Posts
I wish to continue our discussion. Vampires still perspire. And we do not ooze blood. What comes out is sweat. Which is odd, for we do not crap. At least I do not. They tell me the magic (not all consider it a burden. that jargon belongs to Judaeo-Christian types) settles differently on each and every one of us. Some excrete a paste-like substance. In the middle ages, dried turds were considered relics and sold as 'angel shit.' But I don't think they do that anymore.
Most nights I frequent the East End. I recommend it to all visiting vampires. The 'food' is quite divine. And poor folk die so conveniently. No one cares. Few notice. It's all so easy.
Did I tell you I saw The Ripper? I could smell the blood. There was so much of it, so could the rats. He had her on a bed... a filthy, crusty pallet in a dank, mildew cellar. And, I must say, he was a true virtuoso of the blade. I believe he favored a Neapolitan stiletto, long and thin and sharp. Your California 'Zorro' couldn't do any better. Such a juicy ripping sound. How appetizing. Please, I have to admit it. Don't hate me.
He hummed a little tune.... something from the music halls. I don't know the name. And she was spread open like a Prussian eagle... internally exposed from trachea to pudenda. Though not at all self-conscious. Death cures all manner of phobia, you know.
Did he see me peeking through the small, street level window? Well, I think he did. I think he knew I was there.... An audience and a safe one at that.
Oh, I can tell you who he was. But why should I spoil your fun. Night-folk know many things.... eternal witnesses we are. We know which miracles were real. And we know where all the bodies are buried.
Your Jonathon does not like to hear that, for he believes 'with a perfect faith.' I think he has a messiah complex. I've spent evenings with the young Doctor Freud. Oh, how he wanted to analyze me.... a night fiend... a vampire... I ghoul. Well, to him I was a ghoul. But if you've been reading this for a while, you're familiar with the one they call Johnny Jump Up and you know what a ghoul really is.
I stroll through Covent Garden looking for my own Eliza Dolittle.... East Enders.... Sloane Rangers.... Pearly Kings and Pearly Queens.... My tastes are so eclectic.
Six quarts of blood. Where do I put it all?
I think she picked me for my looks.... 'Mama' Jeanette, I mean. I've been told I'm a pre-cursor to the young Lawrence Olivier.
You should see me play Macbeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
taste more night stuff at ~>MIDNIGHT PIXILATED BUFFET ... look for us on Twitter at @wilkravitz .... thank you.
Most nights I frequent the East End. I recommend it to all visiting vampires. The 'food' is quite divine. And poor folk die so conveniently. No one cares. Few notice. It's all so easy.
Did I tell you I saw The Ripper? I could smell the blood. There was so much of it, so could the rats. He had her on a bed... a filthy, crusty pallet in a dank, mildew cellar. And, I must say, he was a true virtuoso of the blade. I believe he favored a Neapolitan stiletto, long and thin and sharp. Your California 'Zorro' couldn't do any better. Such a juicy ripping sound. How appetizing. Please, I have to admit it. Don't hate me.
He hummed a little tune.... something from the music halls. I don't know the name. And she was spread open like a Prussian eagle... internally exposed from trachea to pudenda. Though not at all self-conscious. Death cures all manner of phobia, you know.
Did he see me peeking through the small, street level window? Well, I think he did. I think he knew I was there.... An audience and a safe one at that.
Oh, I can tell you who he was. But why should I spoil your fun. Night-folk know many things.... eternal witnesses we are. We know which miracles were real. And we know where all the bodies are buried.
Your Jonathon does not like to hear that, for he believes 'with a perfect faith.' I think he has a messiah complex. I've spent evenings with the young Doctor Freud. Oh, how he wanted to analyze me.... a night fiend... a vampire... I ghoul. Well, to him I was a ghoul. But if you've been reading this for a while, you're familiar with the one they call Johnny Jump Up and you know what a ghoul really is.
I stroll through Covent Garden looking for my own Eliza Dolittle.... East Enders.... Sloane Rangers.... Pearly Kings and Pearly Queens.... My tastes are so eclectic.
Six quarts of blood. Where do I put it all?
I think she picked me for my looks.... 'Mama' Jeanette, I mean. I've been told I'm a pre-cursor to the young Lawrence Olivier.
You should see me play Macbeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
taste more night stuff at ~>MIDNIGHT PIXILATED BUFFET ... look for us on Twitter at @wilkravitz .... thank you.
