Friday, August 30, 2013

300: Rise of an Empire Trailer 2013 Official Teaser - 2014 Movie [HD] ... PC trouble tonight. No time to blog..thought you'd like this

The ether was troublesome this dark time. Forced to spend hours with digital necromancers. It seems their ministrations are successful. Please know that you are most welcome to wander our Vampire Wonderland hall of records. More than 1,200 scrolls (ok, ok..I mean posts) await your perusal. Simply click on~> THE ANCIENT SCROLLS ... or communicate with our ESTEEMED PANEL (me and everyone else on the timeline) by clicking on ~>ESTEEMED PANEL ..... Favor us with a COMMENT..... Now I must sublimate back into the ether...... (woo... woo... WHOOSH!... <I am gone>) 

Thursday, August 29, 2013

SHIMMY KATE AND THE LORD OF THE FOREST.... hoochie dancer/killer meets a wolfman... 8/30/13

They got paths, little narrow routes forged by deer, or back in the days of Indians, maybe one cubit wide at the most. She find one. Kate find one and she run. Thorns scratch her legs. Leaves brush her face. Only in the dark they rat claws and spider-things. She wanna scream, but she don't. She wanna pee, but she a mammal and mammals know 'bout scent. Piss stink. An' she don't want leave no stink trail. Gotta slow down. Make it easier to hold her water. Then she hear running water. Little stream, like a brook or something. Sound real fresh and cool. Shoes wet. She in it, or at least her feet are. An' she can't hold it. She jus' can't hold it. Running water does that. Momma used to run the water at night before bed. Sit her on the toilet and go 'piss, piss, piss,' 'cause she don't want have to change them sheets so often. Kate stop. Drop her bloomers. Squat down and go 'ahhh.' Water wash it 'way. That a good thing. Dress stay dry 'cause she hike it up. Bloomers fall down and get soaked. Can't keep 'em, so she pull 'em off..... 'Sides, cooler that way. Maybe they 's a road? Maybe she can hook up wit' some bastid an' get away? Goofy bastids always lookin' for gals like her. Mus' be another county. This gotta be someplace else. But dark make little hike seem like long one. An' if you wanna know... they ain't no road.

Big ole centipede bite the back a her shoulder. They like tigers. They like bug tigers. Draw blood too. She feel it slide down her back... all they way... right between her butt cheeks. Make her shudder. Make her groan. She jump and dance an' pull her butt cheeks 'part til it gone. Hear it hit the leaves. Then she start to cry. But she can't stop, so she goes on.

After a ways she hear it... foot steps, but not crunchy like... Leaves don't crumble. Twigs don't break. Soft sound. Wild sound. Shoe-less sound. Kate listen. She listen real hard. Breathin'... She hear breathin'. 

Whatever it be listen back. It stop breathin' too. Now she wanna pee some more. But she don't. Maybe it a weasel? Maybe it a raccoon? Voice what talk in her head say it a ghost. She freeze. She tremble. She pee. What's-it pee too. But it different pee. Stronger pee. Sound different comin' out too.

Then it start breathin' again. Moves in a little. She pray. Please, God, don't let it be no ghost. Don't let it be no ghost a that trucker. God say - OK.... But jus' like in her head. She still. She real still. Like a lady in a Japanese fable what grow toe roots and become a tree.

Only her legs still legs, 'cause she feel it when a tongue start a kiss 'em...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Snug Little Porch in the Haunted New Jersey Pines

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Snug Little Porch in the Haunted New Jersey Pines: Yoo hoo, it's me. It's Edith. We haven't talked much lately. All that parallel universe stuff gave me a headache. I'm glad ... This one first posted about a year and a half ago. Nice little nocturnal visit with Edith, out Jersey Pines, Pow-Wow Women. She's part of our 'core' group of characters who'll come back in the fall. This is a nice little episode, fill of ghosts, dark pines and homey stuff. And these red letters ain't it. Please click on the words ...' Snug Little Porch in the Haunted New Jersey Pines.... to see it. Couldn't put up new stuff last night. Will tonight. Thanks - Billy... and as you know, the whole thing (every episode) is up on ~> ....

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

LYCANTHRO-SHARK... this is the part where it gets bloody... 8/28/13

No fancy colors. Shark brains don't think that way. That is not how they process reality. Everything's black or white.... 'quick' or dead.... meat or not-meat. They see and they want and they eat, like power mowers what can't turn off. And now they rollin' toward the old folks' home. 

Miss Bootsie the head nurse. That not her real name. Fourteen years ago some crazy old bat start a call her that. Shrunken up thing claim she a dancer... a hoochie dancer at Injun Joe's. That a burlesque house... a real bad place far out on 'Dirt Road.' No, for real. That what they call it... 'Dirt Road.' It the end a the line, full a smack whores and johnny-johns what all poxed up. Hag woman was Shimmy-Kate. She a star. Wrassle a hopped up alligator and strip at the same time. But you know how show biz is? One day boss man say her tittie look funny. She say - No, it all right. That where the gator done me wrong. Mashed up all it is. It gone get better. He say he don't care, 'cause he got a gal what all fancy on both sides. Don't need no band-aids and alcohol. 'Sides, gator like her better. You can tell, 'cause some gators got real expressive eyes. Ain't got no eyelashes, but they don't need 'em. Shimmy Kate beg. She beg real hard. She beg him up real good. But boss man jus' laugh (though he do wait til after she finish all the beggin'). Then he kick her ass out a there wit' jus' three dollah and a dried up Mars Bar from the candy-sellin' place. She do freelance hoochie for truckers at truck stops. They buy her Kotex and scrambled eggs. But it ain't no good, 'cause she miss the big time. You know once you used to it, it hard a get that taste out a your malf. So she kill a guy to get money. Palm a knife from the kitchen. Think she also get a razor blade from machine in the men's room. Tell him he need a get some ticks pulled off... cooties too. Say she an expert... almos' like a nurse. She got the uniform, so he say - OK. Slip him some pills...'Nightie-Nights' from Penny Land. That like a five and dime store. He snore like a snot-nosed pig. But she don't care, 'cause they in the back a his cab, where he sleeps an' all. First she make like she shavin' him up real good, 'case he wake up an' start askin' questions. But he don't wake up, so she slit his throat. Only she not like a nurse an' don't do it right. He bleed. Oh, he bleed a lot... but he don't die. Shimmy Kate say - Shit... 'cause now she gone have to find another way to make him go 'guhk.' Since all his pants already pulled off, she go explorin'. Lot a blood down there. She know from when they 'fix' baby bulls on the farm. She do him up real good. Gotta saw some, 'cause kitchen knife no good and razor blade kind a puny. He go 'ahhh' and 'ewww' in his sleep. Grunt some too. But it OK 'cause Nightie-Nights good stuff. When it over, he like a bloody Kewpie doll... a dead bloody Kewpie doll. An' she got a wallet fill a sixteen dollah and twenty nine cent. 

Wash herself off in a stream. Toss in his 'leavin's' too. Crawfish make quick work out a them. Then she put on clothes what she got in a sack and walk in a the woods. Jus' keep walkin' and walkin' and walkin'. Figure she got a get away an' woods is dark and good for that kind a thing. Start hummin' to herself. Start hummin' 'Do the Dipsy Doodle, Do the Dipsy Doodle.'

But after while, somethin' start hummin' back..... She stop. Get real still... crouch down and listen....

That when the wolfman get her...
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The Lycanthro-Sharks HUNGER for Publicity & Want You to Tell Craig About them... 8/27/13

FLASH - The alien engineered creatures known as LYCANTHRO SHARKS now know we are watching them. They're threatening to expand beyond the bayou, unless we give them the publicity they crave. Please tell 'Craig' about us... That's what they say. Remember, the werewolf part of their brain is partly human. Have pity on these conflicted beings and click on ~> CRAIG ... The alien entity responsible for their existence thanks you.
The girl who went home for a clean brassiere's name is Betty. It's an old fashioned name, but her mother liked The Flinstones. If she was a boy, they were gonna call her Scooby-Doo, 'cause they (her folks) also liked cartoon talking dogs too. Roger waited downstairs. Mrs. Ratner, the lady who owned the boarding house where Betty lived gave him the fish eye. She said - You pray, son? Maybe if you get down on your knees and squeeze out some Godly words them crazy bastids will go away?...... Roger said that he prayed all the time, because even Albert Einstein believed in an Everlasting Universal Force...... But Mrs. Ratner did not seem too impressed, since her take on the divine didn't stretch much beyond the Earth, so she gave him a judgmental sigh and went back to fixin' her toenails. Roger tried not to look. When Betty came down, she said she couldn't find no clean brassiere, so she brung an old bikini top, from the back a the underwear drawer, instead. He said that was OK. Mrs. Ratner pretended like she didn't hear, but when they left she hocked a real big wad a phlegm in an ash tray. 

Folks in town were getting desperate. 'Lectricity was out. Air conditioning was off. Whole place smelled like a big B.O. & Piss Festival. Flies all over. Dogs goin' crazy. Some a them run off tryin' a join up with the lycanthro-sharks on account they related through the lupine line. But these nasty critters like Nazis. Dogs got chomped up and everything. Smart pups noticed and stayed home to help 'the cause.'

Ladies Auxiliary made bombs out a wadded up, gasoline soaked pantyhose and cans a Aqua Net. Some guy find an old encyclopedia (internet out a reach) wit' article 'bout killin' sharks. But it a kiddie set fill a pictures a dead, cartoon sharks wit' little 'X's' where their eyes should be. They got tongues hangin' out too and three squiggly lines comin' up off their bellies to represent 'stink.' Roger say he take a look at it. 

Big chief a the lycanthro-sharks peek in the window an' see the whole thing. Ten heartbeats later he break a little piece a glass in the back door an' grab one a them ladies from the auxiliary. Do not know what she an auxiliary of, but who care? She gone... crunched up bones and all.

Now they eyein' the old folks' home...

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Monday, August 26, 2013


Please excuse any typos. But the entity (Ok, OK, it's a person) typing this found an old bottle of wine in the refrigerator and drank it because there wasn't any cold soda. Warm soda is no good, 'cause all the dirty bastids 'round here stick their hands in the ice from the ice machine and that makes it into sticky, throw-up ice.

The 'entity' is dizzy. The entity need a CLIFF bar for purely medicinal reasons. So please wait a few minutes while 'the entity' dig one out a the cupboard. (this the time while you waiting) OK, I got one. No wait. No wait. No, not me... The 'entity.' Black, cherry almond... soooo good. (hope it absorb some a the alcohol)

Now we walking down a lane on the campus a the junior college. It look nice, even if most a the buildings assembled from factory made components.... No red bricks... No gray stone... Just stamped out vinyl, cedar shakes. Like what Harvard would a been if them pilgrims shopped at Lowes. And since it a low cost, county, junior college (that a polite way to say 'community college') ain't got no dorms either. You wanna sleep? You go to the library.... which got a really nice collection a vending machines the administration is very proud of.

Place mostly empty. Kids gone. Refugeed out a town on account a them lycanthro-sharks. Campus cops guard all the entrances.... But I don't think them werewolf-sharks got too much 'spect for authority, so that just a bunch a shit. Mall cops done all got 'et,' if that any indication. Town cops mostly squeezed in the back a their Dodge Chargers fartin' in the plastic seats.  (You know you can play songs that way?) 

But one guy workin' in a lab. He givin' a parrot radiation treatments, or tryin' a cook a chicken. It hard to tell.

He the one wit' all them pens in his pocket. He got like six a them. That mean he smart. He a six pen geek... the highest kind and they call him 'Roger.' Government keep record a six pen geeks an' he on it. Got two alien abductions...maybe three. But had diarrhea during last one and they make him go back home. Kick him out at place what sell shitty pizza wit' two dollar an' eighty-nine cent shove down his pants. But he don't care. He buy piece anyway. Guy what sell it say - Hey, buddy, who them ugly bastids brung you here? Roger don't say, 'cause Roger don't know. One alien lady got a pocketbook, but he never look inside it. Roger want a coke too. But guy say- Not from fountain. From a can, 'cause lazy kid what got night shift last night not wash it out real good an' now it like a cockroach swimmin' pool.... Roger say - OK, 'cause he understand biological crap like that. 

Dat how he gone kill them werewolf-sharks. Ask dopey girl at cash register if she wanna go wit' him...ask if she wanna help.... She say - Yeah, but first gotta go home for clean brassiere, since this gone be real adventure an' she say she gonna sweat too much.

Thus is born 'The Resistance.'  Crazy, abnormal shrunken head what live wit' the Old Woman know it. an' he laugh and laugh and laugh.... Old Woman say - If you doan stop, I gonna throw you in the freezer. He doan like cold, bein' from The South Seas and all, so he stop...

But he snicker to hisself just the same...
(more next time)
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Sunday, August 25, 2013


Late at night the crickets come out. All over town you can hear them scraping the comb-like plates of their carapaces together to make songs. Tom crickets call to hen crickets. Insect fornication hangs heavy in the warm steamy air. Some kind a little biting things are flying 'round, but I do not know what they are. Them what got air conditioners runs 'em. Them what don't make due with fans..... Bed bug weather... itchy, thick and sweaty. 

Lot a folks refugee up to the highlands. Ain't got no lycanthro-sharks up there. Sneak out in dribs and drabs, maybe one car at a time. Drive real slow so's not to make no noise. Them monsters are tired, like fat bastids at a buffet what ate too much cheap, gummy cheesecake. You can smell 'em sleepin' in the shadows.... ammonia smell.... wolf smell... dog smell actually, like sour milk and stale Doritos. Three of 'em holed up behind the inflatable bed store. Big suckers too... Long and thick and strong. I do not know exactly what breed a shark them God damn werewolves were messin' with. Must a been like huge ones. Tiger sharks, maybe, 'cause guy from the junior college find teeth embedded in some a the remains. And he say they the kind they are. Seed a mean f#!kin' what's-it standin' by a street light. Tall son-a-bitch. Look like eight feet. Big wolf head. Big shark muzzle. Massive neck. Werewolf arms. Shark torso. Werewolf legs. Shark tail. Two loud-mouthed tramp girls seen it slice off a head wit' the tail. Shark tails is sharp... real sharp. Not sure whose head it was, 'cause big bastid chewed it up real good. Didn't eat it, though. But that understandable considerin' the abundance of nourishment they got 'round here. 

Some guys from the Veterans a Foreign Wars Post engage a few in street fights. They got guns. Freaky bastids don't. So now we got Veterans a Foreign Wars body parts all over Calais Street and to be truthful, some a them shark-things now DO got guns. 'Cause you got a remember that the werewolf part a them kind a like regular people, so they know how to shoot, since it like a natural, human instinct.

Folks is scared... real scared. Not all the refugees makes it. Most don't. Shark bastids ain't got no cars yet, 'cause they too big to get in 'em. But out by the football field is an old Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile and some a them evil-eyed bastids been eyein' it real funny. 

Don't know if Wiener Mobile drivin' be like a natural, human instinct though.... But one a the Veterans a Foreign Wars guys what survived them street fights 'spects  it is. Guy from the junior college not talkin'. But he smart. Hell, you can see that from all the pens he got stuck in his pocket. Shirt stained up real good. That a sign. Everybody know that....

Guy wit' the pens name is 'Roger.' Next time we tell you 'bout him.

Oh.... Old Woman's weird, gruesome ghostie, shrunken head been floatin' 'round town too. Sometime it do that when Jimmy Fallon got lousy guests. Shrunken head fussy. Eye level... always eye level.... 'cept when it crotch level. Shrunken head crazy too. It not like one a them regular shrunken heads. It not normal. This one definitely not normal.....

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Saturday, August 24, 2013


They try to come into town, the lycanthro-sharks, but it's hard because they stand out. You know, vampires don't have that problem. Neither do plain, old werewolves, 'cause they can always morph back into humans...probably naked humans, but these days that ain't always so strange. And it's not like they can't hide behind a bush or a tombstone. Shark-werewolves can't do that. People start coming over. They ask a lot a questions, like 'What the hell are you?' and 'Wow! Two claspers!' (when referring to the males)... And that's gonna cost them an arm and a leg, at least. Sometimes they wait just outside the revolving door at the hospital and pick 'em off one by one. Or when they come out of FAMOUS DAVE'S BARBECUE ...already all sauced up and everything.  Manager don't like it. He tries to chase 'em away. Got like a tazer gun, but he gotta get real close and he seen what happened to the first manager, so mostly he just yells out the window and screams a lot 'bout how he gonna call the cops. Can you imagine what would happen if they threw one a them lycanthro-sharks in the holding pen? Parents comin' in to pick up their little graffiti bastids won't like it. I can tell you that.

Guess you got the picture. Them hellish crossbreeds is gettin' numerous. Don't know if normal werewolves is still jumpin' on regular shark wimmen, or if we got a stable reproducing hybridized population.

Film crew come in from DISCOVER TV. They got chomped on. 'Nother crew come in from HISTORY2 and you can see the gorey results on You-Tube. Look like @eliroth did it. Schools is closed. Nobody dare come out to a Weight-Watchers' meetin'.

Them what gotta go out take to carryin' opened up canned hams to throw at the sons a bitches, so they can run away. But mostly it just serve as an appetizer, 'cause werewolve-sharks run fast too.

Sheriff do send for help, though. Got a man from The National Aquarium in Baltimore and an' a fifteen year old kid what knows a lot 'bout aliens. Don't know who learned him, but guy on Craig's List say he real good.

Kid's from the high school formin' vigilante groups. But mostly they just set off cherry bombs and hump each other back the Tasty-Freeze, 'cause that like a tradition wit' them.

I gotta stop now, 'cause we on batteries. 'Lectric wires all chomped up. Japanese guy what manage the Beni-Hana say he got a cousin what lease us a Godzilla real cheap, only President say we can't bring no Godzilla in the country, 'cause even a tame one gonna shit all over the place. An' a crazy one gone step on too many cars.

wilkravitz ain't typin' this.... just me Some Guy From The Bayou... signing off...
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Thursday, August 22, 2013

not fiction this time...maybe later, but AN IDEA...FAME FACTORY...if you want it, here it is...come and get it...but you better hurry ;cause it's going fast......JUMP IN AND HOLLER

we manufacture opportunities.
Study the following example, then click on our COMMENTS and do the same thing. Use HASHTAGS where the example uses them. 


Name- Jane Doe
Field- writer, scripts, novels, blog
Twitter Account- @janedoe
Credits- numerous short stories, film script entitled                       PUDDING AND RHINESTONES 
Sample- post photos, videos, or text. give people a taste               your 'voice.'
Desires- a mentor, an agent, blog traffic, advice,                             feedback
Hashtags- #writer #filmmaker #famefactory

Short and concise. Like a dorm bulletin board. Please SHARE this with others via the SHARE BAR down below. If you have a BLOGGER.COM blog, please hit the BLOGGER icon and share via your site. Sure, there are other 'media' clearing houses on line. But this is clear and simple..... We work with Twitter, because that site consistently generates the most traffic. Plus, you can also communicate with other creative people via the HASHTAGS they frequent. If you like, tweet me at @wilkravitz with any questions you might have, or if you just want some SHOUT OUTS and RE-TWEETS. My account already has almost 6,500 followers, not huge, but respectable. FAME FACTORY blends TWITTER, BLOGGER and HASHTAGS... Blogs on other carriers are welcome too. It's just that the BLOGGER ICON on the SHARE BAR makes sharing so much easier. Tell FAMOUS PEOPLE about all of us. Invite them to come on and browse. They may give somebody a break.

Thank you for your support. See you on @TMZ !

Wednesday, August 21, 2013


Shrunken head like to watch Drew Carey. He like The Price Is Right, 'cause he got lot in common wiff a plinko chip. Old Woman set him up on the sofa. She prop him up wit' a lot a throw pillows. Don't know how  he see wit' his eyes all sewed shut, but he do. Old Woman feel bad 'cause sometime he cry cause he ain't got no belly. Head feels hungry but can't eat. Ain't got no head bone... no skull. Them what shrunk him took it out. Dat means the teef gone too. And his lips is all pursed up like an old school marm passing judgement. He says things and she (the Old Woman) hears it. 

Says they got people like to play around with us. And I don't know if 'people' is the right word. Maybe they once was people, or neighborly praying mantises, or friendly octopuses, or intelligent dogs what don't pee on no rug... But now they something else. And we just their 'Leggos.' Got ways to snap us together regardless of DNA and who got 'claspers,' and who got a 'cloaca' and who got a hot-cha-cha worthy of a wax museum.

That's how they make them LYCANTHRO-SHARKS. Juveniles did it..... indulged, little snot-noses from other worlds......(wait a minute... I gotta go eat somethin'....... /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/<~~~~~ (me eating.... I'm having copious amounts of cream cheese with savory, rich, salty bits of smoked salmon, spread on two WASSA crisp breads) OK, I'm done. Still want more, but, no.....

Shrunken Head says sasquatch is people mixed with chimps and gorillas. Aliens and Joseph Stalin did it. But it was not a collaboration. They played around separately. Genetic digression not so great, but still...... Come on, you wanna have kids with thumbs on their feet? Giraffe-people didn't work, 'cause they were picked up by the cops for rubber-neckin..... folks' second floor windahs. And them what became camel-people mostly resented being made hunchbacks and havin' real life camel toes and all. Humans is fussy. Look, you think a wolf wanna be a chihuahua? But aliens don't care, 'cause you just sea monkeys. Shrunken head says he half a alien, or was til they cut most all the fancy parts off. Now he jus' a head and a dead, dried up head too. But he one a the only friends the Old Woman got.

Shhh, now we gotta be quiet, 'cause Price is Right gonna SPIN THE WHEEL. Head like that. And we don't wanna make him antsy. Last time he bounce off a sofa and get wedge behind big wooden thing. 

What you think the aliens do to you?... And if they ain't done nuttin'... you one a the rejects...
mistakenly THOUGHT I posted this late last night, but I am so easily confused...sorry. If you want to wander through a whole plethora of Vampire Wonderland, visit my 'all episode (over 1,237 of them) APP) ~~> click on ~>THE APP...SORTA ... join me on Twitter at ~>@wilkravitz .... uh, by now you know I like the embedded 'link' thing... makes up for what I don't know  'bout putting up pictures and all.... oh, LOOK~> fishies! ~~~><>~~~ ><>~~~            

Sunday, August 18, 2013


Old woman got a friend. It not actually no live human. It a dead human and most a the parts is missin'. It a shrunken head. Old Mistah, brung it to her from New Guinea. He not like a tourist. They made him go there during THE WAR. Not like he could leave if he want to, or say - No thanks. I do not think I really want to get ripped in half by no Japanese machine gun, if you know what I mean...... Not like he could say - Gimme my stuff. I am gone home....Them what did that got they neck cracked at the end of a long rope. And them what did it told their grieving' mamas they was no good and deserved it.

Old Mistah not want a get his neck cracked. He stay and do like they make him. When he get all his legs blowed off they send him home. Tell his mama how brave he be. That what they say to the mamas what get sent back dead kids, or smashed up ones.... 'cause, like what else they gonna do?

He get work at a 'musement park. Dress him up like Humpty Dumpty wit' floppy, doll legs and a big red smile. Think it come from Tropical Red, Number 5 lipstick. It the nineteen forties  and they do shit like that. Old Woman not so old then. She a hootchie cootchie Moon Girl. Sell tickets on a Rocket Ship ride. Got like a sequinned two piece bathing suit with a witch collar and a old, leather, silver painted football helmet on top a her head. Got bug feelers too, but they just real long pipe cleaners.

Humpty Dumpty and Moon Girl fall in love. Captain of the big, ole shootie-chutes (old time term for roller coaster) marry them. He can do that 'cause he a captain and all. Got like a hat and everything. Moon Girl (the Old Woman when she not so old) say they gotta check. Make 'em call the mayor. He say it OK, long as somebody give him one dollah and seventy five cent. Back then they let you do mos' anythin', for one dollah and seventy five cent. That part a 'the old days' was real good.

After they married he give her the shrunken head. She keep it and love it always. When Old Mistah finally shove off (die), it start talkin' to her, which is actually very miraculous, considerin' it got its eyes, ears, malf and nose stitched shut. But real shrunken head got powers. Some make you pregnant. Head don't do nothin'. It just let you get that way. This head don't do that... but it know things and it tell things. She keep it in a bag under the bed. Ev'ry time it wanna tell somethin' it go - psst!...psst!...psst!... hey, lady!... hey, lady!.......... Which is also mostly amazin' considerin' when it alive it only know New Guinea Talk.

That night, after she almost have a heart attack from the noise the ice maker make, she jump in a bed and cover herself up real good... That when it start talkin'..... Tell her 'bout the bayou... them werewold-sharks ... 'Monkey Legs' and a whole lot a shit. 

Sometime I think that head wern't really human..... If you livin' tomorrow and 'sides a come back here, I tell you more.....

Y'all ever hear sound in the night?... What you got under your bed???
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Saturday, August 17, 2013


At first they looked like puppets, tattered marionettes, all tangled up and forgotten. Birds ripped out the juicy parts and ants marched up the trunk to take the rest. Some wore clothes... a shirt... shoes and socks... half a brassiere... a 'face mask' jock strap. But most were naked. Hell, some barely even had any flesh.

You see strange things in the bayou.... two headed hag fish.... raccoon with human breasts... a crazy eyed little white girl with hairy legs... real hairy legs. 'Monkey Legs,' they call her. But I'm not talkin' 'bout her. This about a big, old mangrove tree all done up like Christmas Morning. Got dead folks dancin' in the branches and greasy small intestines where tinsel should be.

The woman beached her boat right under it. She came in here a lot to find plants and all.... medicinal plants. An herbalist she was. Some folk call her a 'witchy woman,' but she not that, 'cause she got a Bible and she read it every night. Know all them 'What thou shalt do...' and 'What thou shalt not do.' Once saw God settin' in her kitchen. But since He was eatin' a banana, her sister say it must a been like a genii, or an angel, or somethin'. 
Cause she don't think God would like no banana... Grapes, maybe... an apple for sure.... Maybe like a popsicle, if he was hot or somethin'. 

Woman get out her phone and start takin' pictures. She got a little flip phone from the Walmart, don't need no contract, or nothin.' Gets right up under real drippy part.  Dead lady got half an ass bit off. Stomach ripped open too. Got like a Pepsi cola bottle stickin' out a her belly. But I don't think she swallowed it. Somebody must a left it there. You know how careless people can be.

Then she see somethin'. Look like guitar picks.... like chalky, white, rough edge guitar picks. She reach up to touch one. Take a drink first from a little flask. Got Jack Daniel's in it.  Just 'cause she an old, leathery thing, don't mean some shit still make her sick. 'Sides, Jack taste good. 

Got pretty strong finger nails. Thick ones. You know how old folks do? Start diggin' at the funny, white thing. She go tap, tap, tap. It like a loose tooth, so she start a wiggle it. Take maybe thirteen wiggles, then it come out. But so do a lot a blood. Not hot blood.... cold, clammy blood. 'Cause lady what ain't got most a her ass been dead a long time. Old woman can see the face too, 'cause neck twisted all 'round. It got eyes, but they all dull and cloudy... like two, little, cheap, crumby lava-lamps what ain't got no color. And a fat centipede all shacked up in the nose. It come out to see what gone on. But the other one jus' stick its head out. That how she know they shacked up.

Some blood do get on her face. The old woman, I mean. Little bit might run in her mouth, but she don't think 'bout it and make like it not there. Clam juice it taste like. Guess that why they call it 'clammy.' But I don't think you wanna cook wit' it. 

White thing look like a toof... like a big toof... Like what some dinosaur 'sposed a have. Not a big dinosaur, but the littler 'runnin' dinosaurs. Kind what rips you open wit' it's feet. She knowed, 'cause she seen Jurassic Park. She an educated woman. So she wrap it up in a half used napkin from Popeye's and go back. Gets in her boat and shove off. Don't make no noise, 'cause she do be a little scared.

Somethin' break the water, but she don't look back. Somethin' else go 'plop' and fall in. Maybe she loosen up a dead folk when she poke 'round an' all? Or maybe what broke the water jus' grab it? 

Old woman make it back to town... run in her place an' lock the door. But when the ice machine in her 'frigerator start shakin' 'round she almost have a heart attack.

Monkey-Leg girl seen it all from the trees. an' she laugh and laugh and laugh...
(more next time)
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Friday, August 16, 2013

LYCANTHRO-SHARK SPEAKS (a werewolf-shark says plenty)... 8/16/13

Sometimes I forget that I can still think verbally. Oh, my mouth cannot articulate true speech, or any other kind for that matter. It can open. It can close. It can chomp things off.... a shark's mouth. But part of me is still human. It thinks. It feels. It knows. And you want to know something?... The lupine part does too. 

I sit in the branches waiting for prey. It's quiet. A pirogue glides by, silent in the night . But I can see the light. I see the lantern held by an old man. He whispers something in Creole French. Perhaps I was once a kinsman, for I seem to know the words. A young one, his son, or maybe a nephew, looks about. There be gators here. Big ones. Fat ones. They say a certain, coarse hided veteran bears buck shot from The War of 1812. And they say right. He calls to me. He talks to me. I comprehend him in a visceral, animal way. How is it I know words like 'visceral?' Perhaps my human part was educated. Perhaps I walked the Rues and byways of Le vieux carre? I do like steak tartare, if you know what I mean. 

The old one smells good...gamy and appetizing. I climb down from my perch and slide into the oily, black water. Do I have gills? No, that useful bit of fishy equipment was not included. But I can troll along, just below the surface, with naught but my nostrils (and of course my dorsal) visible above the water. The young one sees something. He raises his gun, a decades old rifle ordered from Sears. I sink to the bottom, undulating through absolute blackness with my sleek, strong tail. 

The old man chuckles and says - You've lost him.... Then he pees over the side. It's hard to stand and balance in the low-slung water craft, but he does. A swampman through and through, this one. He knows... the salty broth draws creatures.... a big, fat carp-like thing.... some crawfish.... a muskrat... and me. The rich, fleshy scent makes me giddy. The human part of my nature recedes.Thought becomes a frivolous obstacle. But I feel him in my teeth and I want him...

The creature rises toward the stern, reaches out of the water with strong, sinewy, werewolf arms. It grabs hold of the ancient wood and bears down. The tiny boat tips. The old one falls. The young one reaches out to help. But he sees the head. He sees the teeth. He knows the tales and he screams. The old one thrashes about, as the monstrous thing grabs hold of his neck and pulls him down. Four toes go to a snapping turtle. An eye, the right, I believe, gets sucked out by a particularly aggressive, kissy-lipped fish. Two heartbeats later, the creature tucks in, crushing through the clavicle and shoulder, exposing a lung, as it rips off sixteen pounds of meat and bone. But the heart still beats. The brain still lives. And the old one endures, after a fashion, two minutes more... alone in the dark, with the demons.

The young one runs the boat up on the bank, clambers out and races through the dense, boggy, woodlands, frantically waving his arms in an effort to 'see.' Sugar gnats rise up in his wake, stinging his skin and stealing the blood, but he keeps going for maybe twelve heartbeats, til the mate of that first thing springs from the grass, severing most of his groin, a good portion of his bladder, some surrounding lymph nodes and other torn off strips of meat, as he falls whimpering into oblivion.

The two hundred year old gator was safe that night, a beneficiary of LYCANTHRO-SHARK'S cold largesse.

And only the leeches know...
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Wednesday, August 14, 2013


Life is a puzzle. No, really it is. The reason human beans can't breed with French Poodles has to do with 'innies' and'outies' and how things snap together. And I mean on a microscopic level. Think of DNA as a zipper. Unless all the teeth line up correctly all you gonna get is a really weird experience. 'Almost' doesn't count. This ain't quoits. 

They say Stalin tried to mix humans and apes (chimps mostly). Wanted to breed a race of super soldiers possessed of unbelievable endurance, plus the uncanny ability to hurl shit at the enemy with unerring accuracy. But America's development of the atomic bomb put an end to the shit throwing race. That's how it is. 

Medieval alchemists surreptitiously attempted the replication of mythological beasts, uniting goats and apprentices in order to bring forth satyrs and fauns. But all they got out of it was syphilis.

Contemporary scientists create exotic combinations via gene therapy, whipping up such delightful hybrids as spider-silk-goats (yeah, they still use goats) who excrete a rarefied 'milk' that condenses into high tensile (and exceedingly strong) spider silk.

And, to revisit the past again, Russia's Catherine the Great almost killed herself trying to bring back the centaur..... But I think we're really lucky she failed. If they HAD centaurs today, how would they use public bathrooms and where would they sit on the bus? Plus we'd have to manufacture special pieces of apparatus enabling them to clean themselves after defecation. That would be a must. And how the hell are they ever gonna be able to pull up their pants with short, little human arms?.... Would they even be legally required to wear pants???

My God, Labra-doodles are bad enough.

But the LYCANTHRO-SHARK is real. We're only compelled to pretend it's fiction for obvious reasons. I wanted to tell you more, but it's three A.M. here and I'm tired. So come back tomorrow night. And join the conversation. Leave a COMMENT. See what all we got by clicking on ~>WOW, LOOK WHAT HE GOT! ... join me on Twitter at ~> @wilkravitz ... 

Werewolves, humans and sharks... oh my. 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

SEEMS YOU TUBE WON'T ALLOW US TO share movie trailers right to LYCANTHRO-SHARK episode 2... 8/13/13

A dense, hot, steamy greenness pervades the molecules of the ether. Insect voices fill the the air with alien blood songs. And even the gators seem drugged as they glide through the thick, cloying morass. August in the Mississippi estuary, where big, ole saw toothed, green-head flies come to dine. Itchy time down South.

In the deepest part of the watery hell something moves. It undulates through the viscous soup like an otter... strong tail.... rather lupine legs... bullet head with sharp, wolfie ears and a big, toothy mouth gash like a shark what howls at the moon. 

A mama cougar sneaks home to nurse her babies with a belly full a dead rats, plus a little monkey what some circus forgot. She know the territory, bein' a swamp gal herself. But she can know the Gettysburg Address for all the good it gonna do her. 

Snappin' turtles what can chomp off half a human foot sink deep in the mud and gators rumble warnings to their harems and their kin. 

What comin' already ate some. Old lady rib cage floatin' upstream. Dat her wig on a rock. Look, where them water bugs is nestin'. Ripped off head like a pineapple under the sea for a bunch a crawfish. Big mama crawfish got a room where a eye used a be. And all them babies love nibblin' on the lips.... old lady lips... Duggs is all gone. Ass mostly shredded. Bones what held 'em wedged in a mangrove root. Got like a family reunion a leeches fightin' for the scraps.

Old man seen it all. He peekin' and screamin' through a little gingham curtain what hang in a trailer window. But he scream too loud and what got her got him for 'extras.' 

Wolf-shark be comin'.... a unholy alliance of fish teef and dog breath... A demon born of animal lust in the blackest heart of a bayou night.

Yo, trapper. What dat scratchin' at the shanty door? Get out that big hide ripping knife and slash you throat now...less you doan mind bunch a 'scrutiatin' trouble. 

Ewww, how dem mangled leg muskrats you got shoved in a sack gonna laugh when you die. Guts gonna go in 'the soup.' Gonna float down river to the gulf. I 'spect shrimp gonna eat 'em then.

An' old folks get 'em two weeks later, when them shrimp wind up at The Golden Corral.

Get dem toes out a the water, dumb teenage kids on a lark. Tell that girl to get her tittie-cuppers back on. Somethin' lookin' at her... an' it taken inventory...
(more LYCANTHRO-SHARK next time)
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Sunday, August 11, 2013

our take on SHARK WEEK~~~> Ladies & Gentlemen.... LYCANTHRO-SHARK!!!...8/12/13

A crazy grandmother was the first one. She roll out of a camper in da middle of the night. Gotta go pee-pee. Got old lady bladder disease. And camper potty no good, 'cause it got da voo doo real bad. Give old huzzband monkey balls and now the dawg scared a go near him.

So she sneak behind a mangrove where them gators can't see her do it. And she pull up her shift and squat down real dainty-like, 'cause her mama got white gloves an' whole drawer full a clean underwear. an' dat make her a lady.

Old man huzzband yell - Where you gun what I got you for Christmas, you old bitch, you?.....She go - Trade it for my teef, you old shit-ass (cause he got like a fartin' hobby and she like a good set a choppers) ..... Old man cackle - Good bye! Good bye! No more that girl! You dead! You dead!.... Then he shut that door real hard an' lock it up tight. But she hear him dancin' 'round inside. Figure she gone let him have his fun, then bus' a window and get back in. Pissin' part a her outing all done. She on to part two now.. You know, one time she put two dead roaches in a biscuit batter and tell him it raisins. He say it good. Guess they mus' a been high quality roaches. I doan know. That how they do to each other. 

It dark out there. Big trees. Spiders you could make a mink coat out of... bobcats..... crazy, killer chimp what escape from a zoo.... eight hundred pound gator what got a knock-off Rolex on it's back foot.... Old lady got big bites on her ass. I doan know what bit her, but she doan care. She not fussy that way. 

Use a have problem wit werewolves. People gettin' theyselves all killed up all the time. Big turds all over. Deputy doan do nothin'. He say - Go to hell and drop dead.... Then he write out a citation, cause he very proud a his penmanship. But nobody ever pay 'em, 'cause that deputy jus' a big dumb nut. 

You see, werewolves do like to move around, run wit' the pack and all that, specially when the pretty people all killed up. But one werewolf woman stay behind. She smoke cigarette. She stink. She wear dirty brassiere . Swim 'round the swamp water all naked and stuff. She like a low-life werewolf woman. Not like the high class ones. No siree. Not like dem at all. 

Now bull shark like swamp water too. 'Voo doo shark they call 'em. Chomp on legs... Chomp on part a asses... whatever they like... It jus' what they do. An' them what's the man bull sharks full a pearl jam. Got more pearl jam than human beans. That for sure. That why they call 'em 'bulls.' 

Low-life werewolf women and bull shark start mushin' up wit each other. She love him. He love her. They say he a very caring bull shark. But I doan know, 'cause they doan talk or nothin'. Ten week latter she have a baby an' ten week after that she have another baby. Got werewolf arms and werewolf legs... werewolf ears and werewolf eyes. But muzzle and teef is all shark. Tail all shark too. Look like part of a mermaid growin' outta its butt.... Got real short fur... Horse fur, it look like. Gray on back and white on the belly, like what shark do. I know, 'cause I see one once. A little one. A baby one, killin' a duck.

It almost growed now. An' it up a tree.... all still.... all quiet.... jus' watchin'... jus' lookin'... jus' sniffin'.... maybe fifteen feet from the old lady's head. 

She doan know, 'cause she squeezin' real hard. Otherwise she be able to smell it. Stink from cigarette too, jus' like its ma..... an' now it creepin.... It creepin' real slow.... Soon the tail gone brush right on top a her head. Bet she go - What dat??... 

But then it gone be too late... and she never gonna know...
(more later)

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Saturday, August 10, 2013

The Roman Vampire, Janus, makes plans.... 8/11/13

In such ways is the culture of the Earth transformed. Janus did tell Clan Nesso about the rediscovered, once lost baby. Most members of the fold weren't interested at all, preferring imperial honors and holidays at Tivoli (huge, imperial pleasure villa) to a long lost (at least three generations) rescued baby with a strange predeliction for human blood.  I mean even it's great niece, the illustrious Livia-Minerva is long dead. And as things go, the story, plus the resultant feud meant far more than the actual, unknown, physical toddler.

But Janus knew the baby, or at least he felt like he did. So one night soon after, he set out to liberate the tiny, gurgling, blood-glutton from it's gloomy (though carefully decorated) tomb beneath the Villa Romila. 

You should know that independent actions on the part of vampire bodyguards are very rare and indeed criminal. They are bound to a family and essentially considered a preternatural extension of the tribe. They do what the patriarch would do, provided he had fangs and the ability to sublimate through walls, doomed humans and other solid chunks of matter. 

Yet Janus was different, probably because he was not originally Roman at all, but a Celt-Iberian interloper, thus more free-wheeling and mercurial than the taciturn, tradition-bound Central Italians. So he was willing to take the chance. Besides, he missed the rhythms and nuances of the Celtic year. That's why he picked Britania. Unlike his native Galicia in the northwest quadrant of Hispania, the nature cult of his people still ran true on the far off isle. On a superficial level it all looked Latin enough. Londinium was Baby Rome, after all, though the meals in the triclinia of the place featured local produce and Celtic methodology. Old gods hid under cumbersome togas and traditional magic peppered the stew of this northernmost redout where beer and mead trumped wine and bards were loved like champions. 

Before severing all ties and burning his bridges, Janus sought counsel with a certain, more experienced female vampire. I believe you've met her before. A Diana, or Persephone type. Wanders about in the nude, if memory serves me right. Established night-folk are forgiven their eccentricities. And what's one more naked demi-goddess to a nation that breeds them like flies?...
(more next time)
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SCHMOOZINGWITHALIENS: IMPERIAL ROMAN VAMPIRE BODYGUARD, JANUS, tells us ...: I like yellow. All vampires like yellow. Reminds us of the sun we never see. Oh, I know some peek out during the last moments of twilight. ...

OK...think I might be able to move blog over here to its true site. Click on that SCHMOOZING WITH ALIENS site up above and it should appear...waa-laa!...SCHMOOZINGWITHALIENS is a little seen, secret site I had two years ago, but the 'men in black' ...did something.. If you want to see it, GOOGLE Schmoozingwithaliens by Billy Kravitz and ... well, I'm not supposed to say. But for the REAL VAMPIRE WONDERLAND post, click on that title up above. For more, as always ... click on YADDA YADDA YADDA .... and , psst!...(join me on TWITTER at ~> @wilkravitz ...  If I CAN successfully move it, it should appear  right above this...

janus GOES A little bit 'vampire crazy'.. (BUT BLOG APPEARED ON OUR 'SECRET 'schmoozingwithaliens SITE BY MISTAKE..TRYING TO GET IT BACK...8/10/13'

 LOTS GOING ON BETWEEN HERE AND L.A......  Can barely think straight. Trying to move post over here. sorry for any inconvenience. If you want, you can GOOGLE SCHMOOZINGWITHALIENS by Billy on it and scroll to most recent post... Wishing all a spiritually rewarding SHARK WEEK.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Blue Jasmine Official Trailer #1 (2013) - Woody Allen Movie HD .. even the paranormal world bows to Woody... (he gets our rarefied angst ) .. 8/8/13

We told Janus, the Imperial Roman Bodyguard vampire, we couldn't channel him tonight on account of a new Woody. He had no idea what we were talking about and started to frantically bite his cuticles and curse us out in Latin, Celt-Iberian and Koine . Tsk, some people are just so God damned neurotic...If you want to see THOUSANDS of earlier episodes, click on `>THE MOTHER LOAD ... join me on TWITTER too at ~>@wilkravitz ... thank you and please leave COMMENTS...on my stuff, or Woody's.


My vampire guide and erstwhile opponent looked at me and said - Now do you understand? The child never died. The nursemaid was not negligent. The woman did no wrong. She was waylaid by 'familiars,' vampire helpers hunting food for a lazy master. And she did put up a fight. Indeed, they blinded her in one eye and would have put out the other if the hounds had not arrived. Huge mastiffs they are. Bred by the infantry to rip open the guts, the genitals...anywhere. And they chased the loathsome familiars out across the fields, lacerating their weak, flabby buttocks in the process. But the baby was gone and Clan Romila was afraid. Canes belli ate the baby! Canes belli ate the baby! - she went on. But the only war dogs there that day were ours... and they eat other things.

We offered money. We offered plenty... a first tier box at the Coliseum. A month by the seaside in a villa recently purchased from some spurned imperial doxy. Good luck charms wrought by the hands of a top 'cassandra.' But your mortals would have none of it. And so the fight began. A killing here. A killing there. Geld a first cousin. Cripple some old, bastard uncle whose name I forget. Disgusting... truly disgusting. 

And now they sent you. But I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore. So I did it. I showed you. You see him. You know. That other life-eater did not kill him. I can't tell you why, but he didn't. And so he sits here in the dark, contentedly drawing blood from other babies. Rome has a plethora of unwanted sucklings. Mama sows part with them quickly enough. A few coppers. Perhaps a bottle of scent. That's all it takes. Life by the river is tough. Thank Jove we're here in the heights. Do you know how my vampire nose would suffer in the miasma down there? Vampire, please! I'd vomit on a regular basis. These babies come from Shitsville. They'd die there just the same.

So go. Run and tell your master that the Nesso Baby lives. Well, after a fashion he does. Tell him what he is. Tell him what he does. See if they want him back. We found him, or rather he was left with us. And we provide the succor. 

Look how he gurgles. Look how he chews that leg. You know, 'cherubs' rarely kill a victim outright. They gnaw and they drink and they babble. Quite cute in their own way. No teeth. They have no teeth. Do it all with a sharp tipped tongue. A little, callused point they have. Twirl it around like a drill. And the poor, tiny urchins really suffer very little, for we drug them first. After all, we are not monsters.

Soon I'll take them out and end it in the fish ponds. That's why our crabs are so sweet... or so they tell me. 

But I took a tiny chain from off the 'cherub's' ankle... a talisman left by some long dead Nesso kinsman, and kept it with me when I left that place. 

The truth, as it is, troubles me. And I'm afraid to tell the master, for I've never failed him yet.

A vampire's nights are quite complex. Though I did kill two souls on my way addle brained tramp and a waylaid sailor. The blood lust is quite simple. And I needed to forget.

Perhaps I'll say a prayer for those ruined babies, if I knew just what to say...
(more next time)
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Tuesday, August 6, 2013

THE IMPERIAL ROMAN VAMPIRE BODYGUARD, JANUS, sees another facet of his breed... 8/6/13

This is why I could not do it. This is why the leader of Clan Ramila still lives. I saw something there...something at once so innocent and terrible... and it scared me. Guess I haven't been a life-eater too long. 

They lived in a villa, a regular Roman style villa, square with an atrium in the middle. But it was big, all marble and tile. One way in through the front and another smaller, less ornate portal out back. Fortress mansions they are. Mortal guardsmen kept watch out front. Though a vampire knows how to beguile people. It's instinctive to us and I am no exception. So they stared off into the middle distance and let me pass. 

Inside all was silent. A small, votive flame dedicated to Vesta flickered on an altar near the entrance. I went into a reception chamber all done up in the simple, classic manner native to the Greeks. The Romila, being Calabrasi from deep down in the 'toe,' had strong ties to 'Old Hellas' and maintained many of the ancient traditions. Tiny oil lamps scattered about the interior provided dim illumination...'night lights' so to speak. Juvenile slaves charged with tending them were supposed to stay up all night. Most wealthy homes had perhaps two. An easy job usually given to the offspring of long-time family retainers. But in practice, kids will be kids... even slave kids. And these two were back in the kitchen filching olive paste and flat bread. They knew the routine. One or two passes a night was enough. Everyone else was asleep, holed up in tiny, windowless, bed chambers toward the back. Were there mice? Well, a few, but the cats took care of that. And all the other slaves were penned up for the night.

I did smell the vampire though... stale blood... not strong... very subtle... barely there. Some say vampires have no scent, but they are wrong. A lot of what they say about us is wrong. 

He was sitting in a chair outside a bedroom. Now please know that the light was exceedingly low. But vampire eyes can see even in pitch darkness. Like cats we are... Like sleek, hungry, feral cats. He sipped wine. Our kind can tolerate fermented nectars. And he slowly smiled at my approach. I'd rarely faced one of my own before. He seemed strong in a sly and clever way, while I relied on a more 'muscular' visceral type of life-eater strength. 

Then he spoke, barely audible to mortal ears and difficult even for me. He said - Come for revenge, have you?.... I nodded.... He chuckled and said - They've sent others before. Oh, we've lost people from time to time. Stolen away in the night... Poof, cold blue flame and all that... (and then his eyes bore through me) but not tonight... come with me. I've something to show you.... He got up and led me through dark passages, out through the loggia and across the roofless atrium, where he unlocked an old, rough door revealing a narrow stone stairway snaking down into the earth. I followed. At the bottom was another door. He fumbled for a key and opened it as well, uttering one word...'come.'

Inside was a room lit by candlelight. Not too bright, but brighter than above. The walls were fine, smooth plaster... old and veined with tiny cracks. They floor, smooth slates covered by many silken pillows and colorful, wooden toys. Mythological heroes stared out from the walls, old murals, carefully painted by long dead artists. And there in a corner, behind a disheveled child's bed sat a baby... a plump, little boy who went 'uh, oh' at my approach. For scattered 'round him were the almost dead, cold, gray carcasses of other babies, mortal babies. The Nesso Child had not died. He was here, right before me and he was a vampire, an innocent, lethal vampire, disturbed during dinner, yet curious just the same.....

(more next time)
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Monday, August 5, 2013


I like the streets at night. No light. Few people. Feral cats. An occasional wandering ghost. A fresh corpse. Social types scurrying home from dinner parties surrounded by torch bearing (truncheons too) lackeys. Some recline in heavily curtained liters. It's quieter that way. Won't attract street gangs or 'the black hand.' Romans especially fear 'the black hand.' Some call it 'the red hand,' but they are misinformed. Everyone pays 'protection' in this town. Flows through the streets like water. Sure, they have sewers, but a lot of raw sewage never makes it that far.Imagine getting drowned in a reeking shit bucket. They do that, you know. 'The black hand' I mean. You can still feel the air on your arms. You can still feel the air on the back of your neck. But your face is buried in watery, loose turds. It burns your eyes. And after a few dozen heartbeats you can't hold your breath.... so you 'breathe.' Only what comes in isn't air. 

I saw them do it to a man. Young he was, maybe twenty three, twenty four. Caught him silently padding through the dark with one lackey and a sputtering torch. Must of been out gambling. Dice parlors are all over the place. Must have owed somebody too. You know, a lot of those senatorial and knightly families aren't as rich as you think they are. Lost plenty in the Dacia fiasco. Nobody wanted to go there. You got the Parthians right across the Euxine (Black) Sea. You got Bulgars and Slavic barbarians to the north. Superstitious natives. Swamp fever. And a really coarse, low, common, primitive type of lamia sanguine (vampire) too. Not at all like what we have in Rome. Big parcels of potentially choice land went begging. The empire had to give it to the troops and some of them are making a 'go' of it. I know all this because Clan Nesso knows it. You don't read about it in the broad sheets. In case you don't know, every district has a central square. And every square has a pillar... a big, wood pillar. That's where they go for news. Runners bring fresh sheets every day. Rip down the old ones and tack 'em up. Them what know their letters reads 'em. Them what don't bring a friend. But rich folks are privy to the real deal.... whispers on the dining couch and all that. 

But let me tell you what I saw 'the black hand' do to a man.... that young one, I mean.

Four guys grabbed him. The lackey ran away, screaming in the night. Then they threw him down on the cobbles. Must of broke his nose. I heard the crack. I saw the blood. He screamed, but they shoved some rag in his mouth. And as if that wasn't bad enough, they stretched him out, spread-eagle, and chopped off his hands. Shoved another rag in his mouth. Had to stuff it up real good, so he wouldn't bite through his tongue. Don't want him to die that fast. In fact, they want him to live. They want him to be a symbol... an instructional tool..... As if anybody has to be taught. Every dirty kid, at every dirty lunch counter both sides of the Tiber knows 'the black hand.' Oh, before I forget, they took his feet too..... Right through the ankles..... crack, smash, pop!! You should a seen his face. I never saw somebody go into shock like that, 'specially when they 'cupped' him.... Forced these copper things that look like cuffs, on over the stumps of his arms and legs. Real hot, they were too. Not red hot... but pretty close. Could hear the flesh sizzle as they locked in tight and contracted into place.

Stopped the bleeding though. Cauterized it and everything...
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