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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