Jonathon Remembers --- Be Gracious To All For Saints And Redeemers Walk Among You

Jonathon continues ---

I ride around the city. There were two bikes in the cellar. It's really a collection of finished rooms... simple and utilitarian, but (at least these days) certainly not a dungeon. The little ghost boy, the polio victim, likes the bicycles. He asks about them all the time. He stands there and looks at them. You see, by the time he was old enough for a real two wheeler, he was already sick, so... no bike for him. Edith reads him stories. Plays checkers with him. He tells her what to do and she moves his piece. Most ghosts can't manipulate actual matter. Basement Boy ended up in an iron lung, so he's used to that. I really care about him.

Tonight I'm just human... Not a person waiting to be a vampire again... Not a thousand year old whatever I am... Just me. Well, nothing's truly plain and regular in our world. Edith threw a hoo-doo on me... repels 'harm caused by evil and harm caused by dreamers.'... Dreamers means thoughtless. Piney Wimmen know lots a spells. Not all of them. Just the Witchy Wimmen. When I stopped for a light, a weird panhandler came over. More like a shakedown artist. Knocks on car windows. Goes - You got money? I'm hungry. I'm hungry.... Leans on roof of the car panting... Ladies try to ignore him. They look straight ahead and inch through the intersection... I've seen him before. Leaves men alone, because they'll run over his feet. But on a bike we're all fair game... Street's narrow, so he gets real close. Says - Yo, buy me a cheese steak, or Gotta get to 'Lantic City. It's an emergency..... Usually Atlantic City panhandlers say that line the other way around, but this one's got his own M.O.. This one grabs my arm. I feel his desperation right through my 'winter active gear.' Think he wants the bicycle too... I mumble what Edith told me to mumble. I go - Carrion.... That's all... one word and he sees big, fat, glistening maggots fall from my every exposed bodily orifice.  I look up and grin. He jumps back real fast and runs away, shaking illusory maggots off his own body too.... Mind picture spells are real easy. You see, I don't want to hurt anyone, because I've been remembering my religion..... or a special part of it.

'And unto each generation thirty six pure and righteous souls shall be born... perfect vessels for the spirit of The Lord. It is for their sake life goes on. Let no man know the identity of these saints, for they, themselves, know not what they are. Simple folk with simple lives, but noble souls and blessed hearts. And one of their number I separate from the rest. That one is Messiah, whom I will call to redeem when it is time to redeem. Yet even that anointed one knows not who he is.'----- I learned that as a youth---' Love thy neighbor, for after the lessons of Egypt, where you were strangers, even the stranger is your neighbor... Be gracious to all, for saints and redeemers walk among you.'

Odd lives vampires lead. Called to do good. Called to cull the wicked. And not in a hard or tortuous way, but clean, quick and  peaceful. Yet sensual and yearning just the same. Not angels, but something akin to that breed. Not the Shepherd, but the sheep dog.... I've said that before. You've heard it... Well, no more digressions. No more vain adventures. I will do what I am made to do... a noble vampire and in no way like the noxious members of our race.

Oh, I'll still dress well and walk with a certain grace... So will Sarah... So will Baylah... and that other one, Leo, Conrad, whoever he is.

A cultivated gentleman, I will be. This twenty eight year old body suits me.

Now let me glide through these old, quiet streets before I take my 'vows.' 

Perhaps I'll stop for coffee and a chat with friendly strangers.

(all is still, as he pedals down the eighteenth century street and turns away)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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What a Vampire Thinks... 12/29/14

I type this myself. Billy is already sleeping. Edith set this up for me. She knows the rudiments of modern technology. For those who may not know - I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. Right now, I'm mortal, but will soon revert to my night-folk state. The circumstances leading to this unusual, but not unheard of, state of affairs is complex. But everything's in the record. All you have to do is google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Tomas dies in The Academy of Music .... The March, 28th, 2014 post (second from the top) is best. Click on that if you like. It's all the work of an evil elferino (a rare occurrence). There was a 'born' witch too, though she was just a stooge. So pointless. But I digress. 

Soon I shall be  'life-eater' again. How will I bear that burden?.... I think you know... I will bear it as I did for my first nine hundred and thirty odd years. I will bear it nobly, renewing the vows made oh so long ago. Thus if you're not evil, you have nothing to fear from me. Those of you familiar with this site, or tale, or whatever they call it, know this. I and those like me 'Cull the wicked and help the worthy live.' 

We dine but once a month. Smaller infusions of liquids, such as broth, or spirits are tolerated and make social situations with unknowing mortals less troublesome

I study this body in the mirror, wiping the steam from the glass. Night-folk enjoy hot showers, especially between feedings. How similar it is to my first body... same height... same build. Perhaps a bit larger. I was eighteen the first time. This meat puppet is twenty eight. Belonged to a model. Gym memberships and all that. I won't complain. Still the same long, dark, wavy mane. That I like. Doctor Franklin did a good job. Hair where there should be hair and smooth where I should be smooth. First eyes were Andalucian brown. These seem more dark grey. Change is good.

Sarah dries me. I love those towels. So thick... So soft... So clean.  I stand there like DaVinci's famous Vitruvian Man, allowing her to get all the damp spots. Pity I don't have more of them. Then, she anoints me with lotion (sighs)... delightful. 

No, I do not type away in the warm, bathroom mist as this goes on. Some things I repeat from memory. Don't like when she brushes my hair, though. Finger drying works best. Am I fussy? (shrugs) I suppose. Look, I admit to being vain. All vampires are vain, thus my predilection for fine, leather bootkins and hand tailored denims. Good legs on this body. I'm glad of that. 

Thought I'd tell you more. But Sarah wants me. Soon I won't be mortal. I suppose she likes the novelty.

So let me leave this miraculous device and go to her. Edith, our witchy-woman housekeeper will close up. She'll put my towel away. Look at her peeking out from the kitchen. She's not watching that Bruce Spingsteen tribute. She's watching me.

Let her enjoy the show...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Jonathon Asks Sarah About her Mortal Days... 12/28/14

It was a warm December, sometimes damp, but rarely icy. Jonathon and Sarah continued sitting out in the little back garden. It was their private space, hidden from view by brick walls. But squirrels can scramble over bricks. They came down to gather the walnuts Edith left out for them. She thought it her duty.. more than that... She had to do it. 

Sarah snuggled beneath an old shearling robe. I don't know where it came from. Vampire households have many treasures. Things just turn up. Jonathon lay next to her. The antique, patio chaise lounge held two. He had a knit cap pulled down over his ears. Mortals, even temporary ones, are quite sensitive to nighttime chills. 'Warm December' is a relative term, you know.

He watched a squirrel, surprisingly nocturnal,  tuck one of the walnuts under its arm, much as a man might carry a large melon, before disappearing over the wall. Sarah counted stars.

Then he said - What did you keep in that basement?.... What do you mean? - she said...The one under Philadelphia After Dark, the bookshop; I was there last night.

And you went downstairs?

Yes.

Sydney let you down?

Sydney wasn't there - he said. 

She exhaled and said - That happens sometimes. You do understand I knew about magic, or whatever you want to call it before I met you?

Uh huh.

So, what happened?

There was a blind man and a deaf woman. I think they were a couple. I think they were husband and wife. Ghosts, I think.

Were you scared?

Yes I was scared. Not terrified. I don't think I was terrified. But I was scared. I knew they couldn't touch me. I knew they couldn't hurt me. It usually goes that way, I mean, but he gave me something.

She looked at him.

He gave me a book, my book, an old book, a copybook from my school days.

Which school days?

My mortal school days. My real school days. My human school days. Old leather... Old parchment. Nine hundred and forty years old it is. I was shocked. Did anything like that ever happen to you?

No. 

And you never went down the cellar? 

No. There was a key. I had a key. I guess Sydney has it now. The landlord showed me the cellar, for like about a minute. Told me not to store books there. Too much trouble getting cartons up and down the steps. So I kept everything in the little storeroom by the back door. What'd I get, maybe three boxes a week, if I was lucky? It was a big empty space. That's all I remember. The key was for emergencies. Like if the fire department had to go down. I put a big chair in front of the door. I didn't like it.... What, there're bones down there?

Just a hand. An anatomy specimen. Think the tag said 'University of Pennsylvania.'

What did you do with it?

It's still there.

And the book?

It's upstairs. (he thinks and continues) I know what Scottosh Beedosh means.

Did the ghosts tell you?

No... An angel did.

Oh God! no more of this religious stuff. Do you know the trouble it starts?

What do you mean 'do you know?' Of course I know. But this isn't like that. No big movements. No big demonstrations. I think it's just for me... a reminder to be the right kind of vampire... to be the kind of vampire I always was. I want to be night-folk again and I want you to do it.

Sarah's startled.

You have the power. You have my blood. You have Papa's blood too. You're just as strong as me... or as strong as I was. I want this thing. Please.

All right.... Now?

Jonathon begins to cry... She kisses him

And in night-folk lore, already prone to spiritual hyperbole... the daughter shall be mother to the father...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Recol...: Little David (though everyone called him 'Davey', or 'Prince') squinted up at the two sky-ponies tracin' lazy circles ab...This how it all started...all them hinkie-dinks folks knows as EL RANCHO TEXACO... How The West Was Won... on Mars. You know it's gonna be like this some day... big spreads... big families... big power.



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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Recol...: Little David (though everyone called him 'Davey', or 'Prince') squinted up at the two sky-ponies tracin' lazy circles ab...This how it all started...all them hinkie-dinks folks knows as EL RANCHO TEXACO... How The West Was Won... on Mars. You know it's gonna be like this some day... big spreads... big families... big power.



Just click on right above, where it says These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO and dive in.



Make sure you got your chupicabra gun... Come on... We got a sky pony all ready for you.



If you want, all you gotta do is click NEWER POST  down at the bottom of each episode to go on.



Maybe, do us a favor and click on BRYAN FULLER ... Tell him, if you like it.



Patriots all... of The United Stars of America.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz, then ad ANY word, click on and see what you get. with over 800,000 words up you'll find plenty. explore. it's like a game.



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THE BOOK OF JONATHON.. Old Words Speak... 12/25/14

JONATHON SPEAKS ~~~~~

I sat in the chair, there in that place, that book shop known as Philadelphia After Dark and held my old copybook. How dry the parchment was, though the pages still intact. I saw letters written in a child's hand and simple teachings from Scripture. I saw 'feed the hungry' and 'clothe the naked.' I saw ' love thy neighbor as thyself.' I saw 'And God took back the soul of Moses with a kiss.' That last one comes from Commentaries. Young ones do not study that. But I did. For I was precocious even then. 

The deaf woman said - Turn to the last page... I complied and that's when I saw the words. That's when I saw what the angel wrote. Such a 'hand.' No missed stroke. Angels are emissaries of the Holy Presence, so in a very real sense they were written by the Hand of God.... I think we've mentioned then before, usually obliquely. I'd say this one saw the words, or that one saw them. But this time is different. I confront it head on. I saw the words. I saw the angel write them. They say - Scottosh beedosh. Beedosh boposht. Boposht skeedosht... Like a child's rhyme they sound... Like a game. But that night , there in that unusual shop, I had an epiphany. Everything flickered. For an instant I saw that angel. He looked into my eyes and I knew. The words, though written in both Hebrew script and Arabic script (we learned both) were in a far older language than either of them. The words were in Malakh. They were in 'Angel.'  And I know what they mean. Here, let me tell you---
They say --- Know what you see... See the truth... The truth ye shall proclaim.

Then all was still. The deaf woman smiled. Her blind husband clasped his hands and smiled too..... Did he see it? - he said..... Yes. Yes he did - she whispered... But for a blind, old fellow like him, a whisper is enough... He clucked his tongue and went - Good, good, good.

I closed the book, held it on my lap and that was it. They went about their business, straightening volumes and shuffling papers, winding clocks,dusting here and there. It was as if they'd completely forgotten about me. I said - May I take this book with me? It is mine, you know...... But they never answered. I sat there in that cozy, chintz chair, listening to the ticks and tocks. It was still dark outside. The curtains were cracked open. I could see a bit of the night. The street was empty and quiet. I turned back, looked toward the deaf woman, but she was gone. Her papers, her ledger was gone too, as if she was never there. The blind husband? Him too. I knew, because I walked through the narrow aisles. I knocked at the cellar door.... Nothing. And let me tell you, in my mortal state, that scared me. I tried the door. It wasn't locked. I slowly pushed it open. The mournful creaking noise was unbearable. Over and over I whispered - God help me. God help me... But I went down. And there were no windows in those old cellars. However there was, at the bottom of the steps, an old pull chain and a rather antique, clear glass light bulb. Thirteen steps... You'll find that most traditional houses in old quarters of Center City have thirteen steps between floors. That's just the way it is. I stopped on each one, convinced a spectral hand would reach from the darkness into the shaft of weak illumination from the floor above and pull me down into terrors best left unsaid, or even worse, some other unseen force would close and lock the door from above....

Neither happened.

I found the chain, pulled it and washed the chamber in twenty five watts. That's when I saw the place was empty... No books... None at all. Just an old, cracked linoleum floor, rough, painted concrete walls (brown-red)... There were rusty, metal, shelves, once grey, against the far wall, maybe thirty five or forty feet away. Something small and brown rested three levels up from the floor at eye level. I approached. So like a huge spider it was. But it was no spider, rather a skeletal hand, neatly severed at the wrist with an old, oak tag (heavy yellow card stock) label tied to one of the bones with a short length of rough, stiff string. I carefully turned it over. In pencil, someone had written - Anatomy specimen... gravedigger's hand... University of Pennsylvania Medical School 1908. It seemed to be pointing at me.

I stepped back, wishing I was already vampire again so I could sublimate out from that place and escape. But that was yet to be...

I turned and made my way back to the stairs. Let me tell you, when I pulled that chain I raced up those steps.

My book was still there, right where I'd left it. I picked it up, zipped it into my jacket and left. The door clicked and locked behind me. Fortunately the sky was streaked with the first drab clouds of dawn. I walked down the street. After a bit I pivoted 'round to look at the place. The small, red light above the door had been switched off.

Who could have possibly done that?

Then I went home, desperate to be night-folk once again...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Jonathon Sees An Old Book And Remembers Certain Things... 12/23/14

These recollections appear in larger script so that none shall be troubled by deficiencies of vision , or any other distraction.  I do this in reverence of the material presented. I am Jonathon. The memories are mine and they are important to me.

I entered the bookshop. I went into Philadelphia After Dark... The couple expected me. Some things are meant to be. The woman invited me to sit down and wait, while her husband, the blind one, retrieved the book. She was a practiced lip reader and also somewhat telepathic, so we had no problem. 

I said - How will your husband find the book?... She busied herself with clerical duties behind the old oak counter and said - He tastes the bindings with his fingertips. We mark each new arrival with a unique solution and dab it onto the spine. Certain 'tastes' indicate novels, or treatises, or spell books, or essays. Additional nuances provide detail... an alphabet of flavors..... Like the ancient Incas and their quipus... an alphabet of knots and colored yarn? - I asked....... She nodded and said - Everything is everywhere...

Then she went back to her ledger book. I looked around. What a snug, little refuge this is... the worn hardwoods... narrow, maze-like aisles... the old, bookcase-like shelves. Such a magical place to spend a cold winter night.  And (not counting the proprietors) I had it all to myself. No one else would enter. There was a small light above the door. When it's green... cognoscenti know they can press the buzzer and wait to be let in. When it's red, they know otherwise. Few violate that rule. That's just how it is. After more than three hundred years people understand. They used candles in the early days. Slip a small, green-glass hurricane lamp over the flame for yes and a red one for no. I remember those times.

After a time (apparently the book in question was downstairs) I settled into the soft, club chair and began to inventory the small, stuffed beasts arranged on random shelves hung on the wall behind the counter. They shared the space with antique wall clocks... Snarling weasels and wombats (even a poised to attack red-legged tarantula) glaring down imperiously from amidst their tick-tock neighbors. Always liked that wall... invitingly cozy in an Addams Family kind of way.

Then he was there, right before me (the husband) holding the book. He said - Go ahead. Take it..... A moment later, it was in my hands and I began to taste things too. I felt the thin, carefully oiled wooden binding....the thick, dry, sheepskin pages within... Not vellum. No fine calf skin this, but the thick hide of a sheep... an inexpensive thing made for children... made for school... a copy book... and it was mine. 

How the memories flooded back. I was five years old, bathed and dressed for my first day of school. So dignified in my new brown gabardine cassock. My mother kissed me and kissed me and kissed me. She made sure I had a red string tied 'round my wrist. I can tell you that. And my long, dark, wavy hair was carefully parted and brushed. Then a servant, not Johannon; he was still too young, picked me up, followed my father and we were off, parading through the sunny streets of Cordoba. People smiled and clapped as we passed, both Children of Israel and Children of Ishmael, for the customs of both were quite similar. And then we were there...

The school looked ordinary from the street, a clean, neat stucco building approximately forty cubits (18 inches) on each side. My father stopped. The servants stopped too. A young boy (though not so young as I) stepped forward and knocked. Yes, it was Johannon. He was already with us by then and proud to help in this way. I viewed him as a special friend, much like an older brother.

A thin, old man let us in... not ordained, but the sexton of this place, for learning is a holy act.... We followed him into the courtyard. Another man, ordained (indicated by his white prayer cap) met us, introducing himself as 'Rabbi de Luria.' I walked forward, helped by eager hands. My father said - And this is my son, Jonathan (Yo-nah-TON). I nodded. The rabbi patted my shoulder. Another functionary showed us seats 'round a wooden table in a shaded arcade. The rabbi smiled. He gestured for me to step forward. My father smiled too. The rabbi said - Come boy. Sit on my knee. I hesitated. My father mouthed - Go on... So I did. Then the cleric picked up a small, rectangular slate with the Hebrew Aleph-Beit on it. He asked me if I knew my letters. I whispered - Yes.... He gave me the slate and said - Splendid. Show us..... So I tentatively picked my way through the twenty two letters ( vowels are represented by shorthand-like dots and strokes) much to the delight of my doting father. Everyone was glad.... The rabbi took the slate and poured a tiny drop of honey from a special, small vessel used just for that purpose, on a clear, clean spot near the top, right hand corner. Then he held it before me and said - Taste it..... I did. What small boy doesn't love honey? You know, in those days, sugar was largely an unknown commodity.... After that, the rabbi said - May learning ever be sweet.... I think my father cried a little.... We had lunch. Mine was special... roasted eggs with Biblical passages, carefully inscribed round the smooth, creamy shells. The adults talked. I listened to a conversation that effortlessly flowed from Hebrew to Spanish to Aramaic and Arabic. The later was our everyday tongue and much of my education would be in that language too.... Then we walked home. Nobody carried me this time..

We stopped by the banks of the greatest river in all Iberia, the Wadi-Al-Kabir, know to Trinitarians as the Quadalquivir, basically only the accent differs. I held my father's hand, watching somewhat scaled down,
lateen (Latin styled) sail craft carrying goods up and down the broad water way....

And my father said - Behold the current. See the flow. It has neither end, nor beginning, may such be your success and knowledge. 

At that point all I wanted to do was go home and eat a plum, but I nodded and said - Uh huh.

Just before entering our street, we turned into a commercial thoroughfare, stopping at a shop specializing  in clerical supplies (in those days the term meant office supplies, for religious clerics were the most learned men in society). My father purchased three pots of ink and a matching number of fine, camel hair brushes.... He bought four, wood framed, slates, some chalk and five pristine copybooks. One of which I hold right now.

Most leaves are filled with boyish attempts at smooth calligraphy with maybe a few pedagogical corrections.

But the last page was written by an angel. I know, for I saw him one night, a being made of moonlight, as he did it. Though the visitation frightened me and I never told a soul.

And now I hold the selfsame book in my hand. After roughly nine hundred and forty three years we are reunited.

Some things are meant to be...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Jonathon InThe Bookshop Known As Philadelphia After Dark .. 12/22/14

Sarah does not like it when I go out alone. Mortals are easy to kill and I am still handicapped in that way. But she called for allies to protect me. And so Albion, an elferino, attends me from the shadows. He thinks I don't know. But I do know. Even mortals have certain talents. Edith says mine is telepathy. Witchy women from The Jersey Pines know such things and I trust her implicitly. 

I am Jonathon. These words are mine, though the one you know as 'Billy' types them. He's done do, on and off, since I first went public almost four and a half years ago.  We've taught him the rudiments of thought transfer. Well, mostly Edith has taught him. But the important thing is that he knows. 

Sunday night, or more properly the wee hours of the morning, are quiet. Streets stand as stage sets, populated by ghost-like clouds of steam rising, here and there from small, street level vents. I quietly pass shuttered stores, restaurants, theaters and counting houses. Excuse me. I mean 'banks.' Here and there a bodega shines out into the night. Cabs go by. I head for a special place, on a small street. We have been there before. It is the strange and cozy establishment known as Philadelphia After Dark. Sarah owned it during her mortal years. And we have led you to believe she was the first. We have lied. Others were there before her. The shop has a long, abiding past, going back to the time of William and Mary, almost three hundred and twenty five years. Indeed, it holds the oldest continuous mercantile license in Philadelphia. Far older than Franklin's Print Shop. Though the Old Doctor hates to admit it. I'll tell of the proprietors sometime.

At this time it belongs to a couple. One blind, the other deaf. Some night-folk call them 'Light and Music.' But neither seems hampered to me. 

They have a book... an old volume. They say I wrote it many centuries ago, during a sojourn in some remote European principality. But I have no memory of it. 

See how Albion tries to hide. He flits from darkness to darkness. How he works to preserve my vanity... to preserve my independence. I have always loved the elferinos and elferinas. How 'the magic' favors them.

There is the shop. A small warm lamp shines in the mullioned window. A singular place, like something from Dickens. PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK... We open with the dusk and close with the dawn. The sign, though carefully retouched, has been there for generations. 

Albion flies away. They buzz me in. I go inside. The deaf one nods to me. I nod back. The blind one shuffles off to get the book.

I settle into an old, chintz chair, one of several 'reading nooks,' each married to it's own tiny side table and small boudoir lamp.

Perhaps I'll learn something?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Bing Crosby- Count Your Blessings Instead Of Sheep...Jonathon Worries About His Future ... 12/18/14

Jonathon sits in the little room we call the 'chapel.' He chooses a record from his collection... an old 33 and a 1/3 rpm. I suppose all this vintage vinyl is worth something, but he'd never sell. Each disc is stored flat in the jacket and every jacket is separated from its neighbor by a thin styro-foam square. He's very careful about that. Some he's had for decades. Others come from small, independent record shops. There're still a few. He browses them in the evening before closing, mostly in the winter. It's too light other times of the year. Vampires know how to work the clock. Some make a point of being out and about around their way from approximately five to six in the morning... maybe six fifteen, or six twenty. The sky is still dark then, at least during winter. They're seen in local markets. They buy coffee in coffee bars. People nod... say hello. And the thing is, it registers as 'daytime,' because everybody's doing pre-work morning chores. When those same vampires run into people after work, in the evening, it's assumed they've been out and about all day. Mortals are stupid... supremely self-limiting and stupid. 



Our Philadelphia contingent isn't faced with that. They don't have to fit in, since their little street is fairly cloistered. Plus, Edith runs interference. The 'familiars' do a lot too. But before he goes back... before he re-assumes 'the burden' and becomes vampire again, he makes a point of being seen out in the daylight. He has hot tea and a couple donuts that he mostly plays with and crumbles. You can cover a lot with a napkin. He buys magazines and store brand aspirin in a nearby sundry store and two packs of tightie-whities from the store that sells tightie-whities. Sometimes he sits in one of the squares or little pocket parks they have around town and talks to people. Girls like him. His new body looks a bit more mature... twenty eight or there about instead of eighteen... Just right for a prosperous young man about town. They ask where he lives and what he does. He makes up stories. They believe him. Jonathon is very intelligent. But there are times he has to run away and laugh like a maniac on a shadowy side street or behind a bush, or a car. How's he supposed to talk to some lawyer girl ... nice girl and all that... who knows only her job and is exactly like every other semi-well off 'twenty something?' That's when he's glad to be a vampire, or at least going back to being a vampire. Mole people, down in never used subway tunnels are different. They see things with mole-folk eyes and he sees things with night-folk eyes. Sometimes you got to have special eyes. Viewpoint and experience is everything. How are you supposed to have a conversation with bastards who only want to talk about  'did you see the game?' or 'Ewww she got sooo fat.'.... Lone vampires in out of the way places and remote areas have been known to sublimate into mental hospitals just to find somebody to talk to.



So now he's up in that little room listening to his music and thinking about what he likes about mortal life... the mindless freedom... the sunlight... the french fires ( the good HOT french fries) ... afternoon trips to the movies... And he hasn't been mortal long. Guess he's a fast worker... Likes seeing nice, little kids in daylight too. Nighttime doesn't do them justice.



You see, it goes both ways. Being crazy is OK. You just got to do it right. When it comes to that, night-folk get a pass. Maybe it's the prions in all that blood they drink? Maybe it's the magic?... Maybe it's just being unique, or at least sorta kinda on the whatever passes for 'unique' spectrum. They tell you reasons for everything else, but nobody ever tells you that... about being the good kind of crazy, I mean...



Jonathon puts on a record, some Christmas album. Bought it for one song... Counting Your Blessings.... Bing Crosby sings it. What the hell kind of name is 'Bing?'.... 



See, that's not crazy. That's just weird. Guess he's making up his mind what kind of vampire he wants to be.... this time, I mean.



This is Zebulon talking. I'm one of the disembodied spirit narrators. You know me. I'm crazy too.



Getting stoned to death two thousand years ago for consorting with witches, when you're just thirteen years old does that.



Now lemme go... I want to glide through dark department stores.



<more next time>



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Bing Crosby- Count Your Blessings Instead Of Sheep...Jonathon Worries About His Future ... 12/18/14

Jonathon sits in the little room we call the 'chapel.' He chooses a record from his collection... an old 33 and a 1/3 rpm. I suppose all this vintage vinyl is worth something, but he'd never sell. Each disc is stored flat in the jacket and every jacket is separated from its neighbor by a thin styro-foam square. He's very careful about that. Some he's had for decades. Others come from small, independent record shops. There're still a few. He browses them in the evening before closing, mostly in the winter. It's too light other times of the year. Vampires know how to work the clock. Some make a point of being out and about around their way from approximately five to six in the morning... maybe six fifteen, or six twenty. The sky is still dark then, at least during winter. They're seen in local markets. They buy coffee in coffee bars. People nod... say hello. And the thing is, it registers as 'daytime,' because everybody's doing pre-work morning chores. When those same vampires run into people after work, in the evening, it's assumed they've been out and about all day. Mortals are stupid... supremely self-limiting and stupid. 



Our Philadelphia contingent isn't faced with that. They don't have to fit in, since their little street is fairly cloistered. Plus, Edith runs interference. The 'familiars' do a lot too. But before he goes back... before he re-assumes 'the burden' and becomes vampire again, he makes a point of being seen out in the daylight. He has hot tea and a couple donuts that he mostly plays with and crumbles. You can cover a lot with a napkin. He buys magazines and store brand aspirin in a nearby sundry store and two packs of tightie-whities from the store that sells tightie-whities. Sometimes he sits in one of the squares or little pocket parks they have around town and talks to people. Girls like him. His new body looks a bit more mature... twenty eight or there about instead of eighteen... Just right for a prosperous young man about town. They ask where he lives and what he does. He makes up stories. They believe him. Jonathon is very intelligent. But there are times he has to run away and laugh like a maniac on a shadowy side street or behind a bush, or a car. How's he supposed to talk to some lawyer girl ... nice girl and all that... who knows only her job and is exactly like every other semi-well off 'twenty something?' That's when he's glad to be a vampire, or at least going back to being a vampire. Mole people, down in never used subway tunnels are different. They see things with mole-folk eyes and he sees things with night-folk eyes. Sometimes you got to have special eyes. Viewpoint and experience is everything. How are you supposed to have a conversation with bastards who only want to talk about  'did you see the game?' or 'Ewww she got sooo fat.'.... Lone vampires in out of the way places and remote areas have been known to sublimate into mental hospitals just to find somebody to talk to.



So now he's up in that little room listening to his music and thinking about what he likes about mortal life... the mindless freedom... the sunlight... the french fires ( the good HOT french fries) ... afternoon trips to the movies... And he hasn't been mortal long. Guess he's a fast worker... Likes seeing nice, little kids in daylight too. Nighttime doesn't do them justice.



You see, it goes both ways. Being crazy is OK. You just got to do it right. When it comes to that, night-folk get a pass. Maybe it's the prions in all that blood they drink? Maybe it's the magic?... Maybe it's just being unique, or at least sorta kinda on the whatever passes for 'unique' spectrum. They tell you reasons for everything else, but nobody ever tells you that... about being the good kind of crazy, I mean...



Jonathon puts on a record, some Christmas album. Bought it for one song... Counting Your Blessings.... Bing Crosby sings it. What the hell kind of name is 'Bing?'.... 



See, that's not crazy. That's just weird. Guess he's making up his mind what kind of vampire he wants to be.... this time, I mean.



This is Zebulon talking. I'm one of the disembodied spirit narrators. You know me. I'm crazy too.



Getting stoned to death two thousand years ago for consorting with witches, when you're just thirteen years old does that.



Now lemme go... I want to glide through dark department stores.



<more next time>



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JONATHON and HIS VAMPIRE CONSORT TALK ... 12/17/14

They sit in the small, garden-like backyard. The high brick walls make it private. Vampires like watching the night sky. Sarah sits like a cat staring up at a tiny bright speck moving across the blackness. She thinks it's a satellite, but it's much more remote than that. And in six hundred and five hours will explode into the surface of Mars with the force of a mile wide sun....

Do scientists know? Of course they do. But for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Vast swathes of subsurface permafrost will instantly vaporize and the Martian atmosphere will once again know rain. NASA's been watching for years, even nudged the small comet into a more precipitous trajectory. Rovers dropped seeds in areas likely to get the most rain. A second Genesis for the Forth World.. 

But Sarah didn't know that. Doctor Franklin did, though he doesn't share everything. that's another story though. 

They sit on two Adirondack chairs, all wrapped up in sweatshirts, hoodies, gloves and scarves. She's vampire. Cold can't harm her, but it's still uncomfortable. Jonathon's mortal. He needs all that GAP stuff. Actually finds it quite cozy. Bundling up against winter chill is a mortal pleasure. Vampires enjoy it too, but it's not the same thing. 

Jonathon says - I'd like a little color this time. 
Sarah - What are you talking about?
Jonathon - After, when I'm vampire again. I hate that alabaster look. I hate it.
Sarah - Get a tan. Go to one of those places. You know.
Jonathon - Yes.. and how little you know. Don't you pay attention?
Sarah - Don't bother me. I'm star gazing. And what don't I know?
Jonathon - My skin. I'm going to shed. I'm going to peel. I'm going to lose it when it happens. Even if I could tan, which I can't, that's where the melanin  would be...

Then he just sat there.

Sarah - So we're pale.
Jonathon - (jumps in) It reminds me of death. It reminds me of graves. It reminds me of corpses. I don't like it. 
Sarah - Jonathon?
Jonathon - What?
Sarah - Are you sure you want to be a vampire again?
Jonathon - I don't know...

More silence.

Jonathon - No, I do know. I do. I do. I want to be a vampire.. God, I hate that word. (sigh)... You know, back when this first happened to me... back during the middle ages... people used to call us 'the demi-angelic host.' Not the others. Not the 'noxious' like-eaters, but 'noble' ones... ones like me. ... They ruined it!
Sarah - Who ruined it?
Jonathon - The writers... the novelists... the scripts... the bastards. Look what they did to us. Are you like True Blood? Am I like True Blood?
Sarah - You liked that show?

He just looks at her, then turns away to study his sneakers.

Sarah - Last night was good. You liked that. You like the helping people part. You like the cool, sharp clothes and all. You want to go out on the street and give out gold coins? We have some real ones in the vault. We can do that. I'll go with you. It's 'First Night'... Hanukah.... Come on.....

No response...

Sarah - You want to play Scrooge?... Christmas spirits?... Sublimate through walls? Scare people? Make them change their ways?
Jonathon - Last guy had a fit. Crapped all over the bed. Stunk like high hell in there. I don't want to do that.
Sarah - You want to go to the zoo? Sublimate in with the polar bears? Spend the night with them? You like that.

He thinks about it.

Sarah - No, we can't. You're mortal. You're human. They'll kill you.

Jonathon - (quietly) I want pancakes.
Sarah - (sighs) Come on. I'll take you. You can't go by yourself. You know how late it is?
Jonathon - I want potato pancakes from that diner that makes them with the crispy edges.....

She nods.... They get up, go inside and lock the back door, as cold, wintry stars look down.

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THE SOON TO BE RECREATED VAMPIRE JONATHON CONTINUES HIS MORTAL EXPLORATIONS .. 12/16/14

I still like exploring the city, but minus life-eater talents and abilities, cannot do it unaided. So they send me out with a driver. One of our 'familiars' (mortal helpers) owns a livery service. Generations ago, that meant horses. Today, it means automobiles, mostly limousines or luxury models. Think I'm in a big, long Cadillac with a mirror-like ebony finish and thick, soft, saddle, colored upholstery. The drivers name is Frank. He usually takes gamblers to Atlantic City, but tonight he has me. He knows the situation, so we're fine. 

We stopped at the bank. They know me there. We give them little vials of our blood. So nobody ever has a sick day and even Miss Brody, who's sixty seven looks perhaps fifty four. Everybody wants something. Everybody gets something. I withdrew seventy five thousand dollars, fifteen 'flats' of five thousand each. All the bills were hundreds, neatly wrapped in clean, white, paper bands. I offered Frank one, but he said his boss takes care of him. We did stop at a high end optical salon, where he ordered two pair of glasses. You know the frames. Ashton Kutcher has them. George Clooney too, I think. Tony Curtis wore them in Some Like It Hot. Four hundred and fifty five dollars a pair, not counting the lenses. The examination didn't take long. Then we went the shoe store where I get my black, leather bootkins. I love that place. Bespoke (made to order) footwear is so special. My new body, though overwhelmingly the same as my old one, is slightly different. Now my left foot is twelve and my right one is eleven and three quarters. Left one's slightly wider as well. First time that shop has ever updated my 'lasts.' Old Mr. Baldwin greeted me when I entered. That's how close this body is. Looks a bit older, late twenties instead of eighteen. Though the difference is really very subtle and when I transform, the vampire blood will polish things up even more. I'm not worried. We are so much more than a physical shell... This from someone slaving with a trainer three hours a day....

Then the real night began. This close to Christmas shops close at ten or eleven. People disappear, leaving manikins all alone to stare out at ghostly thoroughfares. But after a bit other souls come out and that's who we helped. A woman with swollen ankles trudged by pushing a shopping cart laden with two over stuffed trash bags. Her coat was flimsy. Really a rain slicker. Not a coat. No warm socks. Just old, white leather sneakers. The kind meant for summer. You know how thin the soles are. She quietly sang a little song----- I got joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart, down in my heart.... Basically a good, guileless soul. .... I exited the car and walked toward her. She looked up, but didn't react. Street people know how to blend into the shadows. I could tell she was nervous. I didn't want her to be nervous. As we passed, I reached into a small, black, plastic bag I had, took out two flats and tossed them on top of the trash bags in her cart. She looked... Ten thousand dollars, nestled on two filled trash bags. I whispered - Put it away.... She said - Uh hum. ... I kept going and she kept going... Heard her whisper - Thank you...

Gave a skinny, shivering guy sitting on the steps of the old Second Bank of The United States a similar amount. He was shaking so bad. Then I took him into a waffle house and sat him in a booth toward the back. He didn't look too disheveled. Probably expert at washing up in public bathrooms and grabbing charity clothes from shelters. Still looked cold though. Told the manager, who looked like an ex-con himself, to give him all the hot coffee he wanted and eggs and pancakes too. Slipped him a couple hundred. He understood. I said - Let him stay til morning. He won't bother you.... Then I bought a couple newspapers from boxes out front and gave them to the skinny guy, so he'd have something to read... Before I left, I said - Watch your money... The guy nodded like his head was gonna fall off. Gave the waitress a hundred too.... She said - Jesus Christ! what's this for?!..... But I just left. Met Frank at the corner. Drove around for a few hours doing the same thing. Nothing new. Most 'noble' vampires do this. Sarah does it. Baylah does it. We all do. Noble just means moral vampires, as opposed to the 'noxious' more animal type.

Before he took me home I gave Frank a flat too. He didn't want to take it. Told me about his boss and all. I said - Come on. Buy presents for your kids. Boss ain't gone to know... He hesitated, but then accepted it, thanking me for the Hanukah Gelt. Frank's a good guy. Knows about the vampires and all. Knows I'm a Spanish Jew. Thinks we all say , 'Hanukah gelt.' I didn't say anything. He meant well. 

Then I was home. Sarah was already in bed. Edith was too. Left a little light on over the sink, like she always does, plus a couple battery powered candles on the mantle piece. House was quiet.

I cut off a piece of that new Asiago cheese I liked from the refrigerator, went back into the family room, sat down and clicked on the television... Deepak Chopra told me to find my inner self.

Little ghost boy from the cellar came up to keep me company. Sometimes I read to him... He likes that.

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A SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF THE MIRACULOUS AND CAN-CAN DANCERS ... Jonathon Speaks.. 12/15/14

It is, I, Jonathon. I'm still mortal... for a little while. They got me a trainer to pump my up before the eternal transformation. Want to be my best before I 'assume the burden.' Not that I was in bad shape last time. Far from it. But vampires are vain. You know that. And if I 'can,' I 'will.'
The guy's from California. Had a place in Malibu. Jumps around like a dancer. Yells - Yes! Yes! Yes! and No! No! No!. ..Grabs my arms and legs... Twists them into the right positions. Cracks my back. That parts alright. Core's tighter. That I know. Got a six pack, a v-cut, deltoids, pecs, the whole package... Well, that he can't alter. 

We use a little room in the basement. They put black, rubber, lego-looking squares on the floor. White walls. Two big mirrors. Grey ceiling. Florescent lights. Benches. Towels. An institutional press-the-button-ice-water-fountain. No good to vampires. Life-eater forms are static.... like living statues. Three weeks, just after The Trinitarian New Year and I'll be ready. Excuse the medieval terminology, but we had so many new years in old Al Andalus... Got a keep them all straight. 

Edith feeds me special meals. No real calorie restrictions. High protein. Low carb. And this body they got me was in good shape to begin with. Belonged to a model, for God's sake. Wait a minute. What time is it? Got to eat a piece of cheese. <represents a snack break> Asiago ... never had it before. For three weeks I eat like an athlete and then it's thick, hot, red, beefy, salty, blood. Thin broths and certain alcoholic beverages are alright, from time to time. And I will be able to chew and swallow most of a regular meal, provided there's someplace where I can throw it all up. Sometimes vampires get cornered and have to but on a show. And I've been told I'm quite an actor. Once, in eighteen eighty three, I think it was, the actor cast as Mercrutio in an Arch Street Theater production on Romeo and Juliet got himself accidentally  eviscerated by a pack of dogs. Jo-Jo's Dancing Hounds... Not exactly timber-wolves... Standard poodles, I think they were... Warmed up the audience before the show. ... Actor was supposed to pretend he was a regular ticket holder... Climb up on stage and jump rope with them... But he had liverwurst for lunch.... Big heavy soup spoons filled with liverwurst... Smeared it all over thick slabs of rye bread... Onions too, I think... And that Jo-Jo was a real drunk. Never fed the dogs... Ran away from The French Foreign Legion. They had these islands up off the coast of Labrador or New Foundland. Fisherman lived there... Fisherman and legionnaires and narwhals and can-can dancers. It's freezing up there. ... Snuck down one winter. How much poutine  can you eat? Did they have poutine back then? Vampires don't know from that.

Dogs start barking and licking him, the actor, I mean... You know he was belching... kept belching... Fellow up front starts hollering - PEE YEW, you bum ! Everybody starts clapping. Actor does a little dance, 'cause he's a drunk too and likes to be the center of attention. Falls and cracks his head on a little, metal ladder (some of the dogs play firemen... like clown firemen... you know what I'm talking about). Dogs swarm all over him, licking everywhere. People laughing. Jo-Jo wants to pull them off, but they don't want to stop. Start growling. Start biting. Start ripping. People think it's part of the show, 'cause they had ghoulish productions back then.... Edwin Booth... I knew him, you know.... Had to drop the curtain, shoot the dogs and drag the corpse away. Shot Jo-Jo too, just for being such a God damned bastard. Show business was rough back then. Everybody knows that. Audience didn't mind, 'cause they got bags of Carson's Lemon Drops.  Cops didn't like it. Boss slipped  them each six ducats to The Flora Dora Girls . Promised not to shoot people no more, even bastards. Cops said - OK.

That night, after they cleaned up with sand and sawdust and bay rum and all, we went on.....

Excuse me. You know I never ramble, but that dietary regimen seems to have put me into ketosis. Once I'm a vampire it will sort itself out...

Doctor Franklin wants to study the whole procedure. Wants Sarah to do it. Thinks every magical occurrence is just an unobserved chemical or quantum reaction... sometimes both. Wants to hook us up to a lot of sensors.  Stick tubes in us. Collect Higgs-Boson particles. Shave our nether regions. I don't know. A lot of stuff is involved. (momentarily focuses) What's he have to shave our nether regions for??? That make sense to you? 

Think there's some Stella D'Oro almond toast in the kitchen. I'm gonna have some. 

Screw the trainer.

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?...POST REVEL NIGHTS IN LO...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?...POST REVEL NIGHTS IN LO...: In many ways, The Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn is only a name 'borrowed' by various associations aspiring to some form of meta... OK, here's where we start exploring magic.. not the evil kind, but the age-old harnessing of universal forces. Who knows? Maybe it's actually just a subset of Quantum Mechanics? This 'Do You Believe In Magic' post from ten months ago is a good refresher. Please visit. Scroll up and down a bit. All references based on real magical organization. So get your aural hum going. Rev up your own enchanted batteries. 



We're gonna need a lot of 'adepts' when Jonathon re-assumes 'The Burden' and goes vampire again.



Plus planning to try some telepathic experiments of our own. Who knows? You may be discovered. That little 'light' of yours, you better let it shine...



Click on the link to the original post above. As you know, these red letters are only an intro. 



Manipulating the ether can be fun...



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