Friday, January 31, 2014

PREMATURE BURIAL and Tomas Meets With Kevin and Max and Liam .. 1/31/14

Kevin looked through the records. He scanned all the posts on line, plus even got a peek at La Ciencia Vampirismo. Didn't see the actual old, vellum book. Tomas just xeroxed a few pages, 'cause he told them about it and figured he had to bring something. They met at some diner in Old City. That's a Center City neighborhood north of Society Hill, sort of. A few other guys from the university came too and they had a Skype thing with some kids from PENN STATE... PENN and PENN STATE... The Big Ten and the Ivy League..... 'enemies.' But not really. One of the other guys, Liam has a cousin up there and they saw each other not too long ago, during The Holidays. Turns out the cousin, Daniel his name is, minors in vampire studies. Wants to be a vampire, but his mother won't sign the permission slip. Tomas says it's fake. He never heard a no vampire up in 'Happy Valley' (term for the straight from central casting, upstate Pennsylvania, beautiful mountain town campus) So as a consolation he wants to form a Junto Vampirido chapter instead.  Actually, Tomas almost forgot about the meeting, but Edith a note magneted up on the refrigerator. Called him in Atlantic City. Well, not directly in Atlantic City, but one of the towns ten minutes 'downbeach' of Atlantic City,  where Baylah's rich boyfriend has a house. He and Sarah had tickets for a show too.... some magic thing. Odd how beings possessed of a certain measure of real magic can be so into the fake sort. But he didn't want the kids to be disappointed, so he sublimated through the air (like flying) and it was cold. Let me tell you. Not long after he materialized on the street right outside the aforementioned diner. Hair a little messed up. Not a bad look. You know that wavy, long, black hair he's got? Clothes were still OK, though. Pure Tomas de Macabea all the way... The trim, black bootkins.... The black jeans... The white shirt... The fine, black, leather jacket.... More like a finger-tip-length thing. No what he does to stay warm when he sublimates (means going WHOOSH through the very atoms of creation) ? He wears this Gore-tex thing. Like a long sleeved t-shirt it is. Sarah read about it on line. Ordered it from Amazon. One of the 'familiars' was gonna get it for them, but sometimes they like to be self-reliant.

So he and the kids went into the diner. They had a room in the back, not too different than that place in University City. You know, just realized how many neighborhoods in Center City, Philadelphia have words like 'village' or 'city' or 'town' or something like that in the name. OK, Chinatown is a given. Third biggest U.S. Chinatown too, after San Francisco and New York. But then there's Franklin Town, Queen's village. Old City, University City, Museum Town. I don't know... a whole lot of 'em.

Thing is, they tore down a Beau Arts early 20th century apartment building to make way for a condo tower in one a them 'cities' and found an old graveyard under it. That always happens. You know those old fashioned coffins shaped like Halloween decorations? .... Dozens of 'em and fairly well preserved too. Sad thing is one of them had the skeleton of a child inside, an eleven year old little boy. And the bones were found in a rather agitated position. Looked like he was trying to force the lid up with his back. But six feet of damp clay weighs tons. He wern't gone no where. Funny thing is Tomas knew the kid. Went to his funeral and everything. Well, didn't actually go to the service, 'cause that happened during the day. But he did pay a condolence call later that night. Robert, the boy's name was. Children always died from fevers back then. Father was a lawyer, or an 'advocate' as they called them in those days. Trial specialists were called 'barristers.'  Everybody liked Robert. Tomas once gave him a copy of Gulliver's Travels and a real nice, hand cranked, glass, ceramic and brass electrical charge generator thing. Got it from Doctor Franklin. Robert loved it. Liked chocolate from the French Confectioners on Fourth Street too. Tomas used to get it for him all the time. The father, the lawyer. was like an early 'familiar.' Look, Doctor Franklin knew the boy too. And they forgot how bad they were when he passed. Tomas wanted to use his blood. He wanted to cure him. Just a few drops. That's all. But, Margaret, the mother was afraid. She was a good soul, but that's how it was. So the boy died and they buried him. An hour later he woke up and died a second time, alone and terrified and crying in the dark.

That's what they talked about in the diner. They were supposed to talk about good deeds and things they did to help people. But the kids wanted to hear about the premature burial. Tomas said as far as he was concerned they're all premature burials, mortal life span being what it is. Kids wanted to know if he ever saw ghosts. Tomas said - Yes, a lot of times..... To make up for ignoring the good deeds and all, the vampire called some charity on his cell phone and used his debit card number to donate Twenty five hundred dollars. Then they just sat there eating their eggs. Tomas drank plain, unsweetened iced tea. Everybody got real quiet.

If they buried people at night, Tomas might have felt something. He might have gone down to the graveyard. He might have saved him.

When the kids left (the ones on Skype too), he could have sublimated back down the shore, but he didn't.... Tomas silently walked over to the spot where they took down the Beau Arts building and sat on a bench looking at the pit where the little boy died alone in the dark... And he remembered all the other people he'd lost over the years as well...

That's a side to longevity most of us never think about...


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Thursday, January 30, 2014

OH GOD THESE VAMPIRES ARE HIGH MAINTENANCE (did I spell maintenance right?) .. 1/30/14

Doctor Franklin finally stabilized newly blind and deaf vampire oligarch, Grigori Usipov via a carefully balanced regimen of Midol, Coors Lite and Pez. Quasi-newly incarnated vampires apparently react differently to these things. But... whatever works. So they had him set up in a little studio apartment type space behind where they keep the juvenile Jersey Devil. He did regain a modicum of hearing, though he was still blind. Spent his time listening to @NightValeRadio (yeah, you can click on it and would be smart to do  so) podcasts. Thought it was real at first. Russians don't know. 

Tomas (aka Jonathon ben Macabi) went back to the town house, but promised to return as needed. Franklin still wants to try periodic tinctures of vampire blood. And Tomas does like the accommodations over there, but Chinese New Year is starting, and being Sephardic (Rite of Spain, Orthodox Judaism) he's sensitive to all cultural observances. Plus he wants to go down the shore for Baylah's boyfriend's SuperBowl party. They got like a big plush theater room down in the basement level, so it'll be dark enough....

Sarah said - You know how they really celebrate that day? They hold a mass slaughter. Not then, but leading up to it, so they can eat, you know. Six hundred and fifty million chickens are trussed up by their feet on a cold, stainless steel track and simultaneously  beheaded and eviscerated, while still alive, in some cases, 'cause you know chickens survive a while with their heads cut off...... Tomas said - How do you know? I endured the Middle Ages. You didn't. How do you know?..... You Tube - she answered. You Tube. I saw it on You Tube. Can you imagine, bushel baskets full a chicken heads and the beaks still going a mile a minute. The whole pile quivering. You gotta see it...... He said - I saw it with people during The Crusades, so shut up.... Then, after a few heartbeats added - Can you imagine if they had Twitter and Face Book during The Spanish Inquisition, during the Irish Potato Famine? You know that was a controlled genocide too, you know. And Slavery. And The Holocaust?.... Sarah said - They have it today and they still kill people. It's like gladiator shows for the masses. What, we've evolved so much? You should know that. Come on. You know it was still possible to call New York from Warsaw during World War Two? Not easy, but possible. They got through. They spoke to newspaper people, radio people, politicians, everybody. But you know what? Big deal. Who cared? 

That's why Tomas and Sarah liked going into Atlantic City and climbing down under the Boardwalk late at night. That's where the homeless people go. Are they there by the hundreds? No, they're not there by the hundreds. But every so often a few dozen will congregate. In summer it's ok. Hell, college kids do it when they run out a money. But this is winter... Arctic Vortex winter. And they just had about eight inches of snow down the shore. Ice on the Boardwalk. Ice on the sand. Yeah, it's rare and luckily it usually melts fast. But this winter is different and people are dying. So he drips a few drops of blood into the rot-gut. She does the same. Give out a few twenties. Maybe save a few lives. This is something they can do. And even if some a the homeless finger them as vampires, do you think they care? Them homeless see a lot a crap and let me tell you, vampires ain't no big thing.

Then, after, they climb up and go gambling. Not the squatters. They go looking for cheap wine and maybe dollar menu, fast food burgers, which are hard to find down there. But Tomas and Sarah go gambling. Blackjack... They like blackjack. Him they card. He looks eighteen years old. But he's got real good fake I.D,'s . Them 'familiars' do good work. 'Michael Lefkowitz,' that's who he is. And sometimes 'Jeffry Dorfman.' Likes to switch off. Takes a lot to maintain a vampire. They need all those 'familiars' (helpers). When you think about it, they are vulnerable. But they pay off a lot a people too, so that takes care of that.

After gambling they go shopping. Marc Jacobs, I think it is. Either Tomas, or Sarah buys Marc Jacobs. I don't remember if it's men's or women's stuff. I'm sorry. I don't know. Then they call for the car and go back to Baylah's boyfriend's house, four or five miles 'downbeach.' Nice life. And in his hey-day, Grigori Usipov had it even better... a whole lot better.

Now he lays in the dark (well, to him it's dark) listening to weird radio shows. He's got people with him round the clock. Technicians observe every move. Let me tell you, the 'magic' rests real strange on that guy. Now he's got flatulence, but a special kind a flatulence. Every time he toots a little bit a 'smoke' comes out... swirls around for a second or two before assuming the form of a small, nebulous imp, which runs off and apparently dissipates in the corners.

That's it from the #vampirewonderland. This is Billy, signing off.


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Wednesday, January 29, 2014


Tomas woke up. It was about 2:00AM. He threw off the two afghans, trembled a little and reached for the decanter. No ice in the bucket, just cold, metallic water. You'd think they'd have like a little, built-in refrigerator behind one of those paneled doors, or something. Maybe they did, but he didn't feel like looking so he drank room temperature Grey Goose. Then he opened the draperies over one of the not-real windows (just a tiny bit.. he liked the safe, closed in feel) and peeked out through the authentically glazed multi-pane window.... Some girl, an eighteenth century doxie, frantically fights off a late colonial, or possibly early Federalist ripper. He has a knife. She has a hat pin. And back-in-the-day hat pins were very substantial weapons.... like a thin, rigid, sharp tipped knitting needle. Whores used them like swords. But this girl wasn't 'on the game,' so she lost. The blood poured out, thoroughly ruining her cloak. Some kind of rabbit lined velvet, I think it was. She lay on the cobbles like a doll. The ripper snatched a bauble and ran off. Tomas was very absorbed in the scene and failed to notice, or considering his vampire nature, didn't care when a narrow bookcase pivoted out into the room and Doctor Franklin edged in. 

Quite a realistic show. Is it not, my dear boy? - said the old man.... Tomas nodded and whispered - Yes, it is.... Franklin sighed and said - Clean the scene..... The body disappeared. So did the blood. Soon it began to snow. Indeed, the outer surfaces of the panes even grew cold...... Voice activated - explained Franklin....... I'm impressed - answered his night-folk guest, as he waited for the enduring patriot to continue. Franklin sat down opposite, opened a door in a nearby commode table (apparently there was a small refrigerator after all) and took out a chilled can of Seven Up. Then he popped the top and began to drink. After downing a few swigs he said - No sugar. No food value. There's really nothing in it but water and chemicals. You can have some, if you like. But Tomas just shook his head. Franklin understood. This vampire was something of an aesthete and occasional episodes of self-denial suited him.

Why have you disturbed me? - asked Tomas, as he leafed through the copy of A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN..... He's going crazy, you know, if he's not already completely insane. Levitated up through the straps, he did.Well, I guess he has enough life-eater (polite term for vampire) blood in him for that. - said Franklin. Cried, thrashed around. Scratched up the ceiling pretty good. Tried to kill himself. Tried to set himself on fire via a triumph of the will. Spontaneous human combustion. He wanted to make it so...... Tomas thought for a bit, then said - He didn't do it? Did he?..... If you mean is he dead? No, he's not dead. But he did start a fire. More like a hot aura that radiated all around his body, dancing just above the skin - said the old man..... Tomas was amazed. No vampire had ever done that before. Oh, maybe exceptionally old entities like "Papa,' or The Lady Renate, or Madam Shang might accomplish such a thing.  But even then it might be just an illusion. You know some magic, just some, is really a type of mass hypnosis. More than modern, scientific hypnosis. Those effected needn't succumb  simultaneously. But the effects were still transitory.  Franklin thought Usipov's incendiary ability might be similar. But medical staff failed to find any burns. Usipov's skin was clear. Though if he had achieved fire, or something very much like fire, this was a whole new thing. A living mortal... a being not truly vampire, though infused with vampiric blood  had managed to conjure energy via mind power alone. 

For once, the old alchemist was dumbfounded, while the thousand year old life-eater in his eighteen year old body just laughed...

What would mankind do with this new toy?


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Monday, January 27, 2014


It didn't work. Nothing they did helped. Tomas drained almost all the blood out of the new body, the one they got from the Moscow haberdasher's assistant. Then he bit open his wrist (after keeping the apparently life giving elixir percolating in his own body for what seemed like a long enough period of time) and gave drink to the pathetic deaf and blind thing. Maybe some of the 'resonance' got through? Maybe he heard, or felt it, for whatever combination of human presence there was in that body took it in. And they did this over and over and over. Doctor Franklin dozed off a few times. He went into his quarters, watched some TV... played video games. He has all the latest versions, even some real good unreleased stuff. One game has these contact lenses. The player needs contact lenses. They create a world. No, they alter a world. You still see what you'd normally see, only changed a bit. Creatures condense out of the ether, mess with you...scare you... touch and move things around the house.... Some of what they do might even hurt. But via motion sensitive gloves and a few voice commands, you can 'get' them. Franklin loves it. He needs help with the contacts. Various domestics assist with that. I can't tell you their names, because he rotates them out of the residence and into other positions on a monthly basis. Doesn't like them to know him that well. I don't know why. It's a phobia.  But the recently incarnated one time Russian vampire-oligarch, known as Grigori Usipov is still up Shit's Creek. Vampires are such sensual beings, aware in so many ways . Now here he is, locked in a place devoid of light, imagery and sound. And he's not even a vampire anymore. Not yet anyway. Maybe they'll think of something else.

Technicians came and disconnected the trembling, more or less, human thing from all the tubes and crap. Tomas went back to the residence (an extensive area within the complex). Not where Franklin was. Let the old reprobate enjoy his gadgets in peace. The pensive vampire took his leave in the library... a real library, a book lined enclosure, a cozy sanctum, rich in leather and fine varnished wood. Wing chairs... it actually had wing chairs and crystal decanters filled with clear (or nearly clear) distillations just right for a vampire to enjoy. Actually, the space wasn't really that big, just big enough, with cozy corners and glossy, porcelain lamps providing just the right amount of light. They even had hand crocheted afghans, for God's sake. Look, the townhouse very commodious too, but this library is special... so special that Tomas actually cried.  And what did he read? Was it something so out of the ordinary? No. Three books... he took three books off the shelves. A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, because he's a sucker for tear jerkers. The Catcher In The Rye, 'cause you know what a do gooder he is. Tomas identifies with the kid. Thinks he's a Sephardic, Jewish, Spanish, vampire version of Holden Caulfield. And some new edition of a men's dressing and grooming thing because vanity, or maybe just an awareness of his physical presence, is a big thing with him. Then he settled in, poured himself a nice, little 'old fashioned' glass of some high priced vodka and began to read.  Fourteen hundred heartbeats later he fell asleep. Soon after, someone came in, probably one of the domestics, put his feet up on an ottoman, covered him with an afghan (no, two afghans), freshened the ice in case he woke up and wanted more booze, dimmed the lights (which weren't so bright to begin with) and left. While on the other side of the closed draperies an eighteenth century, autumn winter night played out beyond the multi-pane windows on the realer than real, cutting edge video screens. All vampires should shelter underground, especially in quarters like this. Tomas dreamed of mortal days in Al Andaluz and the artificial heat almost felt like the sun.

Usipov spent a different night, strapped in a bed, locked in a damaged shell, buried in darkness. Human... he was human now, after a fashion. Well, he wasn't vampire, but he did have vampire blood in him. Tomas gave him that. He could concentrate. He could focus. You don't know how laser-like night-folk concentration can be. But Usipov does. And he 'prays' and he thinks and he weaves it all together, repeating over and over in Old Slavonic - Gospodi pomiluy. Gospodi pomiluy . (God have mercy). He prayed for the sweet, hot, light of God to find him and set him ablaze. He prayed to spontaneously combust and fade away.

Now most vampires don't believe in that. Spontaneous 'human' combustion is an illusion, a mortal explanation of the 'cold' blue flames that eat up all night-folk victims. Sometimes there are witnesses. Sometimes people see things. They try to explain, so a legend is born.

But Usipov believes in miracles. And in a world with 'magic' and 'resonance,' how could that not be so?


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They took him into one of the laboratories. The 'new' Grigori Usipov, I mean. Strapped him down to a table and infused him with a relatively small amount of vampire blood. Got it fresh from Tomas. He just sat in what looked like a big dentist's chair all hooked up to like a blood donation set-up. Think he was sleeping. Eyes were closed. Had ear buds in. you know how some of the sound always leaks out from ear buds? As least enough for a disembodied, spirit, narrator like me to hear. Just Give Me A Reason by Pink, I think it was. Tomas likes her. Met her once at Baylah's rich, financier, boyfriend's house at the shore. I don't think she knew they were vampires (Tomas and Baylah). Probably thought they were reformed druggies who still thought like druggies. You know how them night-folk act? They look at each other. They make eyes. They laugh. Sometime when they nervous they shake their knees real fast. Or when they moving through a crowd and nobody wanna let 'em go buy, gotta remember real hard they vampires and not people, so they don't start sublimating through living bodies and ripping them all to shreds. That happened once on The Titanic, let me tell you. People did see. People did notice, but them what did went gug-gug-gug down to the bottom of the cold, dark sea, so who cares? 

What was I telling you? Oh yeah, Tomas gettin' his blood pumped into that deaf, blind, temporarily human, vampire-oligarch, Russian guy. Franklin had a theory. Don't want a make him into no vampire. Wants him human. Wants him mortal. But it don't work. They been dripping vampire blood into him for hours. Let Tomas more or less kill some prisoner the cops sent over to fortify him. He on death row anyway, so this like an interestin', little trip. Let him go see all the freaks first. Prisoner-what-about-to-be-killed throw herring to the sea-hag... Say 'hi' to Jersey Devil kid... Look at Sasquatch for a while. Then when he say he gotta go pee, they let him go. Got a clean, little tiled toilet near where they keep the freaks, so it ain't no big thing. 

When he 'bout done, Tomas sublimate through door. Switch out the light. Death row guy go - Shit!... He not know what gone on. Tomas grab his head, twist it 'round. That make blood vessel stick out. Vampire like a good, hot vein. That like steak. And he not got real big teeth. Not like no wolf , or them Draculas they got in them Hammer films. Tomas discrete vampire. Most 'noble' ones we got 'round here like that. Our vampires got fangs... little sharp, keen, lethal fangs. Cut real quick. Like needles they is. Death row guy go - Uh oh... and then he dead.  Two, three heartbeats later he combust into 'cold' blue flame. Cleanin' lady go in to swab up all the grease and ashes. She use that orange oil stuff. Clean up vampire leavin's real good. Don't say so on the bottle, but it do. Them what work with night-folk know that.

But vampire mo-jo not work this time. Grigori Usipov new body still blind... still deaf. When it not sleepin' (they keeps it drugged up), it cry... it fidget... maybe let go with a fart every once in a while.... smack its lips...fists all balled up. Franklin feel bad, 'cause he think it gonna work. Went all the way to Russia to make it so. Remind me to tell what all night-creeps and ghosts Zak Bagans (yeah, you can click on that) see when he pull in a that eerie, isolated hell-hole. But that another story an' he gotta sign off on it. Nobody really know what night-creep is. It not a ghost... Not a ghoul. It a whats-it. Like a stand by foot a bed when folks sleepin' or sit on they chest. Bite toe off every once in a while. Suck eye ball out. You know what I mean.

Tomas wake up, look around an' say - Damn, why you not jus' lemme change him?..... An' they know he right. But nobody want another vampire. America and Canada already got too many night-folk. Can't ride no bus without mushin' up against one. An' some don't even say ''scuse me.'.....

But just before hoagies get delivered (bureau got good commissary, but sometime they like a call out) they let him do it. Blind-deaf spirit a Grigori Usipov know what goin' on. He know what happenin' to him and he laugh and laugh and laugh. When he gotta drink all that blood outta Tomas he do it. He like a veteran. Don't gotta tell that fella.

Now I not know what kind vampire he gone be second go 'round, 'cause magic settle different every time. Remember, it ain't bein' no vampire. It havin' the magic... the 'resonance' like they call it.

This Mister Never you Mind talkin'. But them what been with us a while know that. I the disembodied, spirit narrator. I like a featured player 'round here. Howdy do folks. Nice to see you....... Now, what I gonna tell you 'bout that genetic engineering shit? It gettin' late, so I just do the basics and tie it all up later. But they got treatments. They got genes from turtles and whales. From them what don't know when to die.  Big whales, great blues and all, sperm whales, sea turtles, giant tortoise... You know, they go more'n two hundred years.
Ketched one swimmin' 'round California what got two hundred year old slug wedged in it. Figure some sailor on the H.M.S. Bounty shot it. That what they say. Got therapy. Got treatments. Got everything. Got serum wit' whale shit in it. Not the real shit. I jus' say that. I mean the genes. Got turtle genes too. Genes what don't know when to die. Shoot it into people's asses. Not with guns. Wit' needles. Gun'd be funny though. 'Quit twitchin'. I gotta pop this in a your ass!' Can you imagine if a doctor, or a nurse say that?! I do not think the government would like that. 

Government don't mind 'em sellin' it to rich folks though. Got spas out west, near Aspen and Lake Tahoe. You can get it.... if you can pay. Why you think they got so many ninety eight year old white lady dowagers.? And the wrinkled up mens too? Why you think all kind a hundred year old rich folk eatin' 'early bird specials' down Florida? And them what real rich get somethin' even better. I would tell you, but I feared what they do to spirit folk, 'cause I jus' a kind a energy an' they got ways a controllin' that. 

So lemme stop now... 'cause I already said enough.


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Saturday, January 25, 2014

The Vampire , Tomas, Tells More and Noah Levine Makes Good Fright Vids 1/25/14

Tomas went to Doctor Franklin's complex. He liked The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Sometimes he even lets Doctor Franklin study him. He's been hooked up to the Grand Armonica... hung suspended in the air on a 'web' of carefully balanced sound waves. The 'residence,' the part where Franklin lived was pretty good too. Like a pretentious, old, eighteenth century house... polished floors... fine carpets... handmade furnishings. Even had a harpsichord. not an old one. Three music history majors at Penn built it, but it looked old. Sounded old too. And the windows! The windows were a marvel. Remember, the whole place is underground, so they were really high definition video screens, but the real good ones, like the Japanese have. And the sights seen through each were completely authentic.... horse drawn traffic... boys rolling barrel hoops.... old patriarchs in sedan chairs... costermongers... dashing members of the militia, mounted  on high stepping, chestnut chargers. Weather changed with the season. ..... All C.G.I.. During visits, Tomas would sit in the inglenook for hours, staring out at illusions from long ago... and not just night, but daylight too. A vampire, like Tomas, appreciated that. Life in Franklin's residence felt almost normal. Even had a small, fragrant kitchen garden out the backdoor. The sky must have been a screen too. Clouds looked real. And the sun was just right. 

They sat and played chess. Tomas and the Doctor, I mean. Franklin claimed the pieces were carved from Indian ivory, specially for a Sassanid emperor in far off Persia. Tomas suspected a more recent provenance, but the ivory was still quite good. Thousand year old vampires know these things.  It was all in the weight, in the heft. You could feel that right away. and since he was technically a guest here, he almost always let the old scientist win.

With the last checkmate Doctor Franklin looked up and said - Will you help him?........ Tomas sighed - Yes, I suppose so..... Then he turned and studied the pathetic, newly incarnated vampire-oligarch babbling away in the corner. Franklin had him dressed in one of the Kelly green Philadelphia Eagles sweat suits. After all, he had chests filled with them. Front office contacts sent new ones every year. So let the one time vampire-oligarch drool all over it. Let him mumble to himself. He can't see. He can't hear. The switch over in Russia didn't go right. Can you blame him?

Tomas could have just sent over vials of his blood. But Franklin says he wants 'fresh.' He's got his reasons. He's got his theories.  Too much trauma. And he doesn't know what happened to the Moscow, haberdasher's assistant who vacated the body to make room for the homeless vampire spirit in the first place. Feels guilty, I guess. 

'Papa,' Tomas' twenty eight thousand year old progenitor, has this thing he does. But remember at his age he got a lot a 'resonance' vibrating around him. I don't know if he still need a be no vampire, or if it is just a habit. If you read the part 'bout 'magic' last time, you know. 

But he can whoosh your spirit out a your body real fast..... like a big-flush-modern toilet in a men's room... WHOOSH!... you gone.... Pow! send you right to the sun. Feel like you still in the flesh, but you ain't. You floatin' right over what look like lava for giants... Like lava for BIG giants. Them hundred foot waves beneath you really eight thousand mile waves. But you don't burn, because you body ain't wit' you. An' you wanna close your eyes, but you can't, 'cause eyelids ain't wit' you either. So you look at sights so huge they make you crazy. Even when he whoosh you back, you still gone be crazy. You still gone be screamin' crazy, 'cause you see what nobody should ever see...not close up like that.  An every star you see at night jus' the same. Some much worse. Much bigger. Much hotter. Stars is the main thing. Planets just dust. Planets just little bitty dingle-berries swirlin' 'round some big, old horrible scary thing in the sky. And that's the way it is. 

You know planet can move 'round don't you? Other world drive by real fas' , bump you right out a there. Send you flyin'. Oceans get all shook up. Wash over land like a mountain. But you not got a worry, 'cause when you see wave what push clouds away, you not gonna get drowned. You gone get smashed.. You gone go 'POP,' jus' like bubble in plastic wrap. An' you gone feel it all too. It happens... Nature doan care. Nature doan even know you here...

Some a you gone dream 'bout it. Maybe it not a dream? Maybe you rememberin' somethin'... somethin' you seen once?... Who knows? 

Universe got lot a shit gone on... like a big Rube Goldberg wit' knives and teeth and rocks and fire.

Tomas gone help. He gone help Doctor Franklin right somethin'. 

Look at that mumblin' blind, death thing in the corner. Wonder what he sees?

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Friday, January 24, 2014


There is no narrator tonight and Billy (also known as wilkravitz) is at the cinema attending a showing of 12 Years A Slave. Edith is at Bingo. Some games go after midnight here. Leo and Conrad are off doing Leo and Conrad mischief . Are they killing someone? I don't know. They don't tell me and I don't ask. I suppose I could use my powers to find the truth... but I don't want to.  And the elferinos and elferinas are off with my companion, Dona Sarah (she laughs when I call her that) giving blood gifts to the poor and preserving the innocent. 

I, Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea am home alone. I hear the deep, steady, quiet ticking of the long clock . And the late news is on, but I don't care. It's not news. Nothing ever changes. People don't care. I can only go by what I see... And I've seen things for a long time. 

You know me as a vampire. Indeed, I call myself a vampire. True, I do not like that word. 'Life Eater' is the correct term, if you care. Whatever you call it, it's but one example of what, I suppose you'd call 'the magic.' We reflect that force in various ways. And it fills creation. The witch-folk have it... Lucid Wanderers... Shape Changers.... although I've really never seen a Shape Changer. Other night-folk have. There might have been one or two last year during those nights in London, but I wouldn't swear to it. 

Scientists delve into this thing too. They say (at least now they do) the omniverse is an infinite collection of ever smaller 'points,' each vibrating to its own particular frequency. Atoms are not the smallest thing. Electrons are not the smallest thing. They are just among the smallest things to be named.

Artists have 'the magic.' Well, we all have 'the magic.'  You do too. Artists merely recognize it. They see and feel and taste the texture of it. While most people shut tight their eyes and feign it is not there. What thing do they fear? I do not know.

They want me to go to that place, the scientific labyrinth beneath the Navy Yard.... Doctor Franklin's place. He has that thing... the reembodied vampire spirit called Grigori Usipov. He has it locked into a new body, but a blind and deaf one.... What a perfect prison for an evil vampire.

Will I use my blood to cure him, or to free him, or to, in some way, improve his circumstance?...(sigh)... I think I will.

Don't you ever feel it, that visceral, deep, rich, good 'thrum?' Search not for the source. It flows from every place... from every point, however small set by God's hand, like a tiny mosaic in a Byzantine mural.

Do my words sound strange to you this night? Are the rhythms different? Is the cadence frightening? Know that I think in Vahmperigo.... the 'vampire' Western Mediterranean, Romance dialect, if you will. I am alone now and no one else here understands it, so indulge me. 

I see the screen above the hearth. The news is over. Now it's the talking people in that dark, dark room. Charlie Rose, I think it is. And he has an actor who once played Dracula. Not my favorite illustration of a vampire... but, so many of the rest are just heaving, panting posers. They talk about life and art and perception. Charlie Rose and the actor, I mean. Frank Langella. His name is Frank Langella. 

Do you know I saw Shakespeare in the flesh? Vampire blood preserved him. But for those few drops he'd have died in his youth. The blood was mine and it was a good thing .I played Oberon once too. Not in The Globe. That house, open to the sky, framed daylight plays. But great men, magnates and nobles, sponsored mummery in their halls....  great spaces, bright with torch light.... Well, maybe not bright, but at least not dark. And in such surroundings I was that magic king. I said Shakespeare's words. ... Perhaps one night I'll do so again. (smiles wistfully.... snuggles down into the couch... hugs a big 'throw' pillow... hits the remote and watches Jimmy Fallon .... and we're struck by the fact that he inhabits the body of an eighteen year old.... but knows so many things.)


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Thursday, January 23, 2014


Edith said she knows. Saw a picture at the supermarket in one a those magazines.  Says Jimmy Fallon wears one too. They all do, even the girls. Even the ones with 'normal' hair, 'cause 'normal ain't enough for the camera and under the lights and all. They all got weaves or cute, l'il baby toupees, or plugs. When the first sibling gets famous, the family makes the second one into a plastic surgeon or dermatologist to keep the first one in hair and jawlines. If the second one can't do it, they let him be whatever he wants, like a shoplifter or a flamenco dancer. Edith knows, 'cause she reads all the magazines. Saw pictures of Justin Bieber de-wigged and everything.

Sarah says she don't know. They can't all be baldies. Tomas says she's wrong and after like three years is still so 'mortal.' She bought this board game on line.... the Downton Abbey board game. They play it in the kitchen. Too cold to go out. True, they're not gonna get sick or frostbite, or anything. But it is still uncomfortable. Tomas likes the cold up to a point, but Sarah just got this game and she wants to play it, so they play it. He don't care. Edith makes these hot toddies he likes. Some fluids they can tolerate. The vampires I mean. Sarah likes College Inn chicken bullion. The elferinos and elferinas like them sweet, blue water filled, long plastic things you put in the freezer. you know, the homemade ice pop things? Conrad and Leo, who are never home (vampire life is still so new to them) chew all kinds a chewing gum. But they don't ever swallow it, so it don't count.

Tomas says bald guys are always asking for blood. Just a little bit. Just enough to grow some hair. His 'familiars' tell him. They get the requests and pass it on to him. Could make big money too. Edith says a vampire in Santa Barbara gets one hundred thousand dollars a clip... ten big, red, beefy drops in a vial ... that's it. She heard it on Hoda and Kathie-Lee.

The little ghost of the polio victim from the cellar comes in to watch. He wants a play to, but his psycho-kinetic powers aren't good enough. He can't always move the little thing around the board. Wants to get a job as a 'bingo ghost.' That's the ghost who makes the ping pong ball with the right number come up when they're trying to fix the game. But nobody wants a hire him, 'cause he ain't trust worthy that way. Bingo joint owners believe in ghosts. That's a fact. Go see. Look it up on Wikipedia. Sarah says she'll throw the dice for him and move his thing around if he wants, 'cause that's the only way he can do it. Edith says he's a big, dumb dope. What's he need a job as a 'bingo ghost' for anyway? One night he'll grow into his powers and zoom in and out of Toys R Us anytime he wants, grabin' video games, ninja turtles, everything. 'Cause like the energy resonates out from the source a little bit and takes whatever he holds with him. Tomas says he'll practice with him one night. Vampires got similar abilities. But he never does. 

Doctor Franklin called. Wants Tomas to turn the body of the haberdasher's assistant that Grigori Usipov livin' in now into a vampire. Gotta be Tomas. 'cause he's the oldest one in town, not counting 'Papa,' who you can't trust anyway. Figure he'll be able to 'right' all that blind and deaf crap. He'll do it. But he don't want to do it, 'cause he don't want to get involved. But he'll do it.... one of these nights. 

Actually, Tomas likes going to that compound under The Navy Yard. Likes to get into the deep sea habitat tank with the wrinkled-up, old sea-hag, mermaid women. They like him too. Who knows? It's just one a them things. 

They found a young guy frozen in the snow yesterday. Late twenties, thirty years old. That's all he could be. Might have been homeless. Boy, talk about 'no room at the inn.' Laying there. Just laid down and died, right there on the nine hundred block of Ridge Avenue. 

That's what the elferinos and elferinas are doing tonight... giving blankets and blood kisses to homeless people. The blood all by itself will keep 'em alive. Blankets just make it more comfortable. 

Wouldn't be surprised if when it gets to be two thirty, three o'clock, Tomas don't wind up going out too. Feels bad 'bout what happened to that homeless guy.

I can tell. Look at his face... You can see it...


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Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Fear The Crypt ... is the new big site and you gotta follow it and join it ...1/23/14

I type this in the little bitty letters so you gotta get close and put you nose right up into it.

No able to blog it the vampirici of my regular stuff because they ran out into the icy streets with them

God damned elferinos and elferinas and I gotta stay back here in the red brick townhouse 'cause

..... No,.... I don't wanna tell you because. But lot a you know we just pretend this is the fiction.

And here where you get injected with horrific truth. Watch it the video. Join it the site. Click on JOIN IT THE SITE ... and trade communicative impulses with them at ... too. Click on that too. I just forget to type it. ...Morphing into a creature I am...and it is hard  to shape it the 'brain visions' in the english.

Why did I tell you this?...... If you want to make me (when I am in the 'Billy' mode) very happy, click it on this ~>MAKE HIM IN THE BILLY MODE HAPPY  ... or join me on ~>THE TWITTER ...

Now I gotta do not do this no more tonight...'cause I about a crash through the window and race through the streets

where the hell them God damned elferinos?...

Oh, the BIG MOVIE MAKIN' make you scream and pee guy ELI ROTH make it #TheCrypt too.

Now you know. So do it and join............

(vaults through the glass, leaving a crimson trail of blood drops in the snow...)


Tuesday, January 21, 2014


The essence of the vampire-oligarch, imprisoned in the body of the Moscow haberdasher's assistant thrashed and cried. They tried to comfort him. Doctor Franklin whispered reassurance in his ear. But he couldn't hear it. Then he tried something. The three hundred and seven year old reprobate went back to the console of his pet device and fiddled a bit. Four heartbeats later a faint, almost bagpipe-like thrum emanated from the baroque contraption, bathing the space in a deep, warm, almost subsonic peace. The pin-heads actually dozed. So did the strange, bullet-headed thing. Even the newly blind and deaf, apparently former vampire laying on the cold, marble slab relaxed. 

Doctor Franklin climbed down, went back and gently rested his hand on Usipov's new body. He spoke again and the deaf-blind man seemed to know. He whispered - This is but temporary. This can be fixed. I know you don't hear the words, but you know it. You feel it.

An assistant standing near by said - Excuse me, Doctor, but how do you know?....... I know. After almost two hundred and seventy years, I know. The frequency, the harmonic 'tickles' that part of the brain. The auditory part, I mean. Yours too. All of them. Everyone here. But you CAN hear, so you're unaware of it. He doesn't actually 'hear' it. But his brain felt it. His brain detected it and he knows that. Now if we were back in our own complex, in Philadelphia, I could hook him up to something and transmit rudimentary visual data too. But we're not. - said the Doctor. Yet look at his face. He knows that too....... Doctor Franklin patted the blind man's belly, turned and walked toward the door. Before exiting he turned and said - Get him ready. The cars are back. We're going home. But keep that playing. You, Rockwell... (Rockwell turned around)... Add an 'orphean' element. I want them all to sleep.......... Rockwell nodded, ran up and played around with the controls. Five heartbeats later the surviving, abandoned offspring of sad, Stalinist victims, still infesting the isolated complex, all went beddy-bye, just like the servants and courtiers in Sleeping Beauty's castle. Even the ghosts went dormant. And peace reigned over the desolate, crumbling Soviet era installation.  A bit later, a small cadre of Philadelphians, plus the hopefully temporarily blind and deaf vampire-oligarch, quietly exited an unassuming portal and hurried across the dry, cold, empty steppes to the waiting line of Land Rovers.

No sooner had they left when the ghost hunters from L.A., led by ZAK BAGANS himself (yes, you can click on that) pulled in with their caravan to do their thing.

Strange place, that complex. Another Eastern State Penitentiary.

But now the tale goes back to Philadelphia, with Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, his consort, Sarah and the rest of the folks on 'the night shift.'


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AIN'T THAT AN AX IN THE HEAD?....... 1/21/14

It was cold. The streets were almost empty. Tomas liked it that way. He walked. He relaxed. Kevin was with him. You know, the first kid from that group he formed. El Junto Vampirido, I think he calls it. What was it, New Years Eve, or the night before New Years Eve when they started it. Think Skull and Bones, but for basically good kids. Tomas is the mentor. Patterns it on Doctor Franklin's Junto from seventeen twenty seven. God, you ever think about how many things we owe to him? Franklin, I mean. Even Penn. Even the school where Kevin and his friends go. He started that... And the libraries... And the fire department... And insurance companies... Them little reading glasses old folks buy at CVS.... Victoria's Secret... I think he did that. Didn't he?

Kevin wants pancakes. Edith couldn't make 'em. She's got like a stomach virus. Why do they call it a 'stomach' virus, when it's more of a lower intestine thing?. Lucky they got a lot a magazines back at the townhouse. She likes the home decor ones and @weirdnj too, 'cause they cover the Jersey Pine Barrens (really dense woods), her weird stomping grounds. Imagine, they got a Piney-Witchie-Woman for a housekeeper. Oh, them vampires are something.  I like when I get to narrate. In case you don't know, it's me, Zebulon, the thirteen year old kid what got stoned to death in ancient Jerusalem. Right near where they got Zippy's Falafel  today. We had good falafel back then too. For a shekel you got four real, nice, big, hot falafel balls and this real good pita bread and sauce and all. Not one kind a sauce... three kinds. Pomegranate juice. That was like soda back then. The 'Kitim' (pagan Romans) liked it too. Hard to get a seat at some a the good places because a them. I got one into The Temple once. Told me his mother was a Jew. Yeah, right. Like I believed him. We were like Mormons in those days. Had to be a member of the faith in good standing to witness the rights.. Oh, but they had a big show outside, in what they called 'The Court of the Gentiles'... blessing of the waters and all that. Blew trumpets... the choir sang. You know that big square they got in front of the trinitarian Vatican? Like that. Only The First Priest To Zion (I hate when they call him The High Priest) didn't have no Pope-mobile. Did have The Etruscan Guard though. But that was really just a way for the Romans to keep tabs on him. Funny how I still think about that time so much, even though I was (technically) a heretic. Mixed with Assyrian witches. I don't know if they were actually Assyrians. I don't know if there were any Assyrians left in those days. Could a been Scythians or Parthians. What did I know? I was thirteen for God's sake. But now I'm a disembodied spirit narrator. So let me get on with it. 

Tomas took Kevin to this waffle shop. Waffle shops are good. If I still had genuine, physical teeth, or some other way to chew it all up, I'd go too. Wanna see what them little sugar powdered crepes are like. That's what Kevin got, with like this apple-compote stuff on top of it. Smelled sooo good. 

Tomas says - You know we got our first, real meeting coming up..... He means from El Junto Vampirido Society. They're gonna come together the second to the last night of every month. 'Cept if it falls on a Friday or Saturday, 'cause college kids ain't givin' that up. Tomas wouldn't go on Fridays anyway, 'cause it's The Sabbath. He is what you'd call a real unusual vampire. This group got a lot a issues. Supposed to talk 'bout what good deeds they done. At that 'Junto' meeting, I mean. So far Kevin bought some old bag lady three orders a french fries and a new brassiere. Max, one a the other ones, unstuffed a neighbor's toilet and put six dollars in the mouth of a snorin' bum on Thirty Second Street. Guy almost choked. Max thinks he's funny. I think the other two, Rob and Liam taught little kids to read. They're the good ones. 

Kevin likes when Tomas tells stories. Vampires are the best. They got HUNDREDS a years a stories. Didn't hear all of it. Was smellin' that apple compote. But Tomas goes - You know how in movies and TV shows they guy gettin' shaked down by racketeers never fights back? He never goes berserk. Just sits there and takes it. Lets them slap him and punch him. Writers do that. Makes it easier. More linear. Less complicated. What, nobody EVER thought 'Yo, Tony Soprano, you fat, fat, fatty you, I gonna mess YOU up?  You know, Lot a people crazy. Not just racketeers. I seen a guy in France once, think it was in Chartes,  gettin' strong armed by some shit assed warlord. It's so unbelievable how their great-great (I don't know how many 'greats') grandkids morphed into 'high society' when the first wave was such low-life, pervert thieves. Anyway, the bum with the knife goes - Fork over the silver cache. That, or your bitch-brat's left breast. ...And the girl, held by some man-at-arms, goes- Papa! Papa!.. Papa makes like he just wants a get up, turn around and get the coins out a the bench. But this 'daddy' no push over. One move. One move. Real smooth. Just like that and BAM! One ax in each hand. Crunch! SPLAT! Crack! Like a nut cracker. Like a big nutcracker. And top a that bastid's head flies off, just like a lid. Just like a cookie jar. .... Brain look fake. Just like in a movie. But it can't be fake, 'cause this like the year twelve - o - five and fake brain not invented yet.... Man-at-arms goes - Uh oh... 'Cause baker lookin' at him (that's what he was, a baker). So he drop that gal an' go WHOOSH! right out the door...... I seen it all, 'cause I think I gonna have to step up an' do something. They let me sleep days in this deep 'cold cellar' where they store stuff. I peek up through little hatch. See the whole thing. Help him hide the body and clean up and all. Vampire got lot a energy. Do that in no time... Did have to kill that man-at-arm a little bit, plus two guys he told.  But that was it. Thing was over.

Sometime YOU gotta be the crazy one... 

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Sunday, January 19, 2014


They are still out there. We speak of Tomas and his dear ones in their snug, red brick town house in Philadelphia and even Doctor Franklin and his mad, Russian holiday. But other species of night-folk are still out there too. Some never speak. Nor do they ever walk the streets of men, preferring the cold, abysmal plain. 'Lucid Wanderers' we call them. They see (after a fashion). They feel and they abide. 

Names are lost. Identities forgotten. They exist as legends... seamen's stories... travelers' tales. The princes of the sea know who they are and greet them as they pass. And lest you imagine 'princes of the sea' to be merfolk, let me tell you, they are not. Think 'leviathan' and you will know them. 

Aquanauts in special, spherical craft able to withstand great pressure know who they are. Photographs exist.... even videos. Picture blackness through a small, thick, solid quartz window. Then a light goes on. A harsh, yellow beam cuts the darkness. Tiny scraps of once living organisms dance through the current... Bleached, white, colorless fleshy things, nudibranch, I think they are in your language, undulate through the brightness and disappear. A white crab, carrying the torn off finger of a drowned man, gleefully scuttles away. Welcome to the deepest dungeon of King Triton's realm. I would have said Poseidon, or possibly Neptune, his true royal names, but so few know the classics these days. Disney does that. Everything is simplified, homogenized and bowdlerized. The noble Atuhualpa, Emperor of Tihuantisuyu (All Directions), who ruled from Cuzco (Navel of the Universe), Earth's largest city in its day, who built what became known as 'el camino real' (the royal road), creator of hummingbirds, receiver of the sweat of the sun (gold), great shepherd of the celestial llamas. confidant of deities is whittled down to a petulant youth in a baggy tunic without a name. No, I am wrong. 'Cuzco' they remembered. He's named for the city. 

Oh, how I go on. Am I a vampire? You, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid... what do you think?  Who else speaks so contemporaneously of these things? Yes, I am a vampire. I am a New World vampire who saw the fall of the Olmec, the Toltec, the Zapotec, the Aztec, the Mixtec and all them other 'Tecs.'  Mayans too, but they always had to be different. I saw the rustic, northern, polity of Cahokia, a vast, 'Indian' city near what you call Saint Louis. Did you even know it was there? 

And now I walk among the remnants of creation, a frigid place of endless night. I like it. It suits me. When hungry I rise to the surface (always by moonlight) and snatch souls from ships. The floating ziggurat, the island-like pleasure barges that ply the sea are nothing to me. You've heard tales of people disappearing... young husbands gone missing....baccarat dealers up in smoke?... Well, that smoke is me. Like a spider I climb. They never hear. They rarely know. I care not for reactions. Mortal fear does not entertain me. My ego is secure. 

So gaze out through the thick, quartz window. Squint into the darkness. There I am... off in the distance... a tiny figure walking up a hill.... all color gone, washed out by the salty sea.

All parts of Earth are known to us. Night-folk are everywhere.... We watch you as you sleep. Some, like your Tomas and his allies, interact with humanity while others, such as I, do not.

How I love the pressure... It caresses me.

Oh, look... a krakkon (huge, giant squid). Perhaps she'll let me ride?

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Saturday, January 18, 2014


Two monstrous beings... tall, bullet-headed, naked, beefy things wearing tiny miners' lights on elastic bands 'round their foreheads throw open the door (BAM!) and enter. 

The PRISONER (the haberdasher's assistant), wearing dirty underwear, cowers in a corner. He looks up to behold the faces... smooth, devoid of mouths and noses. Intravenous tubes carry a colorless bubbling fluid from clear, plastic bottles worn on belts 'round the waist up and into tiny round orifices roughly where the mouths would be. Narrow, focused beams from the miners' lights dance about the darkness. 

PRISONER - No! No! No! 

He squirms, kicks and struggles as the Golem-like pair jams an unpeeled orange into his jaws and  drags him to his feet. They bear him out and slam the door.


DOCTOR FRANKLIN watches as the two monsters manhandle the gagged, terrified prisoner into the room. The pin-heads and other miraculously surviving experimental rejects squeal with delight, in the dim, blue, fluorescent gloom.

The ghost-like spirit of the vampire, Russian, oligarch GRIGORI USIPOV stands off to the side. He's agitated and anxious.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN  - (gestures toward the tight, confining cage) Lock him in!

The bullet-headed monsters drag the PRISONER up the ladder-like metal stairs and wedge him into the torturous contraption. He sweats and shakes. The orange jammed into his mouth blocks all but the weakest moans. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Mister Usipov, prepare yourself.

Two assistants swab the inner surface of the body-sized glass tube just used in the first experiment with Lysol handi-wipes (product placement). Then they lay it down and stand aside. Usipov is apprehensive. He looks to DOCTOR FRANKLIN. The DOCTOR smiles and gestures toward the tube. The ghostly Usipov gingerly straddles it and lays down on his stomach. Then he sublimates through the clear, clean surface. The assistants seal it shut and snap it into place at the other end of the Grand Armonica [scroll back two nights for a description of that huge device]. The pin-heads and their playmates clap, cheer and sing Happy Birthday again.

One of the assistants shoots them an angry look. They shrink back, stop and stare wide-eyed.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN and another assistant ready the room sized, harmonic crystalline  apparatus. 

The thick, transparent discs begin to rotate. Atonal chords fill the air..... The DOCTOR fine tunes things... The sounds blend into a coherent pattern.. We hear a rather calliope sounding rendition of  that seventh inning favorite, Hava Nagillah.

The poor Russian PRISONER thrashes about in the tight, confining space. He starts to bleed.... The harmonic tune morphs into the theme from I Dream of Jeannie. But then it gets faster and FASTER and FASTER.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN can't stop it. The prisoner strains against the bands and bars. He's scraped. He's cut. He bleeds some more. 

USIPOV moans and moans. 

Then, suddenly the head of one of those mouthless, noseless, bullet headed monster things goes BOOM! and explodes, just like a gray, lumpy, jello-filled pinata. The pin-heads clap and cheer. One of them scrambles and lunges for the miners' light as it skitters across the floor. Some other members of the strange audience dip their fingers into bits of brain and taste it. 

The few surviving, weakly flickering fluorescent tubes crackle and go dark. But arcs from the large electro-magnets mounted 'round the room momentarily shock the air with a hard, yellow-white light, providing static glimpses of events as they unfold. 


The surviving bullet-headed thing lumbers up to the cage and rips it apart, hoists the PRISONER over his shoulder, climbs down the ladder and lays him out on a marble slabbed platform.

The arcing stops. One lone fluorescent tube hums and weakly flickers back to life.

Assistants wipe the condensation from the glass tube. There's no spirit inside. USIPOV isn't there, so something happened.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN pulls back the lids and examines the eyes..... Nothing.... 

He pounds on the sternum... Nothing...

He gestures toward a weird audience member sitting on the floor sucking brain juice off its finger.


The audience member hurries up. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You know how to breathe?

Audience member nods.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Then breathe, breathe, breathe down his throat. Go ahead. Do it. Come on. Do it.

The audience member does. The DOCTOR stands over and inhales and exhales with him.  At first nothing, but after a bit the PRISONER'S body begins to cough and draw in air. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN examines the eyes again, but they appear dilated and fixed. He shews the 'breather' away, claps his hands before the PRISONER'S face.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Usipov! Usipov! (shakes him) Usipov!

No real reaction. But then the PRISONER gasps, suddenly sits up, tentatively reaches out and grabs the DOCTOR by his sweat shirt.

PRISONER - (in a somewhat different voice) I can't see! I can't hear! I can't see! I can't hear!.... Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

But DOCTOR FRANKLIN doesn't seem that concerned...


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I got these 'doldrums' and can't write so late at night anymore. Probably a winter thing...dark skies.. desiccated (due to heat) interiors... too many chocolate chip cookies in the house. But we had over 110 hits in the last few hours and for me (sigh) that's 'good,' so I figure all the paranormal people can go frolic amongst themselves for a while.

But I still wanna speechify and pontificate (maybe just pre ZZZzzz delirium. That means I got no breaks, so here goes). 

Ever put some really good stuff out there?... You know what I mean. Two hours later after a whole big crab cake dinner it's STILL funny. And nobody notices or remarks at all. But then you see some real plugged-in, connected bastid, who's sold to the masses like Campbell's Soup tweet bout the zit on his back and the world goes crazy... They laugh... They pee... They roll around on the grass... kick their feet in the air like Stepford fans and hit that retweet like it's Morse code..... Not the (what the hell good does THIS do me?) 'favorite' key. I mean the RETWEET key. They ain't hiding nothing. They want all the whole universe to see this sucker.

And you think --- Well, OK, all I have to do is interact (and I mean sincerely) with some well known people and they'll communicate back and that'll do it.. Waa-Laa... semi-fame.... But the sad truth is well known people, for the most part, only see the humanity in other well known people.  Rest of us just big dumb schmucks wit' money in our fists who MIGHT buy a ticket... maybe even like a t-shirt too. 

Oh, there are exceptions and they shine like beacons on a storm-tossed sea. Lights along the way... warm hearths in the night. And I love them like I love all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffets. Can't tell you their names (here) 'cause you'd all jump on 'em and then they'd turn mean like all the others and dump me and I'd get even more neurotic. But if you hang around my  TWITTER thing, you'll find them.

OK, that's it. That's what I want to say...... Oh, but 'fore I collapse, let me spit this little piece out too. What also gets me are all the daytime TV people who never met an impoverished photogenic weepy-eyed soul they didn't want to give a washer-dryer too ( or maybe a van..or maybe a big check <to poor people> or maybe a little Disney... not Mustique, where they go, but Disney good enough for them... they won't know no difference) BUT let one a them cryin' bastids go - Oh, wait, My huzzbin got a scrip' I want you to see... Man, they get gently pushed aside and that smile beam on next one so fast, it'll give you cramps...... They let you have crumbs off the tin, but nobody wanna share the pie... Least most is like that.

OK, I ventilated my spleen a little. Now I can have some iced tea, take my Zantac and go to sleep.

Much thanks to you all. Please comment 'bout your 'pet peas,' or whatever they  call 'em.

'Night... That's it.