Wednesday, June 18, 2014


It is I, Doctor Franklin. I sit in my commodious residence under the Philadelphia Navy Yard... a meticulous reproduction of an eighteenth century gentleman's house. The 'windows' look out upon digital images. Horse-drawn carriages pass by. Boys roll hoops and shepherds drive sheep. The breezes are recreations too. I see it all on a picture-book lane, winding down below in a little valley. Then, with a click it changes. The house is in the city and I see city things....  mounted troopers with plumed helmets and bright, silver breast plates.... vendors selling wares from large trays supported by thick, canvas straps 'cross their backs. Some sing songs... sedan chairs bearing matrons... bone wagons carting off the dead.... Yellow Fever plagued us then. The 'better' sort packed up and fled to summer houses in German Town. Indeed, I frequented many such places during my 'official' lifetime. But I've lived far longer than that. Those of you familiar with our tale (remember, we only pretend that it's fiction) know of my harmonic investigations. You know of The Anti-Enchantment Bureau (strange name) and our unusual work.

When he was here, Tomas contributed. We studied him, recording his every vibration and energetic effluence. He'd hang suspended in a web of sound generated by the Grand Armonica (you can google it) like a sixteenth century Italian painting. I have all the recordings ... every cerebral detail.... I know how he works. Actually, I could reconfigure a functional 'Tomas' quite easily. He'd be like a hologram... not transparent... not like a ghost... and under certain conditions you could touch him... but what you'd touch are only electrons.... Odd for me to say that when we know that the surfaces of mortal bodies are only electrons too... Is that how God creates us?

But the ether wants more than that. Tomas talks to me. He wants to come back for both superficial and spiritual reasons... That frightens me, for I am a reverent man. I question, but still believe. In my day I contributed toward and subscribed to all denominations in the city. Tiny brass plaques bearing my name decorate pews in various Protestant and Hebrew sanctuaries throughout the old quarters of Philadelphia. The Catholics, both Roman and Eastern were still unorganized back then, but had they been established my plaques would be in their holy places too and many more besides.

You know what happened in Russia? You know what we did for Grigori Usipov out beyond the Urals. I think if you google - Stalinist research center, Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz, that might help clear things up.... I'll try it when we're done. If it doesn't, we'll post something else next time. 

Now in another vein, we raise escargot down here. So plump. So delicious. I'm eating some now... two dozen toothsome delights, rich with butter and garlic and something else. I don't know. The chefs do that. 

A lucid hologram of the great tenor Enrico Caruso sings my favorite, Nessun Dorma. Some friends, people I know from that Bilderberg thing are here. You can google that too.... Bilderberg Conference.... You'll see. 

You'll have to excuse me now. A certain American President, Emeritus wants to discuss world peace with a very well known Nepalese holy man. Perhaps I could help broker something? Doctor Kissinger gives me looks... He doesn't like competition.

They call us 'The Vampire Wonderland,' but we're so much more than that. 

Oh, how Voltaire would have loved this....

<more next time>


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