, the Amphitheatro Flaviani, which most Romans call 'The Coliseum' is already over one hundred years old, a venerable vector of vicious vice and venal voluptuousness. How's that for alliteration? They have night shows, you know... perfect for vampires, whores, cut-throats and any other cultural specimens given to unusual hours. I go from time to time. The Nessos have a box, not too close to the Imperial Enclosure, but not too far away. Nobody wants to seem threatening. Such behavior is a good way to make yourself part of the show. They have elephants, actual pachyderms all the way from the Land of Hind, plus a few from somewhere past the great deserts of Africa, though that variety is much harder to control. And I once saw a recalcitrant valet get his head shoved up a she-elephant's ass. A real show stopper. Let me tell you. There's a device, like a narrow bed, high atop a bier, maybe ten feet high. And the whole contraption rolls around on four gold wheels. They strapped the valet down (a troop of pygmies, who also served as dancers, did the honors) on his belly... naked, always naked. You know how the Romans are. Naked is the new black. And they did something to the elephant. Gave her sweet, juicy melons injected with some sort of fermented intoxicant, until she was sleepy and compliant. Then they wheeled the bier right up under the giant beast's tail. One of the pygmies scrambled up on her back to raise it out of the way. Another straddled the victim's shoulders and greased his head up real good with butter from a small, red crock. A lot of the props at The Coliseum are red..... Easy to see from the stands. Rubbed it in his ears... on his head (shaved, of course.... 'round his jaw, his neck, the face, everywhere. Next they worked a big, thick candle (well, it looked like a candle) deep into the elephant's dung-hole. She trumpeted a bit. The crowd roared, as she proceeded to shit right on the valet's head. He coughed. He screamed. He begged. He cried..... And the crowd began to yell and chant.... 'Make them 'one.'... Make them 'one.'..... So they did. A pygmy cohort down on the sand pushed the bier in closer. The man holding the tail swabbed the beast's anal region with a sopping rag tucked into a braided, leather belt (his only garment). This caused an immediate slackening of the sphincter, but seeing as the giant's bowels were already empty, only a thin drool ran out. A pygmy hanging onto one of the tall, thin legs of the bier scooped some up on two fingers and smeared it across the victim's lips, teeth and gums. And the crowd went berserk... foot stomping, yelling, screaming, everything. Needless to say, the poor man threw up... projectile vomit, I might add and since his head was not supported by the narrow pallet, the rank cascade was seen by all, to the manic delight of those in attendance. People threw roses to the pygmies. They actually did. And the little comedians scooped them up, tickling each other with the blossoms in a most ribald manner.... Not the one's on the bier, or the beast's back, but the remainder of the troop capering about down on the sand, below. 

And maybe eight heartbeats later they did it, forcing the bier in close and jamming the man's head right up the elephants ass. The crowd gasped. You could see his body convulse against the straps. He trembled. It was horrible... hypnotic and horrible. 

Then she trumpeted. The beast trumpeted. I suppose she was still sedated from the melons and all, but she knew something wasn't right. So she tightened her grip on the victim's neck and made off, lumbering 'round the perimeter of the great, sandy ring like a war-horse dragging supplies, as perhaps fifty 'pygmies' (I later found them out to be small Romans, special entertainers, made up for the occasion, as the promoters lacked access to such exotic humans and knew nothing of their lives and customs) vaulted about in a frenzied dance. Oh, and before I forget... some of the torches produced colored flames... reds and blues and greens. And the music was good too. 

Now I don't know how long a mortal can survive with his head shoved up an elephants ass, but by the time they freed him, he was dead. And as soon as the pachyderm was safely lead away, twenty ferocious mandrills raced onto the sand, devouring the remains.

Children in the stands liked that part. You know how much children love monkeys.

Look, I know I've yet to get to the acid baths, but I just saw this and wanted to relate it while fresh in my mind.

We have showmen here in Rome, true masters of the theatrical arts....
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Sunday, July 28, 2013


The things I speak of already happened, but not that very long ago. When you read this, it seems as if you peek into the distant past, for my true time is far removed from yours. I know not what calender you use. I'm told the Zoroastrians have one and the Jews have one and the Egyptians have one based on ancient dynasties. The Romans base theirs on The Founding.... the establishment of 'The City.'..... Who cares? Days are days and nights are nights. And all of us ultimately die. Do you think bodies in the grave, or ashes in the urn worry about numbers? 

But please forgive me these outbursts, for I have seen bad things. The lady's maid, from my master's household, asked me to save her father, held in bondage quite nearby, though in a strange and grievous place. Rome holds many secrets behind plain, rough, street-side walls. Her ruling families turn inward, away from the disgusting mob they need so much.... I ask you... who is the real vampire... I, or a clueless, eight year old prince-ling playing knucklebones with the real thing, made from the chopped-off hands of a hungry slave-thief trying to filch a fresh, hot, pigeon pie. They still have him... the slave, I mean.... Play ring toss games on the stumps. And he  eats his food from a bowl like a dog.

I picked the lady's maid's father out right away. They share the same scent. Mortals smell like bread to me, or sausages, or even cat piss. Not vile odors, though decidedly alive and of the flesh. He was packed in tight, down in the 'pits,' mindlessly humping up against a more or less anonymous mound of meat. Must have been a kitchen slave. They do tend to corpulence. Funny, no one chops their hands off. Probably because they're afraid of ground glass in their porridge. Causes heart problems, you know. And by 'problems' I mean death. 

Now, the father in the pit was painfully thin and his illness was quite manifest. Perhaps he'd have lived a season or two more. But the daughter, the lady's maid, was very attached to him. For the first six years of her life they were owned by the same people. She didn't even have a name, not an official one anyway... not a name given her by the master. Most called her 'Outy,' after her navel. They tied rags 'round her feet and used her to polish the floors. But one too many trips to the gaming tables of Capri forced a series of liquidations. She was sold with the cleaning supplies. He was sold as a 'rooster,' for back then that's what he was.

But back to the pit, which was more like a round, deep, well-like dungeon. I think I've mentioned it before. The close, nighttime quarters facilitated mating and frankly guaranteed a good crop of future merchandise. Some of the others knew what I was and called for me to favor them, or to finish them off.  Slaves have such simple wishes. But a vampire bodyguard who feeds off potentially valuable assets, especially other people's assets, walks on shaky ground.

So I fished him out and made him well. Those in the pit cheered and wept. A few drops of life-eater blood passed mouth to mouth is a potent thing. That much I knew...

That much I knew quite well... 

And I did intend to talk about the acid baths, but these episodes are real and truly 'organic.' Isn't that a word endemic to your time? See, I observe. I see things. 

Now let me retreat to the shadows. Next time I'll tell you more...

wander through all of the VAMPIRE WONDERLAND at ~> THE TALE OF 700,000 WORDS ... join me on Twitter~>@wilkravitz ... your COMMENTS are very important to me... thank you very much... 

Friday, July 26, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MEANWHILE DOWN AT THE JERSEY SHORE.... a glimpse into a story line from two and a half years ago.. scroll up or down if you like it... 7/27/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: MEANWHILE DOWN AT THE JERSEY SHORE: Baylah could feel everything. She could taste the events in Philadelphia. She knew about Papa and what he did to the others. Did she hate hi... I am still so very, very tired.... but here's a peek into one of our best pixilated portals.....  a time when the twenty eight thousand year old, neolithic vampire, known as 'Papa' (a dead ringer for the thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere) did some very bad things. Baylah, originally a princess in Old Mali and now a 'life-eater' in Philadelphia, retreats to her mortal boyfriend's commodious shore house near Atlantic City, where she breathes in the salt air and plays 'vampire poker'..... Scroll up or down if you like this story arc and want to read more... You know how to do that. Click on 'NEWER POST' or 'OLDER POST' down at the bottom.

Thank you. The hum from the refrigerator's about to make me pass out. As always, look for more at ~> ... or jump in on TWITTER at~>@wilkravitz ... COMMENTS make nice gifts too. I'm s-s-s- sooo tired. ZZZzzzZZZzzz (collapsed on the cold, kitchen, gray, slate tiles....)

Thursday, July 25, 2013


It took a while for me to get that sublimation thing. The lady's maid wasn't much help. She's mortal and cannot do it, but she has a book, supposedly written by a highly respected Assyrian vampire back in ancient times. I like that name.... 'Assyrian'.... The 'Assyrian' Empire... The 'Assyrian' Lion.... 'Assyrian' pancakes.... I don't know if they had them. But almost every country has them. So why not? 

The book makes ancient Nineveh sound like quite the place. Ritual disembowelments and death by ants and honey.... The sacking of the Israelite Sanctuary at Shiloh..... Hot damn! Those were the days. Vampires slept in temples, protected by the priests and fed the most nubile delights. They had crypts down below the fine, inlaid, lapus lazuli flooring, lined with costly, gold brocades brought overland from the Kingdoms of Hind. Must go there someday. Not the city of Nineveh, for it is but a ruin. But Hind still survives... indeed, flourishes. I know. I've tasted the curries. Not first hand, but in the blood of certain Roman epicures given to rare and exotic, foreign cuisines. Dhows bring it over, offloading at what was once Solomon's treasure city of Etzion-Geber (Ait-cee-yon Geh-bare). How I'd love to see the East. 

Still, after some trial and error, I acquired the ability to pass through solid matter. First through gauze... Then through sheets... Then through wet sheets.... After that, people. Naturally, the ordeal killed them, so we only used the coarsest, cheapest slaves we could get. The master got us some off a bankrupt latifundia (plantation) down toward Calabria. I was shocked by the outcome. Shredded... They were completely shredded and showered down onto the atrium pavers like so many tiny shards of wet, red glass.... Then they fizzed and disappeared, running down into every little crack and seam in the stone. Masters appreciate bodyguards who can sublimate, so this was a win-win all around. 

Two nights hence, I entered the slave kennels of a splendid villa not so far away. But these pens were vile, like dungeons they were... dark and hot and steamy. People screamed like maniacs locked in the luna-teriums for the insane. And they writhed, each against the other, a vast worm bucket of human flesh. I'm told this ups the crop of little slave-lings. For the master of this place 'dabbles' in the trade and is very scientifically oriented.

Well, he was...until I killed him. But more on that tomorrow. ..... Look, if it was up to me, I'd go on. But that 'wilkravitz' person  is inscribing this and he want a go beddie-bye.

So let the bastard sleep..... I'll be back.
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A REQUEST FROM THE LADY'S MAID, as told by the Roman vampire, Janus... 7/25/13

I am causing this material to combust upon the page, though from what I gather, it does not combust upon an actual page, but manifests in a rather ethereal manner on the surface of some sort of magic mirror. Yours must be a wonderful age. That 'wilkravitz' person prefers an earlier bedtime now and some woman called 'Edith' set it up so my thoughts are able to come to you in this fashion. In case you've come late to the tale, I am Janus, vampire bodyguard to the illustrious Clan Nesso, in the imperial city of Rome, during the reign of the great Marcus Aurelius. And though not a citizen (my forebears hail from the north-west corner of Iberia), I  move in rarefied circles as the pampered slave (only for legal reasons) to a family of decidedly senatorial rank..... If you don't know who Edith is, google her (whatever that is)... Search for ... Edith, Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz (whoever he is) and the magic mirror will tell you. 

Another member of the household, one lady's maid wants me to assist her. She claims my blood can cure the sick and extend human life. Her father, an old retainer in a nearby villa, suffers from a debilitating illness brought on by guzzling too much Thracian wine pilfered from the master's cellars. Everyone's noticed his sickly body. How can they miss it? The poor man serves as 'companion of the gate' and sits by the portal like a watchdog. No, really. I mean it. Certain chi-chi types in the capital have a thing for human watchdogs. They keep them out front, on little stools facing the street. Such slaves wear what a dog would wear, namely a neck collar attached to a chain, the other end of which is welded to a plaque cemented onto the wall. Duties are light.... BIG greeting for the master, the mistress and important guests. Lots of hand licking and all that. Rome is, after all, a weird and wonderful place. Though all tsk , tsk over his emaciated form..... the delicate rib cage and withered ass.. I don't know. Maybe it's not just the wine. But that's what the physician says and this one is very thorough, often killing people to get at the truth. Many say his shingle should read AUTOPSIES FOR THE LIVING.

The daughter, our lady's maid, wants me to 'sublimate' into his cubicle in the slave kennels and dose him with a bit of my blood. It's not that I am entirely unwilling. But first she has to teach me how this 'sublimation' works. 

I hear it can be dangerous and even fatal to life-eaters (vampires) unversed in such things. 

But she had a book and says she can teach me.....
(more next time)

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Tuesday, July 23, 2013


Now there was a lady's maid in the Nesso household... a quite comely girl who passed herself off as  British, but everyone knew she was from Panonia (ancient Hungary). I mean THAT accent? Come on! But she was well versed in peasant wisdom and knew her way 'around a cauldron.' That's a saying we have, here in the capital. It means someone, usually a woman, able to conjure and influence events via potions and poultices. 

My unusual condition intrigued her and we'd talk out back, after dark in the kitchen garden. Cook didn't like it. But she didn't like anything. And she was a fanatic against the vampires. Had a copy of The Septuagint (Greek translation of The First Testament), so you KNOW what her favorite part was???... 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'..... Guess who was the witch? In her eyes, I mean. The poultice girl she considered an idiot. But I was the real thing. She knew what I could do, even if I didn't.

The Britainia girl, by way of Panonia clued me in on 'sublimation.' Had a friend who's husband was a vampire, so she knew. This was before she got sold into slavery. Actually, not so much sold, as pimped. The grandmother, who needed money to buy a nice, little mercantile inn somewhere just outside of the new city of Aquincum ( Budapest) gave her to a returning legionnaire, in return for a gold, ceremonial sword, which she promptly pawned for thirty five thousand sesterces... far less than it was worth...

(Someone doesn't want me to tell you the rest. I am sleepy. I am unnaturally tired. Magic is upon me (in addition to vampiric magic)  and I grow lethargic and heavy-lidded by the moment.

Please..... (heavy lidded yawn) forgive me. All I want to do is curl up after a good, blood feast and retreat to the land of nod...
click WHAT BILLY WROTE ... and join me on TWitter at ~> @wilkravitz ..... sorry for mistake but I THOUGHT I posted last night, though I apparently was SO tired, I didn't (it was just saved as a draft).. Fixed now. Thank you all.   

Sunday, July 21, 2013


She looked alabaster in the moonlight. Some vampires are that way. The magic settles differently on each of us. And her calm, balanced grace recalled the ladies of Olympia.  Her rich, brown hair was artfully arranged, high up off her neck... a mass of loose curls. Whether she had help, or did it herself, I did not know. But who am I kidding? Vampires always have help. A tiny night bird lit upon her wrist. She gently stroked its velvety back... pondered things for a moment and spoke. 

Welcome to the land of the dead - she said..... And she referred not to life-eaters, but to the mortals that surround them....... Make no human friends, for they will die. Their lives are but sparks dancing on the wind. The radiance fades so soon. They are like toys to me now. I see them. I smile. I talk politely and kill them in the nicest possible way. Sometimes I don't kill them. Yet they still die. Three weeks... Three decades. What does it matter? They walk with Persephone and Hades. Their brief time in the sun but an overture to dirges yet to come...... Am I troubling you? - she said..... I shook my head. She smiled. Not a great, beaming smile, but rather a small and knowing one. 

Then she told me of her youth in Etruria (modern Tuscany), almost eight hundred years ago. And how a vampire found her one day as she tidied the family crypt. At first she thought him the resurrected corpse of her uncle. It was dark in there, providing shelter from the sun. Certain vampires, in primitive places and long gone times liked crypts.... I do not, nor does Eudora. And she laughed a little, when she told me how he took her... right then and there... 'A mid-day snack' - he called her. 

She asked me of my nativity and I told her about Iberia and Galicia and my tribe up by the coast. For the first time, I missed them and thought about the children I'd never have. Eudora sensed my pain and kissed me. We embraced on the cool, damp grass. And then we spoke again. 

But there was always the hint of sadness about her. She'd seen cities crumble and cultures die. Night-folk live in an ever changing world. Oh, the on-going cavalcade may seem slow to you. But to her it seemed like the hippodrome (term for Roman race tracks) and the horses never stopped. 

Am I the first to speak to you about such things? Probably not. In truth, I do not entirely understand them myself. I am so newly made. But if I am 'fortunate,' cultures will die before my eyes too.

Remember, I speak to you from your past. And the complexity of my condition still baffles me....

(the channeling stops... wilkravitz stops typing and eats some potato chips...)

til next time...
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The senior Nesso, my 'master' knew of my curiosity and arranged for a meeting between myself and the Lady Eudora.  Such dalliances are rare in these parts. But he had little to fear from her sponsor (master is basically such a common term), at least not now, so it happened. 

I went out to dine. Not on any predetermined enemy, but on my own. I am told that some of your life-eaters kill but once a month. Well, more power to them. I, though not a glutton, prefer a more regular feeding schedule and polish off a plebian or two nightly.

Most high ranking individuals take lantern bearers and knife-men when they go out after dark. Public illumination is scarce. Oh, don't get me wrong. The empire has the where-with-all. Yet those in power like the darkness.... Keeps people in, especially the hungry classes. Fosters isolation. Cuts down plotting and all sorts of nocturnal intrigue. I suppose a cut-throat or two might be out there toiling away. What am I, after all? But garden variety malcontents are less likely to take to the streets. It's scary out there and they know it. Indeed, my meals depend on stealth and cunning...sublimating through walls.... listening 'neath windows and all that. I've learned to remove my leaden torque and hide it somewhere handy for after. Odd that so few 'sponsors' ever think about that. Granted, a few vampires do go rogue, but only a few. Important connections are indispensable in this place. And the cosseted existence of most lamia-sanguine (the Latin term for what we are) is not so hard to take.

We met in the gardens behind the Temple of Vesta, a discreet, little, hidden oasis... an orchard really, thick with carefully tended pear and apple trees.... Quite shadowy and very private. The mother superior (head mistress of the Vestal Virgins) knew we were coming and left a small pitcher of her best vintage on a lovely stone bench for us to find. Are you familiar with fine cider? If not, you should be. 

The vampirina Eudora was already seated when I arrived...(eight minutes pass)....... Excuse me, but the 'familiar' recording this, 'wilkravitz' stopped for a piece of cheese danish. I believe that is some sort of pastry. We in the empire have many baked confections, but I've never heard of that one. Though from what I pick up from his thoughts, it seems quite delectable. Those vampires who miss mortal food often revisit the experience in this manner. Mental symbiosis is not that hard to achieve. Now let me get back to the telling...

The Lady Eudora was naked, save for a leather quivver holding six gold arrows and a small bow 'cross her breasts. Impersonating the goddess Diana was a 'thing' with her. Made it easier to approach mortals, divine 'visitations' being all the rage. She beckoned me to sit down beside her and I did. She poured some of the delicious cider into a small silver goblet (silver being Diana's color) and I drank. Vampires, as I'm told most of you know, can tolerate and indeed appreciate most wines and fermented spirits. She had some too. In that way we relaxed and she began to talk.....

In truth, I had planned to tell more this time, but it grows late in Philadelphia, or wherever that 'wilkravitz' is. And he must sleep. For dawn comes early in the summer and the dogs will be up soon....
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Saturday, July 20, 2013


Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S COMPOUND UNDER THE PHILADELPHIA ...: The Anti-Enchantment Bureau is in utter pandemonium. The Delaware River is expected to reach unprecedented levels. The underground compound... This is how they evacuated all the 'special' people back when hurricane Sandy hit. Can't post a new blog thing, 'cause PC acting screwy tonight and it's starting to scare me...(might have seen it all over on Twitter, if you were with us a few minutes ago)... but a real good episode just the same... Click on NEWER POST or OLDER POST down at the bottom if you want to see more. thanks.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Kieran Movie... no vampires, just this ... no fantasy... real life... 7/19/13

Deby Browne, popular Twitter social/political commentator and painter known as @Twit__Trending ... lost her son Kieran recently. She posted this video as a remembrance. Please click the 'Watch on YouTube' line up above (if necessary... not too digitally savvy about these things) to see it. A very positive film and truthfully, a really good video. 

If you want, you can always wander through all the blog posts at ... Thank you

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

OTHER ANCIENT ROMAN LAMIA SANGUINE (vampires) in the environs of NEAPOLIS (Naples) .. 7/18/13

I saw other life-eaters gliding through the shadows as I made my way about the city. We never spoke and rarely acknowledged each other's presence. They existed to serve their 'clan.' Free vampires were extremely rare in my world. I'm told they exist in the capital and certain other cities. Returning legionnaires report feral pockets out beyond the River Hister (Danube). They travel in packs and are known to decimate remote country hamlets, before travelling on to kill again someplace else. I am glad I am not one of them. 

But occasionally I trade glances with the Lady Eudora. She is a Greek vampire, ostensibly created and trained in the esteemed vampiric academy on the island of Thera. They say it goes back to Minoan times. Imagine, a culture quite as old as Egypt. Her mistress is a wealthy dowager, the surviving wife of a general laid low in the wild, out beyond the walls of Colonia (Cologne) and one of the few female devotees of Mithra. They say she plans to use her vampirina bodyguard to escape death. They have a pact, upon her thirtyfifth birthday, the night-girl brings her over. Conventional men-at-arms, veterans of the late general will witness the event... each one armed with a specially prepared, lead tipped spear. Should Eudora renege, or intentionally kill the mistress outright, those in attendance will dispatch her as well.

The whole thing is very hush-hush and highly illegal. Ruling families are not to dabble in necromancy. That's why certain Jewish sects, such as Christianity are still outlawed. Only Caesar is a god, though the Imperial Cult withers every day. And from what I hear, our great Marcus Aurelius believes in his own divinity about as much as he believes the Cybilline Prophesies. Money makes the world go 'round in ninth century Rome (reckoned from its founding by Romulus and Remus) and only the Jews (plus their variants) harangue us with 'morality.'

I am off to the bear pits, a secret nocturnal pass-time known only to the wealthy. We meet in a cave, hidden deep withing the confines of a large, old edifice, ostensibly a warehouse dating back to the days of Magna Graecia (Greek colonies in the south of Italy concurrent with the birth of Rome farther north). The master knows I go. He does too. And although unorthodox, allows me to revive certain grievously mauled dwarfs with small draughts of my miraculous blood. You know how expensive they are and they who keep 'stables' hate losing favorites. 

The heavy bronze doors to our private sanctum silently swing open, powered by an ingenious hydraulic set-up designed by  a certain engineer out of Syracusa. I cannot tell you his name, for he also creates weapons for the military and they don't want it to get around. Parthian spies are everywhere you know. 

The doorman knows our faces. He nods. We nod. Money changes hands. We go in. I can smell the ursine stench down below. Apparently mortals are not so lucky. Besides dwarfs, they also have children, the vilest of urchins scraped from the sewers and fit for nothing else. I'm looking forward to it. Some of them put up quite a fight.

After the slaughter... a fine wine tasting. And even a vampire like me can appreciate that... 

Ego vobis valedico (Farewell to you all)...
Til next time...
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Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for November 2012.. THISD IS THE FIRST POST of what became the BINGO BOY film treatment arc...a GOOD STORY ..7/17/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for, November 2012: Post 2 Now walk-in bingo parlors are a fixture in certain areas, usually cropping up along low level strip malls or struggling old businesses ...  Here's a chance to PEEK in at one of my BEST story arcs... all about crazy, convoluted LOVE in a crooked, hard scrabble walk-in bingo hall. Serves as a novel-like treatment for upcoming screenplay. People seem to LIKE it. I hope you will too. If you want to READ THE WHOLE THING, scroll down til you see 'NEWER POST'and click on it. THANKS and the ANCIENT ROMAN story line will pick up again tomorrow.



if you want to look through my whole canon, click on ~>HERE'S THE WHOLE CANON ...and wander through it all. join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... thanks. your COMMENTS are always welcome. 

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for November 2012.. THISD IS THE FIRST POST of what became the BINGO BOY film treatment arc...a GOOD STORY ..7/17/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for, November 2012: Post 2 Now walk-in bingo parlors are a fixture in certain areas, usually cropping up along low level strip malls or struggling old businesses ...  Here's a chance to PEEK in at one of my BEST story arcs... all about crazy, convoluted LOVE in a crooked, hard scrabble walk-in bingo hall. Serves as a novel-like treatment for upcoming screenplay. People seem to LIKE it. I hope you will too. If you want to READ THE WHOLE THING, scroll down til you see 'NEWER POST'and click on it. THANKS and the ANCIENT ROMAN story line will pick up again tomorrow.



if you want to look through my whole canon, click on ~>HERE'S THE WHOLE CANON ...and wander through it all. join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... thanks. your COMMENTS are always welcome. 

Monday, July 15, 2013

SEA LAMPREYS OF IMPERIAL ROME...a loathsome way to die... 7/16/13

The master gave me my first commission. I was to kill a certain corrupt (well... more corrupt) upstart noble by the name of Claudius Nesso. Why the master hated him is immaterial, since it always comes down to the same two things, either a social slight, or something about money. Romans have been known to destroy complete strangers for accidentally splashing piss on them in a public latrine. You know they wear those voluminous togas.  Powerful individuals keep cadres of bully-boys. And the bully-boys have specialties. Some are  throat slashers. Others are skull smashers, or disembowellers. Penis and scrotum removing is quite popular too. But blood drainers are the best... and I am honored to be one. 

The Nesso family had a huge villa up in the hills. The current wife, a mostly Celtic thing (as am I) from Cisalpine Gaul, never took to the 'southern' feel of the place and the cooler, less crowded uplands seemed more lugubrious and healthful. The place is festooned with fountains and pools. It looks like a distillation of Hadrian's villa scaled down (ever so slightly) for those who are merely insanely rich as opposed to actual Olympian offspring with almost as much money as their divine progenitors. 

So I found myself a shadowy glade right behind the statue of Bacchus and I waited. He swims there, in a nearby pool, with likely young slaves. The site's far enough from the main structure to salve the current wife's dignity. Plus he occasionally chokes one to death (the slave.. not the wife, I mean) and bare, little, servile bodies strewn about the central apartments would just be a needless distraction.

I saw him lead a choice, little morsel down to the tiled edge. He unfastened the leash and collar (made from the finest Anatolian silver) and kicked him in. I assumed it was a 'him.' couldn't get a good look in the dark. Wasn't used to the vampiric vision yet. Then the fat bastard jumped in after. Not that he was obese or anything. Just sloppy. You know, these Romans ape the Greeks so much, but when it comes to basic body maintenance, they're just plain lazy. 

I let him play around a bit. The slave didn't seem too upset. Then I silently slipped into the water and grabbed him by the legs. Had my teeth locked into his ass before he knew what hit him. Oh, he never surfaced, not even for an instant. And maybe ten score heartbeats later he was dead. The slave, a rather androgynous female, or perhaps a completely castrated male (very popular these days, I'm told), screamed and ran when the pool lit up with a flickering blue light.... for the fiery immolation occurs, even under water. I must admit, the hot blood contrasted against the chilly, pool water was absolutely delicious. And the master was so pleased with my professionalism he immediately put his people to work on a cozy, little addendum to his palace just for me.... My peculum (money/treasure earned by certain high ranking slaves) was beginning to grow.

Though I forgot one thing... When a slave kills his master... and the grieving daughters and sons-in-law of Nesso blamed the wet, quivering pool buddy for his 'murder.'... the offending piece of property is summarily thrown to the eels. Every wealthy Roman has an eel pond. Actually, they use the word 'eel,' but the creatures in question are really primitive lampreys..... like giant, aquatic earthworms who just think they're fish. No jaws, just a large, tooth-lined sucker where a mouth should be (maybe a sharp, bony tongue too). And this pond had hundreds. 

The young slave sobbed like a baby, as they kissed his skin and began to devour his flesh. I watched from the shadows, far beyond the yellow torch lights and felt guilty... or as guilty as anyone in our convoluted society ever gets...

But not to worry... for two days hence they had a new slave....
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Sunday, July 14, 2013

JANUS IN THE ESTEEMED CITY OF NEAPOLIS ... the vampire adjusts ...7/15/13

Neapolis is a special place. I know you hear me from far away. They tell me it is the future and that may be true. But I find that hard to believe, for even a vampire recognizes the limits of necromancy. Yet a part of me knows that it's so. And if I lapse from present to past tense, please know that it is only an indication of my confusion, coupled with the fact that Latin is not my mother tongue, for I originally spoke a Celtic dialect and often think in that language to this day.

I'm also told you see my words in a mongrel jargon, called Angle-ish, made up of Germanic phraseology leavened with basic Latin. Is that a hint of days to come in these parts? For primitives from the north press us even now.

Now let me tell you more about this city. Neapolis is among the most Hellenistic of all Roman municipalities. Indeed, the place goes back to heroic times. You know... Agamemnon and Homer... those Minoan snake priestesses and all that. Most of the better families still speak Greek. And the subtle beauty of that ancient land infuses everything with a simple elegance unseen in other parts of our world. Emperors come here to relax. Wealthy young, scions acquire polish at our academies. Neapolitan brides are welcomed into the finest and most influential clans in Rome. I like this place. I can't deny it. I do. 

They dress me in the finest linen. I wear scant, somewhat revealing, one shouldered tunics and under garments are hard to come by. But nights are warm and the freedom suits me. I wander the streets on my own. Those familiar with the practice see my torque and immediately recognize me for what I am. But they bow with a deference shown only to those of high rank. If this is slavery, it is bondage of a strange sort. 

Last night I dined alfresco... up on the rooftop terrace. Circassian women are quite expensive. I had two... young and plump and juicy. The master and his consort, my benefactors, invited some of their nearest and dearest to watch me drink. I didn't mind. For as you know, I am quite the showman and soothed the terrified maidens with kisses, strokes and tickles before finishing them off. The second one required a bit more tickling, since she knew what was coming and those in attendance clapped at my technique. I bowed by the light of the cool blue flames, as the smooth, fleshy girls were consumed and disappeared. Then I kissed each lady present and made them giggle. The master was very pleased. 

At the close of the occasion, as everyone prepared to leave, he called me over and told me who to kill. Not there. Not then. Not that night, but tomorrow.

And please know that I do not impart a cruel death. Indeed, by the morals of the times, I am quite benign. We had no 'feed the hungry... love thy neighbor... clothe the naked.'... Well, most of us anyway.

The fates are capricious and I but a tool.
(more tomorrow...)
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Saturday, July 13, 2013


They examined me from all angles. I could smell the heavy essence of garlic and fish sauce on their breath. The man was a landowner. His wife had political aspirations. Not for her, naturally, but for her son. He (the man) grew olives in the uplands near Neo-Polis, which Latin speakers more often shortened into Nepoleeze and owned, or leased sixteen hundred slaves.  Most places bordering Mare Nostrum (our sea) know the brand, Golden Sunrise pure olive oil, in the rustic, white, pottery flagon with the wax sealed corks are sold everywhere. He's a big contributor to various political factions in the capitol too. 

They asked my name. I told them I was called Janus. The wife said she liked that... so fitting for a lamia-sanguine (vampire), since the divine Janus lived in two places... the world of now and the world of then... perfect for an immortal being, such as I. They wanted to feel my teeth... my eye teeth, I mean, so I opened my mouth and let them run their fingers over the sharp, white tips....Such salty skin they had.... I like that in a human. 

Money changed hands and that was it. I'm not even sure just how much I cost. It's considered decidedly declasse for gentlefolk to refer to such things. But the son told me they paid plenty. She, the wife, wanted a pleasure barge for summers on Capri, but he, the husband, needed an enforcer... a strong man... a knife-man...someone who could kill 'friends' and influence people.

Two slave girls, laundresses, I believe, led me into a washroom and proceeded to scrub the shiny, gold coloration off my skin... a most laborious task, for it was everywhere. Then they marched me back to the olive oil king for a final inspection. He was very pleased. The wife was very pleased too. No one asked her, but I could tell. There was a short ceremony... references to Hellenistic gods... prayers of everlasting fidelity (on my part) and hymns sung by Libyan song-girls raised expressly for that purpose. I liked the way they trilled. It was all so new to me. Documents were signed. They brought out a torque, dark, cold and made of lead and bent it 'round my neck. You know what a torque is.... like a large, rounded horseshoe... The open end went in front. Vampire slaves always wear them... It's that 'lead thing.' But I'll tell more about that next time. 

Look, I can go on for hours, but they tell me this is being transcribed by a vampire 'familiar' named wilkravitz... and wilkravitz is tired. He also has to empty out a mechanical cloth-drying machine before he goes to bed. I don't know what that is. I'm just repeating what I 'hear.'

So let him finish his chores. Let him sleep... and I'll talk to you tomorrow...
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Friday, July 12, 2013


The place covered more than thirty thousand square feet. I'd never seen anything even remotely like it in Iberia. Rose marble floors. 'Greek' stuccoed walls. Minoan style murals. Furniture by Fratelli Aeilli (the best in Rome). Fine, Egyptian cotton draperies billowed out across the terrace. Specially rendered candles bathed each room in a pale pink ivory glow. But they were hidden in little recessed channels up near the crown molding, thus the illumination seemed to emanate from the very ether. Oh, and the best part was the cooling system. Cold, fresh water from deep underground springs ran through little pipes embedded under the floors. Imagine, the Romans banished sweat. And I was to be enslaved by these people. 

They dressed me as Hermes. I suppose the gold dust (more like a chalky paste) would have killed a mere mortal, but I seemed immune. Vampires are quite beyond most Earthly poisons. The Dalmation was some sort of sea creature. I don't know how they got the iridescent green color. And the Ethiopian sailor was an Egyptian king. 

We marched out after dinner. If I had a sesterce for every honeyed dormouse those bastards swallowed, I'd be one very wealthy life-eater, indeed. Well... wealthier than I am. Vampire slave bodyguards occupy an unusual position. We are not free to change allegiance. Once 'claimed' by a clan, we stay with that clan. And if the line peters out a special imperial office oversees our transfer to another family. Yet we are treated like 
valued relations and spoiled with costly gifts. Many have villas in their own right, usually hard by the digs of their benefactors, but sumptuous villas just the same. I originally expected rougher treatment, but I was wrong. The gossip of the slave pens and all that.

Now the bidding was done silently.... a gesture here... a nod there. The Dalmatian went first. Some wealthy matron wanted to see him 'in action,' so they dragged in an understandably reluctant kitchen drudge (mustn't waste the good stuff) and he downed her in twelve seconds. One bite... clean and neat. The matron was impressed and he was gone. They clapped when the kitchen drudge ignited into the cold, blue flame and disappeared. Romans love special effects like that.

The Ethiopian sailor went to a client king from somewhere in Anatolia, apparently very well off from a state monopoly of the wool trade. Gets it from the shores of The Black Sea. Very good stuff. Where the Golden Fleece came from.

And then it was my turn. Yet I watched it all unfold with cold dispatch. They made me feed too. I had three, one junior footman and two I don't know what they were.  Man, did they 'ooh' and 'aah' over me. I'm a very theatrical feeder, don't you know. Some say I could be on the stage.

But that is all I can share with you now, for I am bored. So farewell til next time. The dice tables of Herculaneum await...Well, a rebuild simulation of the original. Vesuvius took care of that. And I plan to 'take care' of a juicy, quay-side strumpet. 

Maybe two.....
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Thursday, July 11, 2013


They let us out of the leaden conveyance in a small courtyard just off an opulent aula somewhere on The Palatine. That hill, site of many magnificent domiciles, gave it's name to them. Thus were 'palaces' born. This one belonged to the second son of a newly created senator, flush from grain money made from vast latifundia (plantations) in Sicily. And he was desperate to play politics... Roman style. 

We wore harnesses 'round our chests, shoulders and necks made from thin, leaden threads woven together to form tapes, or belts. Now I know how lead effects us. We can't sublimate through it, so we couldn't escape. I suppose we could have run through the streets, dragging our captors like so many hooked fish. But none of us knew the extent of our strength. And the Dalmatian was almost insane. 

Can you imagine what it's like to shed your skin (and not just the outer layers) locked in a sealed, pitch dark coach-like, cube shaped wagon bouncing along the roads of Italia? And three of use went through that. The floor was slick with grease and sticky, little gobbets of fat from the inner surface of our hides. 

I'm told the majordomo of this fine house (himself a slave) retrieved them for use as decorative cushions and sandal straps, after being properly tanned in the leather stink pots of a benighted town, just outside the walls, in Latium. My face adorns a statue of Hermes in The Tivoli. My nether parts were rigidly stuffed and presented to a niece by marriage of the emperor himself. Let me tell you, even then, in my naive state, I still got around.

But we were not to stay in that place. The second son dabbled in rare commodities, such as mahogany, ivory and vampire bodyguards. Soon we'd have our Roman debut, festooned with torques and diadems. Wild barbarians were all the rage and due to the success of the empire, rarer every day. Yet artifice is all in The Eternal City. The show is everything... and we but humble players...

I fetched a good price, I did.....

And I'll tell you more tomorrow...
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Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. And...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. And...: Far, far away, across the wide Atlantic Sea and north of the Alps, lies the great, imperial city of Prague, an illustrious assemblage of fi... This takes us back to the beginning of THE LITTLE MATCH BOY'S tale, a poignant story I hope you will enjoy. Some have read it. Many have not. It resembles the much loved Hans Christian Andersen original, but traces it's own path too, plus it is longer and more fleshed out. I've transferred the telling to Old Prague, arguably one of the most picturesque cities on Earth. Please visit and click on 'newer post' at the bottom of each installment to read it all. I've tried to blend cultural reality with a bit of magic, faith and folk wisdom. I hope you approve. We will post a new installment to our 'ancient Roman Vampire' arc tomorrow, but unforeseen complications prevent us from doing so tonight. 

Thank you,

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Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Best New Trailers July 2013 HD.. A RHAPSODY ON CINEMATIC DELIGHTS.. but 1st my pixilated paranormal stuff, because BLOGGER won't let me post the video first, but it's down there... 7/10/13

JANUS considers the past, but looks forward... THE BIRTH OF A NIGHT-FIEND...

And then the walls of the rough, ancient chamber seemed to close in on me. Lurid patterns dripped down the pebbly stucco in the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp, as feathery millipedes watched from the cracks. I hung suspended in space... 'frozen' in the middle of a giant ice cube that was not there... helpless before the assault, as every singularity of creation whispered her name.... And one heartbeat later she was there, standing before me and tasting my body. She moaned and whispered in an unknown tongue, that I now know to be Vahmperigo... an old, Mauritanian dialect, tinged with vestiges of East Atlantan. The force that held me fast disappeared, but I did not fall, for she took me in her arms and laid me down upon a bed of soft, ivory fleece, peeled from the flesh of still living rams. Strong, she was, but delicate and comely just the same, as she slowly tickled and explored my recently perfected body.

I felt the teeth... small and sharp. I felt the bites... little nips actually, as she readied me for the kill... Some from the belly.... Some from below.... Some from the shoulder... a palm.... a bicep... a nipple... my throat. I trembled with delight, as wave after wave of night-folk magic washed through my form. Then she stopped, leaned on her elbows and looked in my eyes. How young she seemed. How smooth. How flawless, like Diana after the hunt... and I her grateful prey. I felt the pressure of her naked body against my own and tried to urge her on. She just smiled and said - This is but a beginning.... Then we rocked together, performing a slow dance for perhaps seven hundred heartbeats..... And then she did the deed, devouring my life and draining me dry. 

Those of you familiar with the tales of Jonathon and Sarah know the rest.... It was the same for me... No different. I gave to her and she gave to me, til our blood was mingled and my mortal life was gone.

I wanted to stay with her and be with her and learn from her. But they who owned me would not let that happen, for she was led away so soon. And try as I might, I could not remember her name... I still can't. 

Slave vampires destined to be body guards know little of their powers. The Roman authorities like it that way. Some learn later on... But some do not. I believe you have words for such a thing... 'arrested development.'... We have the same term too.

The next night we left Medio-lanum (modern Milan) destined for The Eternal City. I traveled in a lead lined conveyance.... no windows... even the door was cunningly concealed. The Dalmation and the Ethiopian sailor went with me. And in that box, dark and hot, we shed our human skins.... alone and afraid on the straight, hard roads of Rome..... Like crabs in a basket brought up from the sea at Ostia...... frightened morsels waiting to be sold.

(more tomorrow)
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They led me into a tiny chamber with murals on the walls, simple, old, graffito from the time of Scipio Africanus. Apparently the space was used for military brotherhoods beck then. I don't know when the vampires came and there were none I could ask. Truly old specimens were very rare. We are trained and made to be lethal tools... equipment for great men. And 'great' in my time has little to do with good deeds or worthy acts. The term means 'rich in dignity' and dignitas, as we know it means something like a deep, secure power. Morality... true morality... has yet to be discovered by most people. The Jews have it. So do the Zoroastrians and the Gnostics. And when I say 'Jews,' please know I also mean the trinitarian congregations one finds in our cities, especially among the Greeks and Phonecians. But  we live in strange times and people are scared. The Empire shrinks... not much, yet it does. Primitive hordes press in on all sides. Inflation is everywhere. I can only imagine how much they'll charge for me. The Dalmatian tells me lamia sanguine go for upwards of two hundred thousand secterces... half a year's income for lesser nobles, such as those comprising the order equester and such.. and twenty five percent for men of senatorial rank. I'll be housed in smart quarters and dressed in fine soft woolens... thin and light. 'Challis' I believe you call it. Odd communicating with you. I'm told you have machines and automatons capable of many things. I'm told more than a handful reach one hundred years, in your time, or close to it. Tiro, the slave bought as brother to the great Cicero reached a hundred years. I know of no other and even he lived over three hundred years ago. But I ramble on, because I am scared. 

I am anointed in sandalwood. My feet are rubbed with myrrh. My hair is cut short, forming a petal-like cap over my scalp. And I wait, bare and unadorned. They gave me meat... Boar, I think it was, from the Trans-Alpine forests up beyond Medio-lanum.... raised on acorns and truffles. My cut was quite delicious. Yet they say the blood is even better. One of the nominees killed himself..... Broke a glass and swallowed the shards. Then he laughed as  blood filled his mouth and ran down on his legs. Three roman hours later he died, depriving his master a probable fortune. Money, money, money.... Everyone wants money. Newly poor matrons allow themselves to be ravished by animals for the predilection of the mob, writhing under the coarse embrace of a pan troglodytes, or a small, well formed pony. The Amphitheater Flaviani always has such varied fare. And  'beast and lady' shows are quite popular.

I think I'll be getting a vampirina. I think she'll do the deed. I hope she understands the intricacies of such a feat, for not all survive. Some bite too hard. Some drink too much. A bit of blood must remain... just a little. They can't take it all. For if true death occurs, vampirification cannot take place. 

It's cold. I'm shivering. I wish she'd come. I wish she'd come. I want it to be done. I want it to be over.

Please don't make me tell you more. I just want to sit here, by myself, watching orange shadows dance across the rough, white walls, until 'the change' takes place.

May the God of the Jews, or the Zoroastrians, or the Gnostics, or whoever help me. 

Now shut up and leave me alone.
(more next time)

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Sunday, July 7, 2013


Sometimes the Dalmatian, the Ethiopian and myself would sit with one of the trainers, a vampire from Londinium, although I don't think he was British. Just lived there in service to the son of some big shot. Worked as a 'fixer.' What your time calls a private detective. His stories were positively hypnotic. 

We'd hole up in the alcoves, little indentations carved out of the rock, back in Etruscan times. Smugglers used to hide things there.... precious stones from Hind... exotic beasts brought up from far beyond the Great African Desert. They say one of the old Etruscan kings had a whole army of pygmy cyclops. But I don't know if he had a whole army.... a century maybe... not a whole army.... And I wonder why we don't see too many pygmy cyclops anymore. What could have happened to them?

It'd get quiet underground, after all the work was done... We'd finish our regimen, eat dinner and relax. Some studied music, the lyre, or the Judean harp. Helvetian timbrels were big too. Others learned calligrafy... in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. But we preferred 'the fixer.' He made il mundi vampirici seem like absolute perfection... arcane mysteries.... hidden magic... untold riches.... deep, dark secrets and sensual enchantments of the rarest kind. 

He specialized in the killing of courtesans. Pillow talk can be fatal. Indeed, it is among the most lethal of venereal maladies. Secrets spread contagion and eternal silence is the only cure. So he'd visit them in their catteries.... a handsome, powerful stranger.... free with his gold and quite adept at oral stimulation. But blood can be drawn from many places and this one knew them all. 

What energy sparks the cold blue flame? What necromancy makes it happen? At first the body trembles for an instant or two, then suddenly combusts. I'm told the Han in far Cathay have powders that do that. But this is different. And it scares me to this day. Azure fire... large, flaky ashes.... an oily, sticky residue and it's over... No flesh... No bones... No hair.... An instant crematorium ordained by some dark god.... At least that's how it looks to us in Rome.... 

The fixer killed troublesome politicians too. But when they disappeared, families were left behind..... families with their own vampirici bodyguards. In this way feuds became vendettas and Rome began to fall, drained dry by the teeth of my brethren...

Bet they don't teach that in school???

Tomorrow I cross the River Styx.... Come back and see me off...
(more next time...)
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