Wednesday, April 30, 2014

DER 800 JAHR ALT FLEISCH ESSER (zombie) UTHER aus ULM Comes to Town... 4/30/14

Let me tell you something about our visitor. Zombies rarely survive more than four hundred years. They're not like vampires. There's little real magic involved. Such beings are not paranormal. They're just special. But a few are extra special and Uther aus Ulm is one of those. In case you don't know, his name is pronounced OO-ther and tonight's title means - The 800 Year Old Flesh (actually 'meat' but, you know) Eater, Uther from Ulm. He's legendary among zombies. Not those cheap models who shamble around and fall apart. Uther belongs to a somewhat higher caste (as does Ralphie and Ezekiel and all them). His kind regenerates. Rotted flesh, gristle and extremities quickly fill in and grow back. 

Scientists who've studied the phenomenon believe a certain microscopic nematode acquired along with other dirty- little-soil-cooties (their taxonic term) combine to form a heady cocktail transforming most surviving premature burial victims into, well... 'zombies.' .... And now he's here... Uther, I mean. Actually, he's more than eight hundred years old. That's when the 'zombie' thing started, way back in the year 1214.... before the Magna Carta... before the travels of Marco Polo, who was not the first to visit exotic realms. He just got good press.

Meant to be a squire he was. Promised to a lesser, though rich nobleman down the river, toward Bavaria. Ritter this, or Ritter that. What difference does it make? But he ran away, Uther, I mean, to join the monks. For he craved knowledge more than battle. Though after acquiring enough of that was not adverse to a bit of empire building of his own. They had to pay recompense to the Ritter and give him another son. Uther's family, I mean. The younger boy grew to be an acceptable, if uninspired knight and did manage to carve out holdings near Sant Jean d'Acre toward Galilee during some Crusade or another. Jewelbox of a castle they had. Done up in the latest Levantine manner... mosaics, fountains, central atriums.... Rather like the commodious villas of the House ben Macabi (the vampire Jonathon's people) in Al Andalus. But that's another story. 

The monks taught Uther geography and theology. But he cared more for mercantile practice than devine.  And soon, with the help of a cabochon sapphire or two given him by a young prioress (who was also an heiress) in return for evening dalliances, he invested in a ship bound for England and the fabled fleece (wool) markets of  the place.  Not only did he back the enterprise. He sailed with it too. And on a fine April day in the sixteenth year of the life of Frederick the Second, son of Barbarossa and claimant to what was still just unofficially known as The Holy Roman Empire, set sail from a little known Piedmontese port. 

Thus a stalwart young man, not yet bound by vows... a lay brother with a rapidly filling in sandy tonsure crossed the western Mediterranean on a seventy foot long 'Cog.' Imagine a one mast, primitive cousin to Cristobal Colon's (Christopher Columbus's) lesser ships and you'll see what we mean. Fourteen men embarked. One hand proved to be a maid fleeing an arranged marriage. But that was common. They survived on thick, bland crackers, dried meat, water and wine, plus whatever might be available along the way. There might have been barrels of pickled cabbage too. And a semi-enclosed, crude shelter under the aft deck was all they had.

At this point you must know that 'zombie mongers' were abroad in the world snatching victims for flesh-eating clans eager to grow and expand. Uther aus Ulm would fetch a fine price, indeed.

Thus were Fleisch Esseren 'born.'

And now, many centuries later, perhaps Uther has plans for Opal too?

(more tomorrow)

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Monday, April 28, 2014


(note - stories are serial in form... click back to OLDER POSTS if you like forgot, or never knew what happened)

OK, now here goes ~~~~~~~~

Sophie and Sybil heard the scream. Sophie whispers - That was Opal. I know it..... Sybil just nods. She nods a lot. You know those nice, little, ten year old, fairy-princess, London girls who dropped out of second grade (they been doing this a while) to become disciples of Ellen and talk real fast and jump up and down on her show? ... Well, Sybil'd be the second banana. She'd be the 'Rosie' one. ... So they stand there, still as statues, trying to hear it again. But, under the floor, Ralphie sniffs. He's real good at smelling humans. Ezekiel sniffs too. Zombies possess an extremely well developed sense of smell. They can pick out a stray human at least a half mile off over cold, frozen tundra... chocolate bars too, only they don't eat them. They use them to lure lost, little children. 

Down below, Ralphie gestures. Ezekiel silently kneels beside Opal, slapping his cold, clammy hand across her mouth. He leans close and whispers - You so much as fart and I'll suck your eyes out..... She cooperates. Ralphie quietly unplugs a cheap string of pastel, Easter 'Christmas' lights (their only illumination) pilfered from the dollar store, lest an errant photon escapes.... And they wait... silent as a tomb. After perhaps a few dozen heartbeats, Sybil shifts position, standing right on top of the galvanized, tan painted trap door. It's locked. It's bolted from below. They can't open it. But she absentmindedly rocks back and forth, sending metallic echos down into the lair. Opal tenses. Her nostrils flare. Ezekiel wants to choke the girl with his other hand, however, Ralphie admonishes her with a raised finger. She exhales and relaxes, if that's the right word. ..... Ezekiel whispers - Oooh, warm... in anticipation of the small meal to come.... 

After a time the would-be zombie hunters depart. You'd think they might have detected the charnel house stench wafting up from what was left of Gary. But it's colder down below than it is up above. Provided pressures are equal, air tends to flow hot to cold. Or at least in this universe it does. Ezekiel kisses Opals quivering closed eyelids. He says - No noise...... Then he lets go of her mouth. She gasps . She coughs. Ezekiel slaps his hand back where it was, glares at Ralphie and goes - The Krazy Glue! Give me the Krazy Glue!.. He finds it mixed in with a lot of crap kept in a junk box under a table.  She whimpers as Ezekiel runs a thin bead of the strong mastic between her lips and pinches them shut. Ten heartbeats later, they're sealed. Lucky she's not a mouth breather. But she chirps like a scared, little bird, wide eyed and trembling, as the two flesh eaters remove her clothes and score her body with tiny, sharp bites, creating wounds for the microbial lifeforms to enter. Then they put her in a big, black, plastic lawn bag. Not her head, though. Don't want her to suffocate. Gotta be buried alive. Gotta live through it all. Dig her way out. Oh, it might take a while, no matter how much she panics. And not 'can't find your car clicker' panic. This will be a deep, real, soul shaking visceral terror... beyond words... beyond comprehension. That's why all zombies are crazy. Some vampires might understand... a little bit anyway. But they don't really need the oxygen, while zombies most definitely do.... Still, some, little prion or virus mixed in with those microbes will take care of that, preserving her life and oxygenating her blood til she makes it to the surface.... up to a point, because a certain number never break through. And after a while the life force fades leaving spent bodies hanging in the soil like newly minted fossils. 

Gary, on the other hand, will need a lot more work. His 'leavings' are a bit iffy... Zombie, or fertilizer? Hard to tell.

So the two ghoulish fiends carefully unlocked the galvanized trapdoor, checked for witnesses (Sophie and Sybil were apparently holed up somewhere else), manhandled a limp Opal up through the opening and laid her on the floor. Then they locked up and dragged her (plastic bag helped) to a nearby, half hidden door. Ezekiel had the key. No electronic lock here. This one's off the grid.

Woods come closer to the mall at that point, so they dragged her over the blacktop and disappeared into the trees.  Opal knew what to expect.

She's gonna be buried alive......

(more tomorrow)


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Saturday, April 26, 2014


They had a room... a lair under the faux terrazzo floor accessed via a tan,little painted, (to match the rest of the surface) galvanized metal panel. There was a key. They had that too. Years ago, the janitorial guys kept mops and solvents down there. Had to haul it all up and down this little aluminum ladder, but OSHA nixed that a long time ago. So now the buckets and mops live in what used to be WIG CITY, 'cause that place closed when Eva Gabor died. God knows what they do with dynel these days. Probably make bullet proof vests out of it.

But the zombies have it all set up... Two old flip chairs from CHEAP SEATS.... A twenty year old, thirteen inch Daewoo color TV hooked up to a small, black 'high definition' converter box from RADIO SHACK.... some little refrigerator stocked with Poland Water from the food court. They only pilfer a few at a time, so the manager won't know. The computer scanner thing by the register is supposed to keep track, but he don't have it set up right. Guy's a real schmuck. Ralphie, the second zombie calls him Schmuck-Schmuck-Schmucky-Schmuck. Thinks he looks like Adam Levine or Carson Daly. And maybe he does, if they fell out a helicopter and bounced a few hundred times.

Ezekiel, the first zombie is down there too. So's Opal.They got her all trussed up like an Inca mummy. Tied her up with gimp from THE HOBBY HUT. Black and red. They got a 'thing' for black and red. Ezekiel gets down to whisper in her ear. He goes - Soon you'll be a flesh eater too. Just like him.... Then he gestures toward what's left of Gary the former weird nightwatchman... Mostly just a dripping, oozing, grizzly skeleton now, little bits of skin, hair and fatty stuff.... They got a place deep in the woods, out beyond the parking lot. Used to be an old graveyard back in the day, like during The Mexican American War.  That's where Ezekiel got planted. Eighteen forty six. Thing is, he wasn't all the way dead when it happened. Still had a little bit of life in him, like an old, double 'A' battery rolling around a junk drawer that gets snapped into a little, ear-bud radio for a few more raps or rock anthems. Dressed him up in a black, serge suit, a white shirt, a black neck cloth. Tight too. Like what Johnny Jump Up wore. Some of you might remember him from back before the vampirino known as Tomas died.... Put him in a snug, black, varnished coffin, like an individual, wide-at-the -shoulders cigar case for usually dead folks. Ezekiel, I mean. Nailed it shut. Lowered it in and covered it up. You know how much dirt it takes to fill a grave? Almost a ton... and that's when it's dry. When it's wet it's like cement. Can't move inside one a them 'dead boxes' either. Ain't no turning over in no grave. That's just in stories. That's just a pipe dream. 

But Ezekiel managed to inch his hands up by his chest. Broke a few fingers. Smashed his nose. Ain't much head room, too, you know. Screamed. Defecated. Guess he pissed himself. Had to. It's like a hard wired reflex. Lid cracked. Hands all cut up. Bleeding and all. That's how the microbes get in... the zombie making microbes. Keep folks alive til they get out... if they get out. Bugs can only do so much. Some buried alive folks don't make  it. And they lay there, all contorted, maybe three or four feet below the surface, dead in the heavy, cold dark. Stayin' in the box and breathing heavy would a been better. I guarantee.

Gonna plant whats left of Gary. Not in a coffin. Just in the dirt. As a 'whole,' he's dead. But tiny, little masses of gelatinous cells might still be livin'. That's all it takes. Microbes do their work and he'll live again.  Won't look like much. Not at first. But after a few good, human meat feeds, that'll change. Wet, fatty. bacony strips grow 'cross the bones, like strange mold on strange rocks. They, Ralphie and Ezekiel, I mean, gone let him feed on Opal. Then, when she mostly dear, gonna plant her too.

Zombie like company, even if they gotta make 'em theirself. 


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Thursday, April 24, 2014

Mall-Rats Fall Into Enemy (Zombie) Hands ...... 4/24/14

They didn't hear anything. You'd think Opal would have screamed, or yelled... but nothing. It all happened so fast. They grabbed her. They took her and she was gone. Sophia and Sybil just walked. 'Tip toed' would have been a better word. No words. No noise, just two, little skinny ninth grade girls locked in a dim, shadowy mall. 

Sybil whispered - Where'd they go? Where are they?... Sophie shook her head. She didn't know. Then she bent down and tried to lift the open grating in front of one of the stores, City of Brassieres, I think it was. She couldn't do it. They were all like that. Every store was sealed off and locked via an electronic system that kicked in sixty minutes after closing. Most people, staff and all, were long gone by then. Restocking and vacuuming happened early in the morning from seven thirty to nine thirty. Even in winter it was daylight by then. That made it safer. Think it was an insurance rule and all that.... Sophie barely even whispered. Mostly she just 'mouthed' - We have to find a place to hide.... Sybil didn't say anything. What was she gonna say? That girl's 'beta' all the way. Let Sophie take the lead. Let Sophie save her.  Sophie, God, Jesus, or The Lord... somebody.

By now they had to pee, only restrooms were dead ends. No way out. Couldn't go in there. Can you imagine silently opening the door. Then the motion sensitive light goes on...big light...harsh light... florescent light. If anyone (or any 'thing') was watching, they'd see the flash. How could they miss it? Restroom doors are heavy. Take a long time to close. You really can't push it..... Imagine being in a stall, sitting on a toilet with your pants down. Both can't pee at once. Somebody's got to keep watch. Pisser sits there doing her thing. Maybe she has to poop. You know, it's been a few hours. Lookout whispers 'hurry up.' Pisser goes - OK.... But then the bathroom door opens. Lookout screams. Pisser can't see, but she hears. They grab the lookout, crack her head against one of the shiny, white porcelain sinks. Not a sound you want to hear. Then a thud, as her body hits the floor. Pisser just sits there quiet as a mouse. Lifts her feet. Maybe they won't see? Maybe they won't know? Prays and prays and prays and prays. Hears them drag the lookout away. Sees a stray, little red, rivulet of blood run down a grout line 'tween the tiles and make it's way into her semi-enclosed sanctum. And finally, at the last moment, somebody reaches back inside and manually clicks off the light..... You know how dark a windowless mall restroom is with no light? Graves are brighter. Egyptian slave girls sealed in the tomb with their pharaoh see more. ... Do you sit there? Do you ever so quietly zip up your pants and leave?... What would you do? ... So the two little ninth graders climbed up into one of the big planters, really more like densely landscaped islands, hid among the trees and bushes and drizzled. The lights were low... tiny security bulbs here and there. Who could see? 

But they weren't dealing with a 'who.' Sophie and Sybil were up against a 'what.' 

Besides, that's when they heard the scream...


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Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Malls With Zombies Got Especially Bad Cell Phone Reception... 4/23/14

They tried to call out, but you know how it is. For some reason, malls got lousy reception. They don't want you to communicate with the outside world. They want you to stay and stay and stay and stay. Then, when you spend your last dollar, the mall zombies come and get you.  Most people still don't know this. But some do, 'cause you can hear beleaguered mom's threatening their delirious offspring with - You better shut your mouth, you little son-of-a-bitch, or the mall zombie's gonna get you...... What? You think zombies draw the line at fourth graders, or even babies? Well, they don't. Humans don't. Look at the sobbing, little, bare and vulnerable toddlers they scrapped into caustic gas chambers with rakes in the nineteen forties, or the decapitated tiny corpses from another continent two generations later. Bingo, that's it. Earth folks in a nut shell. Zombies just ain't hypocrites. That's all. But sometimes they like to play, like cats with little mousies, or bow-wows with low flying birds.

The three ninth graders huddled right up against the glass waiting for the security guys to come by. They didn't talk, or make a sound, just trembled and breathed real, real quietly. Every so often one of them would slowly turn around and check the point where the exit passage meets the main thoroughfare. But so far, nothing.... Part of a fountain... A Disney Store and the 'abandoned' cottage-like, rabbit hutch where Peter Rabbit, the Easter Bunny used to live.

In her tiniest voice Sophie whispered - They'll be here soon. They have to.... But the security guards, in their shrink-wrapped S.U.V. never came. And for at least three hundred feet beyond, the parking lot was empty. After that, the woods. Sybil thought she smelled something.... a body?... blood?.... a sweet, thick, mildew, sour smell. But she didn't say a word. And Opal just crouched there. Here feet were numb. Her legs were numb. You think she cared? Come on. She just wanted to live. Who the hell needs feet?

But Sophie saw something. The cottage... The rabbit hutch... It was hard to tell in the gloom, yet wasn't that door closed?... Not the front door. Not the sparkly one near the throne, but the smaller one facing them. The one the kids came out from after they got their Peeps. Mall used to give out chocolate. Peeps are cheaper. But the door... the door was open. And not all the way, only part way. That was worse. 

Then, a sound. A car. The security guards were coming. Opal sighed. She exhaled, frosting the glass door before her. Sybil pressed her forehead hard against the cold, clear surface. Tiny orange lights glistened from the far off woods.... a deer family off on a wee hour jaunt. The world was real. There was an 'outside.' The shrink-wrapped S.U.V. pulled up. It stopped. Somebody set the break. They heard it. And three, little ninth grade hearts unclenched as two moonlighting, or retired cops hauled themselves out of the not quite large enough bucket seats, hitched up their pants and sidled over. 

They banged on the glass. The guards saw. One chuckled, as they stepped up onto the sidewalk and approached the door. Sybil went - Yes! Yes! Yes! ... Sophie  laughed with manic glee. Poor, little Opal with her stiff, numb legs stared wide eyed as the first guard put his hand on the door. It was over.... 

Til the second guard looked up over the heads of the squealing, little mall rats. But Sophie caught that and turned . Fifteen yards down the passageway in the shadows, two figures approached.... tall and spare, in long dark greasy raincoats, with stiff, blood-caked hair straight out of Japanese anime and eyes just as orange as those deer.

The guards simply stood there watching , neither startled, nor surprised. But, then again, they'd seen it all before. Some patterns are well established.

And three little not quite rescued mall-girls, down on the faux marble floor, trembled and sobbed, as pale, gray, long nailed hands reached from filthy, dark raincoat sleeves, pushing two aside before grabbing Opal's ankles and dragging her away. 

Sophie looked through the glass at the guards. They saw it all, checked that the door was locked, got back in the shrink-wrapped S.U.V. and left. 

Time passed. Neither one moved, til she remembered the 'girl scout'   homemade flame throwers and got up to give chase.....

Four heartbeats later Sybil struggled to her feet and scrambled after her. 


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Monday, April 21, 2014


{we're back where we were about three nights ago, in the dark, mall food court, after midnight. the mall-rat girls perch atop a twenty foot metal scaffold, using cell phones for illumination, as they peer into the space between the drop ceiling and the concrete 'true' ceiling above. Something's up there. They snap pictures. Sophie,  who fronts the group, looks down to see a cadaverous being glide out of the shadows and maul Gary (the weird, nightwatchman waiting down below).  The fiend looks up. They lock eyes. No one makes a sound. that's where we are.}

It looked like Johnny Depp from when he was Edward Scissor Hands.... white skin... dark eyes... severe features... wild hair... And oddly, not so sinister. More tragic, like it was bound to do these things. ... She didn't say a word. Hardly moved. Just stayed there, locked in position. 

Gary's sprawled on the white, tiled floor. Blood pooling everywhere. Neck a pulpy mess. Left cheek gone. Left eye gone. Skull shattered. And he must have butt dialed something when he fell, 'cause the girl from Zeppo & Lucretia's wants to know what kind of pizza he wants.... A last meal he'll never get.

The Johnny Depp thing backed 'way to make room for another one. And Sophie looks, as the pair of them silently drag him away, leaving a big, wide, blood smear in their wake.... Sybil, one of the other two up there with her, turns 'round to watch. Opal just whimpers. They stay like that for maybe an hour, either in denial, or shock. Then moon beams stream down through the skylight, gilding the scene in a gray, somber wash. All is silent, except for an occasional rattle from the heating ducts. Sophie exhales and whispers - Opal, you still got the two cans of Aqua-Net?... Opal nods... And the lighters?.... More nods... Sophie goes - Give 'em to me. Not all of them, just one can and one lighter. Come on. Come on. Come on.... She takes them, sprays some out (away from the others) and lights it up. A respectable, homemade flame thrower.... Sybil goes - What are you gonna do? ..... Sophie starts to climb down and whispers - What do you think?... Five heartbeats later, Sybil screws up her courage and follows. Twelve heartbeats after that, Opal quickly scrambles after them. Nobody talks. Just three pair of ninth grade, sneaker clad feet silently making their way through the dark.

Sophie leads them passed the shoe stores. It's like a mezzanine up there. One side's all footwear. Causeway goes to the other side. But that side's all ladies' wear. Full of manikins. More places for night fiends to hide. Sophie figures them two zombies must be holed up somewhere chompin' on what's left of good, old Gary. Ain't no blood smear. Must have gone the other way. So they tiptoe to the stairs and sneak down.... First level's got more benches, plants, trees and fountains too. Locked up, little carts for sunglasses and all that.  Thing is, you gotta get passed them to reach the exit and you know that's locked. Mall's got other exits, but that's the first one. Off duty cops patrol the outside, cruisin' 'round in special, compact S.U.V.s. Maybe they can wait, crouched down by the floor, til cops go by. Bang on the glass when they check the door. Only thing is, Sophie don't know the outside crew ain't got no keys, or key cards, or nothing. Pee in the little Crispy-Creme Doughnut joint out in the parking lot. Got keys for that. Well, even so, maybe there's something they can do? Who knows?

So the girls just keep on going, passed the pretzel stand, passed the sticky bun place, passed the particle board, paint and glitter Rabbit Hutch where the Easter Bunny was. He's gone now. But something else has taken up residence and it ain't no rabbit. They can't see in the darkness, but four red eyes is watchin' from a little window with like a Pee Wee's Playhouse flower box under it and no glass. Zombies in there gnawin' on Gary. Don't know how the management'd feel about that,  'cause they don't even like no Gypsy fortune teller.

Girls position themselves by the glass exit door, down a little passageway between some grill place and a reclining chair store.

Trouble is, them what gnawin' on Gary can see 'em. Oh, yeah, they can see 'em all real good.

Can even smell the blood...


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Saturday, April 19, 2014


Better able to channel 'the zombie message' than I was last night. Here's what went unsaid .~~~> There was a burst of North American Zombiism in the nineteenth century. A rising population played a part. The spread of Spiritualism and gothic literature also contributed. Before that age mass communication was limited. Newspapers, although in existence, were rare and passed 'round like scripture. But the mid eighteen hundreds witnessed burgeoning media on all fronts. Daily publications, many featuring the unbelievable novelty of photography brought everything to everyone and just as now, people like blood. 

Tales of premature burial were everywhere. That sad and horrific, though rare, event usually stayed hidden to avoid mass hysteria. After all, who would know? Something happens. They move a grave, uncover a coffin, only to find a splintered lid. Sometimes the body was gone. Sometimes it wasn't, revealing cadaverous and terrifyingly contorted victims. Eyes gouged out. Foreheads crushed. Dried blood on shredded, satin lids. Dislocated shoulders and cracked vertebrae. Escape was nearly impossible... but not always.

Yellow Journalism loved tales like that. Front page news, complete with photographed 're- enactments' featuring ghoulish models... kohl smudged eyes... sharp, serrated teeth... shriveled lips... claw-like hands  and gray, blue veined skin. 'Tableau Macabre' they were called. John Wilkes Booth made a few. So did Edgar Allen Poe. Mary Todd Lincoln staged midnight tableau in Washington. Not at The White House. The Domestic Staff wouldn't have it, forcing The First Lady and her attendants to decamp to Admiralty House, current Vice Presidential residence, where notorious, shadowy spectacles transformed the vast conservatory into a fiends' paradise.

Thing is, one cold January night with a lesser British royal in attendance, plus an equally aristocratic Ottoman bey, a certain 'actor' tucked into his 'leg-o-corpse' with manic, uncontrollable ardor. Those witnessing the performance gasped and swooned at the authenticity of it. Though when they cleaned up after, the human leg bone proved to be real and not the usual pig meat upholstered ox bone substitute. And two hours later, a certain young woman in the bey's entourage asleep upstairs became Turkish Delight in her own right. Important guests are still shown the stained bedroom carpet today. Some claim to have seen a torn, sobbing apparition crawling 'cross the floor and passing through a wall where a door used to be one hundred and fifty years ago. 

The offending ghoul was never apprehended. Members of The Secret Service did find a lair, deep within a dark, forgotten cellar, littered with old bones and other, shall we say, moister refuse. But the discovery was hushed up, what with The Assassination and all.

'Zombies' are real, crazed survivors of premature burial.... insane and infected in so many ways. They say certain pathogens in the soil cause it.  And as Earth warms, it's growing.

Secret brotherhoods (sisterhoods too) foster the spread, purposely throwing drugged 'sacrifices' into damp, deep graves, sans casket, covering them up, tamping it down and waiting. According to renegade cognoscenti, three hours later you have a heaving, terrified, wide-eyed, panting zombie... that is if they survive.  Sharp thorns are mixed into the soil to pierce the skin and draw the blood.  Subsequent 'sacrifices' often fill the same grave, since it's already peppered with the necessary contagion.

And there you have it. That's how it is. Who knew? The denizens up in the ceiling over the mall food court were made that way... at least most of them were. 

Next time we'll sneak back and, hopefully, show you more. Oh, there's a stench too.... You'll see.


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Friday, April 18, 2014

MOMMY, Where Do Baby Zombies Come From?.... 4./19/14

The nineteenth century was a golden age of Zombie-ism. They had other names for it then, at least in America and Canada. Called them 'ghouls' ... 'graveyard fiends'... ' really hungry, ugly scuzzy people.'... 'turd breaths.'... I'm talking about the less formal parts of the nineteenth century. But substance trumps labels... And when it comes to substance, zombies are full of it. But unlike vampires, they do poop on a more or less regular basis. In Tang Dynasty China, dried zombie spoor was a delicacy... No, wait, not a delicacy... an aphrodisiac. I believe they snorted it. The zombies of Quimoy and Maitzu made quite a bundle in the trade.

Oh, I can't do this. Sorry. Too tired.  Slept like four hours or less the last two nights. Literally micro-sleeping as we speak (snort... you say something?)......<~~~ see those dots? They represent fourteen minutes spent staring at this screen, listening to 'market reports' on some PBS station. Moss Hart was a poor kid from the Bronx who made it big on Broadway and married Kitty Carlisle too... And Saturday night is Brit-com night. Plus decoy carving is being passed on to a new generation.. 

OK, enough of that. Gotta go to sleep a bit earlier, 'cause Saturday Night Live is on tomorrow night and I'm hoping to see myself as host. They don't tell you ahead of time. You gotta tune in. That way it's like a big TV surprise party. 

Lorne Michaels is the Aaron Spelling of American Comedy. Nobody laughs unless he says so. And eleven and a half hours (at least) of weekly programming wafts out of his laboratories.... Not counting the reruns of 30 ROC, which I think are on endless loop...Oooh! and PARKS AND RECREATION, which is STILL in first run. 

><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ><> ~~~~~~ see them fish?... They represent a catatonic interlude spent listening to a dirge-like violin solo on some non-Lorne TV.

I'm gonna drink diet decafe orange iced tea (right from the plastic jug) and go to sleep (yawn... stretch... sigh) 

I love the shore, but I hate saltwater taffy (although the rest of the family reveres it)

Good night. that's it.


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Thursday, April 17, 2014


They had to wait under the beds a long time, because as soon as the mall closes the cleaning women come through. Well, some of the cleaning ladies are men, but everybody says 'cleaning women' because that's like traditional.  It was scary too. They dry mopped and vacuumed right up to the dust skirt. Sybil almost got caught. She's allergic. Lucky the cleaning 'person' had ear-buds in. You know how some people keep the volume so high it's like they're crunching cereal and can't hear anything else? A country station I think it was. Never heard her sneeze. Sophie giggled nervously. Opal farted. Never heard none of it.  They texted each other for forty five minutes when the vacuuming stopped, because whoever it was might still have been dry mopping.

Wonder if the cleaning staff knows about the zombies? Maybe the zombies just leave them alone so they don't get kicked out. Devouring a raw, dead, or almost dead body's gonna make stains and you know management would probably have a fit over that. Sybil had to pee real bad. Couldn't help it. Had to come out. She was real quiet, though, so the others never knew. They had a big, shiny resin pot in the next furniture tableau. You know. Supposed to be ceramic, only lighter and cheaper? Guy was supposed to put a silk tree in it, but he cut his finger real bad on a serrated plastic edge on the toilet paper holder in the stall. Had to sit there dripping blood all over and yelling for Charmin. Couldn't  clean himself. Couldn't stop the blood.  Floor's all white tile, so you know how that looked. New sneakers got all ruined. Then when some guy finally did come he banged the door in and bashed him on top of his head. Had to wheel him out on a gurney. Grabbed a box a Peeps from the candy counter 'cause he wanted them.... But anyway, the resin pot was empty, so Sybil peed in it. That's when Gary caught her..... What the hell you doin'?! - he goes.... Sybil almost died. Got like a butt burn on her heinie when she slid off the rim, 'cause, you know, that resin's got a tacky feel to it.  She makes him turn around. The other two peek out from under their beds. Gary goes - It's OK. It's alright. You can come out.

Ten minutes later they're wheeling the two story, metal, scaffold thing out from the storage hallway and struggling to  position it under the stain. Can't move the tables, 'cause they're bolted down. But the aisles are just wide enough for the scaffold. Wheels squeak and make noise. The thing rattles a lot. Lights are real dim to start with. You know, those little floor level security lights places have? Mall -rat girls gettin' nervous. Opal keeps whispering - Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.... Then when it's all set up and the wheels are locked in place, right where they want it, Gary-the-addle-brained- watchman goes - Shit, no. Not here. We gotta move it over a little..... The mall-rats look at him... Can't have it right under the stain. Something might be wedged up there.... So they inch it over a few feet and lock it down. .... Everybody just looks at it. Then the girls look at Gary. He whispers - What?.... Sophie goes - Ain't you gone first? Thought you'd know how to snap the ceiling tile out and all..... He goes - It ain't hard. You can do it. I gotta stay down and steady it. Not like you gonna carry nothing. Just take a picture. That's all...... The girls look at each other. He ain't gonna move. They can see that. So, Sophie says - I'll go, but I want you two right behind me. OK?... Sybil nods. Opal goes - Yeah, sure.... So they start climbing. Got a rail around the edge up there. Plus no room for standing. Can only get up on your knees. Ceiling's right there. Guess that makes it safer? Gary makes like he steadying it. Be he ain't doin' nothin', 'cept bein' scared.

Sophie uses her phone for light. Tiles look real tight. Sybil whispers - Now what? ... Sophie goes - Here, take this... Sybil grabs the phone. Almost drops it. You know,  people get afraid to move up there. Ever climb up a ten meter diving platform?... It's terrifying. Light-changing platform ain't that high, but still, high enough. ..... Gary whispers - You girls alright up there?.... Sophie says - Yeah, shut up.... He's happy too. Grabs one of the legs like he's hugging it. Not like he walks around every night. Mostly locks himself in that little room reading comic books and  glancin' at security monitors when he has to. Sometimes in June and July when it ain't dark til nine-fifteen and it gets light at five or five thirty he'll make a fast round at nine and another at dawn. Wants a get one a them Roomba robot vacuum cleaners and duct tape a camera on it. That way he don't have to walk 'round at all. It's scary being all alone in a dark, in-door city. Too many shadows. Air ducts rumbling. Manikins and all. Worse is when a pigeon or a crow gets locked in at night. Don't make a sound, just flaps around all night, like the Kah in an Egyptian tomb. 

Sophie pushes up and snaps one a them rigid, acoustical ceiling tiles out a place. Then, real slow, she slides it over and stows it on top of the next one over. She stops, freezes, listens. The others listen too. Gary whispers - W-what are you doing?...... Sophie whispers - Nothing, shut up.... Then she shines her phone into the space between the tops of the tiles and the concrete ceiling. Now a body could be wedged up there, 'cause the grid that holds the tiles is  the heavyweight, industrial kind. Screwed up into the concrete real good too. But her phone keeps going out and it barely cuts the blackness, as it is. For a second, less than a second she sees something. Not a body, but a small dark shape. At least the part toward her is dark. She freezes, afraid to move. But she snapped it. She got it. She took the picture. The phone goes black. Then it flickers on again, just as a white hand darts out of the void and snatches whatever it was. But she instinctively presses the switch and gets that too. Then she sits back down on the platform heaving and shaking.... Sybil and Opal just stare. 

Gary goes - What'd you see?What happened? Are you OK?..... And she looks down to answer, as a shadowy figure glides out of the darkness, grabs the poor, young man, spins him around, kisses him hard and rips out his tongue. 

Seconds later another being appears from the gloom to claim his share, as Gary convulses and sobs. 

But Opal screams... and the first ghoul looks up... 


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Tuesday, April 15, 2014


I am completely indifferent to the machinations of those coarse, base children. 'Mall rats,' I think they style themselves. Let them play. Let them tip-toe through the shadows with that addle brained 'Gary.' They are but gnats to me. I will kill them when it is necessary and convenient. I will rip off hunks of their flesh and swallow it. Let them tremble. Let them scream. Lobsters scream too when they're boiled... and they can't even close their eyes. 

Sebastian must be fed . You can watch. Look , like a medieval dragon-thing guarding treasure he is... Been here for generations, dining on British Fusiliers in the War of 1812 and stupid, hate riddled belligerents during the Kensington anti Catholic riots of 1844. I believe he took some tourists during the Centennial Celebration. That was 1876, for the numerically and historically challenged. Too many dates. Too many dinners. Those are just some I remember from the early days. He swallows things approximately every four months. And the things he swallows are 'you'... humans... What did you think? Takes five or six to fill him up now. Some nights I climb down and sleep with him. I straddle his back, just behind the neck, lie down and hug him. Got a head like the serpents on Aztec pyramids. So cold. So smooth. So strong. He doesn't purr. I do. 

He'll take a victim foot first when they're trussed up just right. More of a show that way. They groan. They scream. Takes a few minutes to suffocate in there. We stagger them. One foot-first. One head first. So they can shriek in each other's faces til they die. 

We have a good one tonight... a college kid... a verifiable 'student prince'... plucked from the cobbles of Penn's Campus. I believe he was part of that tragically misguided vampire, Tomas' resurrected 'Junto.' Good deeds, improve society and all that. Well, pity... Would have graduated next year. Now he's a snake's dinner.  Got two tiny cameras Krazy-Glued on his body. One on his head. We shaved that. And one on his foot. The right instep, I believe. Tiny things they are. Made for espionage and surveillance. Oh, they have pin lights too. Whole thing's gonna be streamed right to his father's smart phone. Maybe even You Tube. Who knows? My 'techie' zombies take care of that. Why does the world insist on thinking we fall apart like pot roasted chickens and shamble around all the time? Well, let them. Makes it easier for us. Element of surprise and all that.  Do you think the dad will watch? Oh, initially he won't. But I'd bet, after a while, he will. He'll sit there in the dark, by himself, late at night. The house will be quiet. Then he'll slip the phone out of his pocket... so big and heavy for a 'pocket' device, but that's where most men carry it, and he'll activate it... Hold it in his hand and watch. He'll see the quivering.... He'll hear the screams... the prayers... the coughing... the groans... but mostly just the shrieks... then breathing... then silence. But the battery lasts for hours... a long slow shot of an incrementally dissolving son. No, wait. That's not what he'll see. (Sigh), too late now, but next time we must mount the cameras differently.

I can't tell you exactly where we are. But I will give you a bit of a description.  The place used to be an ammunition factory. Molten dollops dropped from a height rocketed down a huge, round, brick ... well, 'chimney' I suppose you'd call it.  Twenty stories high, at least. By the time they reached the bottom, they were done... 'mini balls'... lead shot... slashed in a pool and collected later. No pool now. Just a pit. A vast, deep, smooth cement pit. That's where we keep the snake. There's a few cat walks up above and an eight story building abuts the tower.  All quite visible from The Delaware Expressway. 'I-95' I think they call it. Officially empty and deserted. Not the road, the building. Some historical society owns it. Do they know we're here? Well, in a word, yes. The director's youngest son is a zombie. Father hates it all. Doesn't approve. Still wants the kid to 'control' himself and take a seat on the exchange. You know, there's a stock exchange in Philadelphia too. Quite a respectable one. Kid took me once to pick out a meal.

Please excuse me for rambling so. But I do love to meet new people.  Though I've just received a note. The 'mall rats' and their addle-brained friend are in position. The scaffold is in place. They're climbing up. 

(Sinister smile) Soon they'll get their 'prize.'


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Monday, April 14, 2014

Who's Stuffed Up In That Ceiling?... 4/14/14

We had a substitute, Mr. Loeb. But he was OK. Played e.s.p. games with the kids. Taught them how to do 'improvisational monologues.' That's were we go up to the board, you know, one of them big white boards where you write with erasable markers, and make up a name, an age and a job or hobby. Then we ARE that person. First we tell you about our lives. Not our real lives, the characters' lives. Then we take questions from the 'studio audience.' That means the kids in class. Mr. Loeb says we just gotta not say bad words or sex words... and that's it. 

Everybody likes that game, 'cause it's like the acting classes they give at the Little Theater. But the Little Theater makes you join first, plus pay for the lessons and it comes to over two hundred and thirty five dollars for like four months. Here we get it for free. But only when we got Mr. Loeb. He's like our school's regular substitute so we get him a lot. Miss Crispin has a stomach condition, 'cause Mrs Fox hates her. She's the principal. but I think they're gonna get rid of her, 'cause Pimple Face and Fat Ass saw her sitting on top of a table kissin' Mr. Bruno in the 'rug room.' That's where they keep the kids who scream and throw shit. Not real shit. They ain't monkeys. Just 'shit' shit. But she was kissin' him after school , 'cause the district won't let 'em do it when kids are there. They got rules about that. Fat Ass came back to steal a laptop. If anybody asked him, he was gonna say he forgot his inhaler. Asthma's like a big thing around here. You can get out of gym with it. 

Mr. Loeb lets us out first. Not before the bell, 'cause Mrs Fox ain't officially kicked out yet. Mr Bruno got transferred to some bad kids' school. I mean really bad kids, not like just around here. Soon as he let us go I run to this place in the yard to wait for Sybil and Opal. In case you don't know, it's me, Sophie, talking. This is Friday. Our mom's think we're sleeping at Opal's house. I don't know where Opal's mom thinks we're sleepin' at. She runs diet club meetings on top a the rug store. Won't be home til last one gets weighed, maybe nine thirty, eleven if they go out to eat after. We got cell phones. It'll be OK. 

Gary, the weird guy, is gonna let us stay after closing. At the mall, I mean. He's like a nightwatchman, but mostly he sits and reads comic books, or eats Hershey buds from the candy place. The other watchman, Joe, is more professional, but he don't come in no more, 'cause he died ten days ago and they ain't got a new one yet. Gary knows about the zombies. Says there's a place by like a garage, or a storage room where they smoke cigarettes and 'do' each other. But we can't go in there, 'cause they got an agreement. Gary lets them alone and they don't eat him. Once they gave him a watch from some big guy. Took it off before they started eatin'. That way it was clean and all. No blood, or meat gobbets. I like that word 'gobbets.' Found it on an old Trivial Pursuit card. But Gary says they can't eat him anyway, 'cause he's got a Bic lighter and a can of Aqua-Net. You can make a flame thrower out of that. He say it on Hoda and Kathy Lee, or some other show they got on late at night. 

Sybil and Opal and I are gonna go to the movies. They got like eight screens. My cousin's friend works there, so for us it's like an all-you-can-eat motion picture buffet. I don't even know what's playing. Who cares? They got good, mostly roach-free popcorn and I always win something from the claw machine. After, we're gone to The Happy Cricket. That's a Chinese place in the food court. You can get fried rice, broccoli and  this red syrupy chicken. They call it 'Emperor's Dinner. Opal says China must a had one retard emperor after another if they ate that crap. But I don't think they did. 

Gary told us where to hide. We're gonna slip under the beds in the furniture section of this department store. Not uncovered beds. They got 'em fixed up in little alcoves to look like rooms, so we'll be alright.

He's gonna come and get us. Says that stain on the food court ceiling dried up a little, but it's still there. People sit under it and nobody knows. They got this big metal scaffold thing with wheels for when they change the lights. I seen it back in the hallway, where the toilets are. Once they found a half eaten body back there. Couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, 'cause certain important parts were all chewed off. Mall kept it quiet, because Santa Claus was comin' to town. They had his big chair and like a candy-house cabin set up. But some a them elves looked pretty nervous, always lookin' around and everything. 

If we find something up there, like a body, or most of body, we're gonna put it on You Tube. Sybil says if it gets big enough and goes viral, they might put us on Ellen. I'd go for Jimmy Fallon myself, 'cause he's my favorite. But Ellen gives better prizes, so I'll take either one.

Come back tomorrow. I'll be here..... I hope.


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Saturday, April 12, 2014

The Dave Clark Five - Bits & Pieces - Top Of The Pops (1964) <~ Bits & Pieces ...just like ZOMBIES ... 4/12/14

Pits and Pieces---

They call me Lars, at least now they do. I am the Zombie King of Philadelphia. Others rule Montreal and Los Angeles and Houston and Manhattan. I believe there's one in Baltimore too. We saw each other once in Atlantic City. No words passed between us.  But I skipped something. The one in Baltimore is a queen... a zombie queen. The world of flesh is open to all.

I could tell you where I shelter, but then I'd have to eat you (quivers) Oh, God I love fresh meat. Expect not the rotted simpletons they push on you. Granted, occasionally during fast times certain abstainers affect such demeanor. Ears fall off. Breasts wither. Scrotum dry and crumble. Lips shrivel... And toes get lost. But good meals work wonders. Regeneration, you know. Once I even grew a cunning, little tail.

You've seen us. We sit by you in Starbucks, or on the subway, or in church. And 'zombies' walk the streets at night too, when it suits us. But we have no aversion to the sun. Some avoid excessive heat. You know, although there are few records of it, we 'played' the Coliseum back when it was still called IL Ampiteatri Flaviani. ... Night shows... Torch lit spectacles worthy of Nuremberg.... Kettle drums and everything. Oh, how they screamed... How they pleaded. They knew what was coming. Up through the sand we came... naked like statues... all powdered white. Some lead based antimony I think it was... the better to show the blood. And we fell upon them . Here's the rub. Our teeth, my teeth, are no sharper that yours. But my jaws are strong. We bite and rip like rusty spoons. And we don't stop. Before I forget...  I am not a veteran of that place. The coliseum, I mean. Though I am of that line. Lines are the pivotal thing among flesh-eaters. God, I know how vampires feel. I hate the word 'zombie' too. Some small, varietal on a remote West Indian island bears that name and so we're all painted with the same brush? Why not call all mortals Lichtensteiners? It's the same thing. But you can call us that, if you like. We don't care what the hell you do. 

Here's how it happens. We catch mortals in lonely places. Squatters in abandoned homes are a particular favorite. A quiet, battered soul eating slices of bread from a plastic bag... Maybe a smidgen of light... Sterno can, or something like that... And then a closet door silently opens... A being steps out, smiles and nods. How the tiny, dancing flame illuminates our features. The bread eater bolts. He makes for the door. But we never travel alone. You know that. When he opens it another of our number fills the frame. Strong fingers press against the mortal chest, pushing him back. Number three comes down the stairs. Four comes up from the cellar. There could be more... No rules.

Once they're down it's over, though some bands keep the meat breathing as long as possible. Circulation preserves the flavor. So they start on the limbs and work in toward the torso... ripping and snapping and biting and chewing. Oh, I forgot. The tongue goes first. Some merry, prankster always sucks it out, slurps it up and bites it off. Prevents excessive noise too. Me, I like the nose. It's crunchy. Ass is good too. Can't tell you how we make our escapes when it's all done, 'cause like I said, then I'd have to eat you.

Do we have weaknesses? You'll never know. You'll suspect. You'll reach conclusions based on movies, books or urban legends. Be my guest. Knock yourself out. 

Those 'mall rats' better be careful, or some cheap, little thing will wake up minus her eyeballs, or possibly wake up while the procedure is still... going on... or possibly never wake up at all. 

Here's something I can tell you. We eat when the protein... when the connective tissue... when the collagen begins to break down... calcium too. Some of us crunch the bones... Warm marrow from a still living 'source' is quite the delicacy.

You should try some on toast...


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Friday, April 11, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 37TH BINGO BOY episode 12/6/12 ...FORGOT HOW GOOD BINGO BOY IS... if you like, jump in here & scroll around .. 4/11/14

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 37TH BINGO BOY episode 12/6/12: Bingo Boy - post 37 Permit me to introduce myself before I begin the tale. My era was the eighteen eighties. I lived in a small room at t... Please... this is not the post. Just the link to get you into the post. Click on where it says -- 37th BINGO BOY episode UP ABOVE and scroll around. If you like sickening carnie tales plus an 'in' to our weird romance in a crooked bingo hall, this is your kind a bees-wax. More #vampirewonderland later tonight. thank you.

Cabaret - willkommen <~~ enjoy this and WELCOME to ZOMBIES vs MALL RATS .. something different for a few weeks... 4/11/14

The vampirinos are neurotic for a little while... all dizzy over the passing of Tomas aka Jonathon. So we are bringing it to you this  new bit of alternate reality, detailing the gory confrontation of two sworn enemies... two coherent and highly organized suburban tribes... homo-necrotic- cannibalis, commonly known as 'ZOMBIES' and  homo-juvenalis-foodcourtalis, called 'MALL RATS.' I am sure you are acquainted with at least one of these loathsome specimens. Or, who knows, you may be specimen youself? Look into the shiny surface on the outside of medicine/ acne place. Are you seeing pallor?... vacant sleepy eyes?... bed head (not just hair.  whole skull)? ... red stained teef (lipstick count too, you know)? Well, then you are one... And it really make not any difference which snot nosed oligarchy dues are being paid to. Is all I can tell you at this early date. But, ah, players are beginning to coalesce.....

Ewww... What's In My Smoothie?!

Presenting sneering, tooth-sucking Sophia-Electra, princess of Foul-Mouthed-Back-Stabbing-White-Girls. Every day after escaping gulag of ninth grade, she gather acolytes in food court... joyously bitter Sybil-Roxanne and gum cracking diva Opal-Felice, where they fantasize 'bout boosting short-shorts and fine, needlepoint tampon holsters  from Short-Shorts & Tampon Holsters 'cross from Body Waxing & Lemonade. Sometime they go to movie. Sit in dark and text. Pimple-face kid say - Go in... They go in. He think they mush up with him. But that not taking place. 

Mall is life. House is death. Father bellow. Mother scream. Tuna fish, tuna-fish, tuna-fish... How much tuna-fish? Beer and Coca-Cola... Cupcake and ice cream. Nobody shit right. Shit like dopes they do. City want send little brother to school for boy who shit like dope. They want train him. So mother get bran flakes and then he pass de test.

Girl who mix banana, strawberry and ice in mixer give them drink. Sometimes she put milk in too. They give her earrings, treasures from Claire's, abducted from basket on counter. Sometimes anklets too. But they do not give her short-shorts, 'cause she too ugly. Not in legal sense of  word, just everyday ugly. No one gone lock her up.

One day rubber thing in drink.... little thing all pink, gray and yellow. Princess of Mall Girls go - Eww! What kind crap is this?.... Girl who mix drink go- What you care? You not pay....

But they know. It not rubber. It flesh... It zombie meat... 

They look up. See stain on food court ceiling. Something drip. Go 'plop' on table... Shhh, zombie up there... or corpse soon to be zombie.

Mall rat hate zombie. Zombie hate mall rat. 

That just how world is. You know.

(next time you meet Zombie King)---- I disembody spirit. Dead in Smolensk since Khanate of Golden Horde, but that whole other story...

<please forgive me. {it's Billy} I'll get it right. don't know who the heck this disembodied spirit is and zombies are a new 'thing' to me....'Zombie King?'..wonder what that means.


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Thursday, April 10, 2014

RAT on the New York subway! <~~ there's a horror story .. 4/10/14

Imagine if the train made a sudden stop and the rat had friends and people fell on top of each other and it was real hot and half a them stunk to high heaven.... And the doors wouldn't open and somebody's false teeth flew out and got kicked down the aisle and the rat had a knife and all the tourists started peeing themselves......

Everyday life.... Horror we can laugh at.

Once I was eating in a fairly uncontaminated all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffet.... nice sunny day..... sloppy, finger suckers and serial belchers ain't there yet... quiet lunch crowd... and a little mouse (so manic it looked battery powered) starts running loop-the-loops all  over the place... Everyone saw, but no one panicked... even a booth full of pant-suited old ladies kept tittering as it raced around their feet... One even said- I'm afraid to move my foot, 'cause I don't want to hurt him.... People giggled and nodded.... Some said - What can you do? They hide in people's bras. They sneak in under wigs.... and that was it.... No one got huffy. No one got a discount. Trans fat icing-ed cakes for everyone!

Thing is, when you see a mouse, especially in daylight, you can bet it's the sick one that got kicked outta the nest. And they got lots a roommates .

Now I just saw that video a few minutes ago myself. Gonna go 'google' - will verminous rodents crawl on sleeping people?.... 'Cause they hide in tightie-whities too.

Imagine if that rat thing happened in an elevator. Picture the scene when the doors finally open ....

A movie in there somewhere.


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Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Season of First Faith... La Prima Vera ... Elferina (a pubescent vampire) Talks... 4/9/14

Sometimes I float. I ascend up into the midnight sky and hang there. No one sees. Dark clothes hide everything. And I think as the wind takes me where she will. I turn away from Earth, facing the infinite. Many elferinas and elferinos can't do that. Too unnerving. Too disorienting. Nothing but blackness and the stars.... sensory deprivation for night-folk. Then I hear a plane and it's over. I remember a simple world... a place without the wonders mortals fabricate today.  Night was an altogether different place. The darkness was complete. Some went out with lanterns, but others did not. There's nothing like that today, at least in the rich world.

Celeste.... They call me Celeste..... 'heavenly'...'divine'... You've seen me in the background, while others, such as Marianne, or Roland claim the stage. I have no illusions. I just survive. My nativity, both mortal and immortal was not unique... for night-folk, I mean. Nothing so dramatic as Marianne. No, not like that. Do you know, her story, if I understand this correctly, comprises one of the most visited parts of this record? ... Marianne In Britches by Billy Kravitz... They 'google' it. They scroll back and forth, til they see the whole thing. Someone with the right bed-friends in California wants to make a film of it. She says she doesn't care, Marianne, I mean but I see how she flips her hair and angles her jaw toward the glass.  She is vain. So was Jonathon. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Perhaps I'm too quiet?

We leave the house at dusk and come back with first light. We avoid Sarah... not because we're cold, or uncaring, but because we're guilty and don't know what to say. Peter was a special thing to us.... the first new elferino upon these shores in more than two hundred and fifty years. So we took to him... beguiled by an evil 'Peter Pan.' And look what happened. 

It's so quiet now. I want to talk with Sarah. I do. But I don't know what to say. Did you think immortality brings wisdom? I suppose it has the potential for that. But mostly it just brings time.

I feel the air. I feel the warmth. I feel the soil. La Prima Vera begins... the Season of First Faith... all things new... for that's what the words really mean. Well, we have no choice. We must all be new things too. I browsed through an all-night food market two hours ago. Sometimes I buy things if I like the way they smell, or the way they look, or the color. They had apples, 'Jonathon' apples.... small and sweet, tangy too. I could tell. So I bought some. Most I gave to a man selling papers and magazines from a little booth near a hotel. They used to have a lot of them, but there's still a few. At first he didn't want them. He said - Ain't no razor blade shoved inside, is there?... I said - No. No razor blades. .... He knew I wasn't lying.... Then he took one from the white, plastic bag and rinsed it with a squirt from his water bottle. Cut it in half with a pen knife too. I suppose that was to make sure. I hope the pen knife was clean. I watched, as he crunched into it. Nothing sounds like a fresh, crisp apple. Even night-folk... especially night-folk, appreciate that.  He thanked me with a mouth full of sweet-tart fruit, as I left. 

Later, back at the townhouse, I put two in the refrigerator. One for Edith and one for Billy. The third one, the last one, I butchered for the seeds. Then I found a little, clay pot out back in the kitchen garden (actually a glorified patio) put some dirt in from one of the flower beds, poked in two seeds and moistened it in the sink. A Jonathon apple tree. I will grow one. Months from now, when it gets cold again, I'll take the pot inside. Maybe after two, or three years I'll plant it in the ground. Hopefully it won't get too big. Tomorrow night I'll ask Billy to look it up. I'm sure if we prune it right it won't.

A Jonathon apple tree. He would like that.


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Tuesday, April 8, 2014


Once upon a time, she had a cozy, little book shop on a narrow, cobbled street. Once upon a time she was mortal. But then she assumed 'the burden' and was no longer mortal. Things changed. She gave up the shop and hid from the sun. Though at least she had Jonathon, her vampirino consort. But he is dead now and Sarah is alone. 

The others look at her. Edith and Leo and Billy and Baylah. The elferinos and elferinas stare too. They say - Are you Alright? Would you like some tea? ... And Sarah says 'yes' or 'no' or 'thank you.' Sometimes she just smiles. Not a real smile. Not a happy smile. Just a thing she does with her face. 

Doctor Franklin drops in. He brought Luna once. Edith bought new linens for Sarah's sleeping chamber. Like an ivory color. They always get ivory. Edith makes sure the whole townhouse is spotless. Not that Sarah would say anything, buy you know. Tonight she went out for the first time. Leo said he'd go with her. In case you're new, he's a vampire too. Edith isn't. And I'm not. I'm Billy. I run this blog thing for them. Listen to me. I still say 'them.' Actually I started about three and a half years ago, right before Sarah came. Look, you want to know how it is? We KNOW he's not gone. Not really. Because if paranormal, or spiritual 'beings' like them can exist, how can we NOT believe in something more?

She told Leo it was alright and she wanted to go alone. So he let her. Edith heard her cry as she got dressed. What? You think vampires are so different? You think they're not human? What are they shaped like, turtles? They're humans. We're humans. We're mortals. They're not. Everybody's different.

I don't think she's gonna 'cull' anyone tonight. Not her time of month. But she'll walk down the streets, through the financial district, down The Avenue of The Arts... all bundled up against the damp and the chill. Not like she's gonna catch a virus or anything, but cold is cold. Nobody wants to be miserable. 

Maybe she'll go to Baylah's place? Maybe she'll go to the piano bar. They're supposed to close by 2AM. No, they have to stop selling liquor by 2AM. But coffee's alright. Sometimes they serve scrambled eggs and toasted muffins. They got a kitchen, a small one for like gourmet chili and these fancy, little sandwiches. I love that place. Guy does the whole 'American Song Book.' Woman he alternates with does Broadway, jazz and all..... I bet Sarah and Baylah get a lot closer. Not that they weren't before. But with Jonathon being gone and all. 

Some parts of town get real quiet late at night. She might be the only one coming down the street. But you won't hear her. Night-folk are quiet. And if she has a pair of sneakers on, forget it. Every so often a homeless guy might look up from a steam vent, or a recessed doorway, but they won't do anything. Mortals don't bother vampires. They just don't. Doctor Franklin says there must be a physical explanation. Says it must be a pheromone , or some kind of scent they give off. But he's a scientist and you know how they are.

Bet she goes into a hospital and cures sick people. Finds the worst ones. Sneaks into their rooms. I guess it's like a kind of hypnosis. They can cloud people's sight. No one stops her. She goes to the bed, bites her lip and lets a drop or two of vampire blood fall into an old, open, wheezing, snoring mouth. Next day 'mom-mom' is all better, though sometimes daddy's got chest pains. Some nights she cures babies. Then it's always alright. Sarah likes the dim, blue night lights and the quiet hallways...... Once she cured a sick Lhasa Apso at an animal shelter. Wasn't breathing. Just laying on the table. No one in the room. Dribbled in a drop or two and left. Vet's assistant comes in, sees doggie jumpin' around and playing. Almost has a stroke. Look, how was Sarah supposed to know they just 'put it to sleep' ten minutes earlier 'cause an irate boyfriend pumped a bullet in its head. Woman took it back though. Now she got the only Lhasa Apso with a sixty five year life span. Gonna be a really crapped up lawn at that house.

Look, we all feel horrible and we're just trying to find our way. Jonathon's gone and that's how it is. Late-Night-Steve Harvey just went off and I'm done typing this. So let me go to sleep.


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