Sunday, November 30, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah Thanksgiving threw me off, so here's some classic stuff 11/30/14

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: We walked. We walked back to Philadelphia, to a new existence in our new tabernacle in the sky. I led the way. Sarah, Bob, Baylah and a Pow ...

The Thanksgiving observance threw me off... beloved family members in from the far shore of our Great American Empire... new little dumpling (that means 'baby'... extra dogs and all that.... enough fancy deserts to do in three boatloads of Pilgrims and turkey flesh galore. I'll hopefully be back on track tomorrow. Til then, please allow me to show you a few Vampire Wonderland baubles from the past. They come from the early times, highlighting the Never Land existence of night-folk and, for the most part, slipped unnoticed into the great nimbus that is our wondrously pixilated world.

Just above these red letters, you'll see the portal. Click where it says The Book of Sarah . That'll get you in. Actually, this is the second post you'll see. I'm going to put up another. That one will be at the top. 

To wander through the whole treasure chest, click on this and scroll around ~> THE MAGIC KEY ...

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Thursday, November 27, 2014

TOMAS RETURNS FROM WHENCE HE CAME.. 11/27/14 . Best Of Peter Pan-Never Neverland

Thus did the winter pass. The humans settled in. Existing vampires made more of their kind, forming a warrior class among the little people. They even learned how to herd mice, fattening them up with buttercups and marigold seeds. The flesh absorbed the flavor of the feed and it was good. 

Tomas served as a kind of Dalai Lama in this strange new Shangri La. He told them what to do and taught them how to live. They had no alphabet. He taught them our Roman alphabet. That's the name for what we use to write English. They made paper of a sort from tree bark. Not the thick bark that forms on trunks. These people were much to tiny for that. But the fine, thin bark sheathing new born twigs was perfect. Their first codices were crude, scratched out with a kind of charcoal and the spelling was obviously phonetic. Their language was a mix of English, Spanish and Hebrew. Tomas taught what he knew. Even a few giant canine words found their way in. At times the speech resembled Welsh, or Middle English, though sometimes it wandered off in directions all it's own, with vocalizations and syntax never before heard by mortal man. If that's what these beings truly were. They seemed to be.

Just having a written language gave their culture a huge step up. As their kind advanced into new territory and killed (you knew they would) more dog people, they'd be able to share things... ideas... discoveries... observations... all kinds of things. They'd mine metal, already refined and smelted from the eating implements in the huge houses. One fork could make a lot of plows... or swords. Tomas couldn't say which way they'd go.

Spring turned warm. Bugs woke up. In this giant place, that meant danger. Bees were OK. You could reason with them. Plant a lot of flowers. Let them have the nectar. Just spreading the 'dust,' just moving it around from plant to plant made more flowers. Bees were experts at that. Ants were another thing. They're mercenary bastards... all 'What's in it for me? And if I kill you, or your little grubs, will you taste good?'

Folks would have to feel their way. Tomas showed them how to make slings, simple bows and arrows, things like that. Even taught them how to use certain kinds of dirt to kill bugs. They can't stand it. Dries 'em all up. Desiccates their bodies. Turns 'em into husks. .... Teachings from an alien. We've heard that before.

But let me tell you this. I will put up, I will publish what I've channeled so far. This is me, Billy. Facts are coming through me this time. But there's a lot more to this post. Vibrations... resonances come back. Tomas feels them. He knows them. He recognizes them. And behind the buzz he hears voices. Folks are talking, whether to each other, or to him he can't tell. So he sits by himself and thinks. He prays. He wishes... tries to figure out what's going on..... Maybe he's not so all alone after all? ... Maybe somebody's found him?

Harmonics can work miracles and he does know a bit about that. If you've forgotten past episodes, or never read them, google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Harmonics, or Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Great Armonica... Something'll come up. Then you'll know, or at least have a clue. And it's based on actual science. God bless Doctor Franklin.

I have to go to sleep now. Thanksgiving washes over us tomorrow. Let me rest. Let me get ready. 

That title up there will make more sense when the rest of this post goes up.

Tonight's music (the Never Never Land video) might put you in the mood. I hope you listen and enjoy it. 

May The Holidays... The Season of Miracles... dawn bright for you and yours.

Keep dreaming and please tell others. Thank you.


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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The Vampire, Tomas, Becomes Attuned To Things... 11/25/14

We huddle together during the night. Days are bad enough, but nights are brutal. There's a layer of dried, plant particles on the floor. The den's full of it. Mostly leaves, I suppose. The humans burrow into it, just like they used to dig in under the excelsior in the glass tank in the kitchen. But it's still cold. We find dead ones every morning. 

Polidori (new vampire) had an idea.... use the corpses as bait. Drag them out where the mice will find them. So that's what we did. Caught one right away. Polidori jumped on it. Vaulted right onto it's back, just like an ancient Minoan bull jumper. Grabbed hold of the ears and held on. It squealed. It ran. Tried to knock him off in the brambles. Scratched him up pretty good. But he's a vampire. They heal fast. Thing got tired. Mice can move quick, but only over short distances. When it stopped to catch its breath, he bit in. Now mouse blood's not the same as human blood. But this universe isn't Earth either. Things are different. Do they overlap? Sure. But they're still different. He was nourished in a half-assed sort of way. And the mouse easily had a body mass equal to two and a half or three times that of a person. There was more than enough, so Tomas had some too. Not his cup of tea. But he was curious and this was taking too long. Soon after, it squeaked to a mousy god, shuddered, gasped and lay still, legs stiff, on it's side, the way they always do.

Then they peeled off the skin. Humans watched. One or two smart ones began to help. Repulsive sickening work. Had to force their finger nails under the hide. But what did they know from that? Just a matter of survival. Now being Australian, Polidori understood something about sheep. He knew how to stretch and dress a hide. Sheepskin gives good leather, thick, pliable and what with the fleece, incredibly warm. This wasn't that. Yet when properly prepared would provide robes for two people. Nothing fancy... More Neanderthal than Cro Magnon. If they can kill a few every week, they'd all be warm... or warmer. Built frames out of twigs. Polidori showed them. And via that 'skin talk' they have (stroke each other's faces picking up chemical 'words' along the way) 'smarts' travel fast. 

Did they eat the carcass? Of course. Country folk on Earth eat muskrat. In the tropics, fire roasted rat is a delicacy. It eats the grain and the farmers eat it. Thus they recoup their losses. Fire kills anything, even the germs. Soon they had quite a little community. Killed a few shrews too, but mice are easier. 

Tillie, the other vampire Tomas made, picked up some words. She learned English, naturally, because Tomas and Polidori spoke that, plus a few words of classical Spanish from Tomas too. Might have been Old Vahmperigo, the life-eater dialect. They are fairly similar. She appreciated her new, grey, mouse fur kimonos. The made snug boots too. Rodent couture was 'in' that year. The extra layer or two of insulation did the trick. People stopped dying. Oh, once a weasel came 'round. To the Mouse Skin Wearers it was an apatosaurus. But Tomas quickly sublimated through the head and killed it. Though it did crush a little boy under a sharp clawed paw. All the humans had to climb over it to get out of the den. They had to leave. It was too big. They couldn't move it. But a few yards away there was another den. From the smell, it probably belonged to some mice, though they were long gone. What with the vampires and other humans, what chance did they have? You know mouse bones make good spears? Leg bones telescope together. Sharp too.

Weeks passed. Soon it was time to feed. Tomas needed to kill. Local vampires, ones made here, had no such rhythms. They could kill. But regular small drinks were enough. The 'burden' rested different on them. It's always like that. Even Earth has different strains.After a while they formed 'harems' of compliant humans willing to share their blood. And the donors benefited too. Got choice hunks of mouse meat and nicest robes.

But vampires, at least Tomas' kind, get very aware come feeding time. He felt the air and the night and the damp and the soil. He smelled each and every mortal. How unique they were... How irresistible. The very particles of creation vibrated with a certain 'Earth' resonance... It felt like home.

He lay there, curled up in the dark, listening to the world around him.... each breath and the subtle 'hum' of the planet beneath him.

Intersecting universes have overlapping resonances... That's how they intersect. So Earth, although thousands of light years away, was quite accessible in other ways.

Tomas felt that... and it tortured him.

Sometimes he almost heard voices.....


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Saturday, November 22, 2014

indulge him a bit~~ TOMAS shares an Old Original Hanukah Tale.. 11/22/14

The life-eater, Tomas, also known as Jonathon, sits with some surviving children, under a hedgerow, snug in a burrow once belonging to a long gone ground squirrel. Although it is roughly the time of year we call February in our world, a soft snowfall puts him in mind of another place and another time. Do these strange, foreign children understand him? Not every word. Earthly speech is so new to them. But they all absorb the heart of it.

Tomas, also known as Jonathon speaks, as he sits by a tiny fire (basically a collection of embers) with the children and their 'parents.' He tells them a tale originally created for two young ones in London, three hundred and fifty years ago, just prior to his crossing , hidden in a chest, deep in the hold of The Good Ship Welcome.

Jews had just been allowed back into the land, after a centuries long absence going back to The Crusades. But their numbers were small and winters were cold. So he came into a nursery one night, rather like Peter Pan, though that miraculous creature had not yet been revealed.

And Jonathon said ~

One child, a boy, was still awake. And by the low orange glow in the grate, he saw the long, heavy draperies billow into the room, as the being known as Jonathon sublimated through the tall, palladian window, coming to rest upon the thick 'Turkey' carpet.

Sitting upright, the young lad, in a quiet voice, asked, "What manner of genii are you!?"

I said. " No manner, boy. I hail from another part of God's enchanted wood." Perhaps my referencing the Devine soothed him. For he hugged his knees, waiting for me to go on. 

I knew what night this was. It was The Season of The Rededication, the First Night of Hanukah, which is merely the Hebrew word for that event. And I knew how it felt being a stranger in a strange land. Perhaps they did not celebrate at all, as his father was busy setting up the basics of a community. Small holidays, beloved by children are easy to forget.

"Know ye this night, boy?" I said. ... He nodded.... "Then tell me."..... In a child's voice he answered, "This is First Light, the first night of Hanukah," and he sighed. Obviously the occasion had not come up to his standards.....

Then the other young one, little brother to the first, woke too and he moaned, frightened by an unexpected personage (me) in their midst. His brother said, "No, Jacob. Don't be afraid. Come to me."... The boy, little more than a toddler, quickly padded over to his brother's bed and jumped in, giving me an exceptionally wide berth as he zipped by. They huddled under the covers. I heard the big one whisper something... "He's like a genii, but not a genii," he said.... The little one said, "Did he give you any presents?"... His brother shook his head and whispered, "No, be quiet. Let him talk. I think he wants to talk."

So I went on.... "I come to you from far away."... "Amsterdam?" said the big one..... "No," I answered,"Much farther than that."... "Where?" asked the little brother.... "From far beyond the great River Sambation, a magical stream, quite passable all days but the Sabbath, when it flows with a frothy torrent none can withstand. For on that day, all boatmen must rest. And even the fish lay quiet with their fishlings in snug, little riverbank caves, listening to fishy prayers.

"What's on the other side?" whispered the big one...... "Mountains, boy, mountains. The highest of which is Har (Hebrew for height, or mountain) Hanukiah, the Mountain of Hanukah."..... "They have a mountain for it?" asked the little brother..... I nodded... "A tall, snowy peak. Unicorns nest there. And right by the summit is the House of Papa Mattathias, the steadfast priest who refused to forget The Lord in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes. Do you know these names?" I asked... They nodded, for theirs was a home well steeped in Scripture.

"What's the house like?" said the big one... "Warm and tight, with strong, stone walls the color of doves. And bright, little windows looking out upon the clean frosty valley below. And think not that Papa Mattathias lives all alone, for he does not. Two and twenty cherubs are always with him. One for each letter of The Holy Script. They help him in his work and he takes care of them. Every morning he asks. 'How goes it in the world?' and the cherubim fly off upon beautiful unicorns to find out. But do not look for them. For no mortal can see them pass. In that way, Papa Mattathias learns. 

"What does he do, up on the mountain, all day long?" queried the little one, who seemed quite concerned by it all.... "He fashions things for those in need. Blankets for the poor and plows for farmers. Prayer books for the faithful and parchment for scribes. But he never forgets the children. And every year, throughout The Feast of The Rededication, he sends them cheer in many ways."

"You mean he remembers us? He has something for us? Me and my brother, I mean"

I nodded... "Oh yes. He remembers you. And according to the cherubim, you've been very, very good."

"Are you a cherub?" asked the big one.

What could I say? I'd Hanukahed myself into a corner. So I said, "Yes."...... They inhaled in expectation. Then the little one said."What?"..... "What do you mean 'What?'" I asked....."What did he send us? What does Papa Mattathias have for us?"

Thinking fast, I reached into my waistband and pulled out my purse, just a soft, suede, pouch really, tied to my belt with a braided cord, but filled with golden ducats from far off Venice. Vampires favor Venetian coinage. Don't ask me why. There were eight of them, large and bright and yellow. A fortune in that land..... "He sent these for you," I said, "to buy playthings and sweetmeats and whistles and kites."

How delighted they were. I had to quiet them lest they giggled too loud. Then I put the heavy coins back into the purse, pulled it closed and hung it from a bedpost where they'd find it in the morning.

After, I regaled them with tales of pirates and mermaids in the warm waters of southern seas, for you know I am quite well versed in those things, till they drifted off to sleep. 

When they awoke, I was gone. Though a being such as I has ways to keep in touch. The eldest looked about in a panic, fearing it was all a dream. But the soft suede pouch was still there. 

Needless to say, Hanukah was very good that year. They bought many things and played dreydel (spinning top game) for the finest currants and almonds from the finest costermonger (like a grocer) in all of London.

Did their parents believe them? I suppose they did. Miracles sometimes happen. What else could they think? The children told their friends and the grown-ups told their neighbors, til everyone knew the tale. And if parents had to take on the role of Papa Mattathias and his cherubs, so be it. Truth comes in many boxes.

On other nights, during The Feast of Christmas, I made similar visits and told similar tales to other children.

You see, the details might differ, but the story stays the same.

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May the Season of Miracles dawn brightly for you and yours.

Tiny Tim said it best -- God bless us every one.


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Friday, November 21, 2014


The winter season in this place is almost over. I can tell. There are signs. Nine foot crocuses (at least nine foot compared to me) blossom by the hedgerows.  The big manor house is almost empty... no giant canines... no tiny, 'two inch' people. I haven't looked, but Polidori (a newly created vampire) says the upper 'mushroom trays' in the cellar are filled with dead dried up people. They couldn't climb down. No one watered the sprouts and mushrooms or dripped water into the little, metal-lined 'stream.' They starved and died of thirst. There's a few dead humans in that glass tank on the counter too. Tillie (another newly minted vampire) goes in there. It fascinates her, the way she used to live. She runs her palm over the thick, green glass and peers inside. They're there, she knows, forever hiding beneath straw-like excelsior. She can smell them. Vampires hate stinks like that.

I go out into the fields sometimes. Look, who knows if they were ever fields. 'Fields' signifies farms. I don't know if those dog things ever grew anything there. Maybe they're just meadows. Do they have meadows in the winter time? There's no flowers, or butterflies. Who knows. I saw two mice eating a dead human. They peeled off tiny strips of what looked like beef jerky. No, not beef jerky... chicken jerky. Poor bastard, the human, I mean, must have frozen to death. Damn those mice are big. They see me. I know they see me. But I spook them. Animals feel things. Don't have words for it, but they know.... Stay away. Don't bother that one... Maybe that's what they say... or whatever it is they do. 

I could kill them. I could run and go and sublimate right through them. Their bones and meat and hair and ears would fall down on the dirt like rain. But I don't do that. I let them live... What did they do?

Later, just before dark, two of them go buy.... Not mice... giant canine creatures, I mean. Not grown ones. These were juveniles..... a sad little girl, except she was eight stories high and carried a 'toddler' the size of  King Kong. They don't make a sound. She wears bright yellow rubber boots. Canine creatures loved their children too, you know. I suppose the humans already got to their place, wherever that is, and killed all the other dog people. Not regular humans... vampire humans, I mean. And I have no idea how many there are.

They wouldn't listen. I tried to teach them. Don't over-kill. Once a month is enough. If you have to, take little drinks here and there... Just don't kill.....

But they do kill... And the night-gift spreads like a plague. 'Night-gift,' why do I call it that? Day doesn't scare them here. I don't know why. Maybe there is science behind it? Maybe it's not all 'spiritual.' I like to think of it that way... Me, Tomas also known as Jonathon, a vampire who still believes. I can't not believe.

What will happen here? Will they become slightly more fastidious zombies? Look how culture effects me. 'Zombies,'... I called them 'zombies.'...... Do you know what genuine Caribbean, Haitian and Creole zombies are really like? What they call 'zombies' back in my world are not zombies. I don't know what they are. But they're no more real than Thunder Cats. 

It gets dark. The juvenile dog girl and her baby brother (I imagine that's who he is) come back from wherever they've been. Maybe there's a place she goes to find food?... Maybe a bush with cold, icy berries on it? I hope they survive... A world with towering dog people and chess set size humans, some of whom are vampires..... Why not?

I feel tinges sometimes... Earth tinges... vibrations really. I can tell. I know what they feel like.... the waxing and waning of the moon.

And I've been there too.

<Tomas sighs, turns and walks back into the brambles at the bottom of the hedgerow... True night falls. Stars come out. Dead leaves dance in the wind>

<more next time>


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Thursday, November 20, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Sarah is being targeted. She received something in the mail. It was a big, formal, rather old fashioned envelope, the kind used during the b... 

~~~~ When the vampires confronted misguided, though vigilant mortals. Please click on where it says '... The Book of Sarah..' two lines up. A good place to jump into Vampire wonderland... The Early Night.

then join me on Twitter MAGIC ... it'll take you right there. Thank you. There are two other new portals to old obscure material right under this post. Please explore  them all. Just scroll down. 

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Sarah and I have much in common. We both lost our parents at a most vulnerable age. She, after they lost their money. Her father had a stro...

~~~~~~~~ Please click on that '...The Book of Sarah...' line just above to hear Tomas speak about the early nights... his first as a vampire and what happened to his family and the other life-eater who made him.

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: First of all, we must agree that what comes next i...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: First of all, we must agree that what comes next i...: First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction. The coming of Sarah. ... 'Sarah' the name means princess , as in Sarah,... ~~~ Please click on that "...First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction...' line up above for a taste of how this all began.

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Now for the next sample...

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Treadwell.... Their name was Treadwell, a rather financially secure old Methodist family with Episcopalian leanings. The Missus wanted a place near the square, Rittenhouse Square, or possibly out in the new suburb of Chestnut Hill. With the train one could be there in half an hour. She had cousins there and spent Saturdays with them along the cozy, commercial elegance of Germantown Avenue. Ladies never traveled alone, even on what was essentially a commuter line. Shop girls might, or domestics engaged for 'day work' for more or less middle class housewives. But strivers like the Missus never would. So I went with her to carry parcels, or ask the man in the little ticket booth what time the train would leave..... Was she so anxious to get home? No. The Mister only married her for the money. She knew that, but never let on. Why give him the satisfaction?

I'd have lunch with them, the Missus and her cousin, in a snug, little tearoom fronting 'The Avenue' right where it met Mermaid Lane. They'd sit at a small table near the window. Not right in the window. That spot was for ignorant parnevues. And sunlight through the multi-paned bay could be so unflattering at certain times of year, even with the white, shear curtains meant to soften it.... Excuse me. Did I say I had lunch with them?... Well, we were in the same room. But there was a low shelf, like a counter along a wall. Lady's maids ate there. While the carriage trade lunched on delicate tea sandwiches filled with cold, flaked salmon and cucumber salad dressed in savory, Provencal mayonnaise, those 'in service' ate plain cheese sandwiches on thick slices of what I suppose was French bread and peppery home fries. Whose meal was better? You be the judge. Mortal fare means little to me now.

It is I, Elizabeth. We met a few nights ago. I am with the Ironstones now. We help each other. In a sense I lured them into it... First the sons (still technically mortal when that happened)...Next the Father, though I was never intimate with him and the Mother never liked me at all. I was their 'familiar' and they were mine. To be truthful, they never used that term. I did. Learned it from him, the vampire. I believe he followed us home from Chestnut Hill that time. It was dusk. The Missus' cousin had her coachman drive us to the train. He went in to purchase the tickets. We waited in the brougham, snug under lap robes and fortified with a bit of sherry from a crystal flask slipped out from a cunning, little burgundy velvet compartment built into the door. Excuse me for elaborating. But life was elegant then and I wanted you to know. There was another velvet, fold down compartment for tiny matching glasses. I was surprised when they passed me one, but grateful just the same. Obviously, you know how cold a Philadelphia November can be.

There were three of us in the car. The coachman brought in our packages.... not that many. When he left we were alone with a strange man seated down at the other end of the car. He was clean shaven, unusual for the time. I learned later that vampires almost never have facial hair what with the blood and all. You can imagine. He had carefully brushed dark locks and fine, smooth skin. Gentleman always removed their hats in the presence of ladies. It's odd. I can't remember if I saw it, but I think it was a bowler... a crisp, dark bowler...Must have been next to him on the seat. He pretended to read a book. There were small oil lamps, sconces really, with clear, glass, tubular shades... No, not shades... Of course not shades... Like a wind break. Like a hurricane lamp. Forgive me, but I cannot remember the term.... We rode in silence. The Missus read a book too, a small leather bound volume by Henry James. She liked mysteries and gothic stories... The Turn of The Screw, or something like that. I know it had a ghost in it.... If she only knew.... Soon after, the conductor came through collecting tickets. Then I watched my reflection in the mirror-like blackness of the window, as we rolled along. 

Our own coachman met us in the city at the big Fifteenth Street Terminal. When we got back to the house, nine or ten blocks away, it was snowing. Before stepping inside, I turned to watch the flakes... And there in a weak pool of light from the street lamp, perhaps thirty feet down the sidewalk, was the man from the train. He nodded and tipped his hat. I returned the nod and went inside....

THAT'S how I knew it was a bowler.

In nights to come, I'd learn so many things.

<more next time>


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Monday, November 17, 2014

A WORLD ENDS ... 11/17/14

It is I, Tomas. this is how it ended. If you've lost the thread scroll back two or three episodes. It's all there.

Most of the huge canine creatures were gone, at least on this estate. After the first few deaths, survivors grew suspicious, refusing to sleep in the manor, lest some unidentified contagion be the cause. Some fled to 'the city.' Polidori, one of the new, tiny vampires {all humans were tiny in this world. imagine you were only two inches tall} knew their noises and words. It was a language, after all. We'd seen the books. we'd seen the symbols. They had a language, maybe more than one, and possessed a literature..... Soon it would end.

How could it not end? Humans would leave this place. My offspring would have offspring of their own. The 'miracle of sublimation' would spread. Perhaps we are a contagion?

Two giant canines are still here. They walk about the place in silence. She sits in the bare, winter kitchen garden, wrapped in a circus tent sized blanket, rocking back and forth on a monumental white chair. He sleeps on a sofa.... Many of the tiny humans are gone. They left the mushroom trays in the cellar, where they were raised as delicacies, but are still hiding elsewhere in the house. Please know that I speak of those from the lower trays... maybe the first to the third... possibly the fourth.... Those from the fifth to fourteenth levels can't leave. They have no way to climb down.

There's a dead canine, a male, by the back door. I don't know what he used to be... Perhaps a stable boy?..... But the more or less equine creatures are gone too. They ran away looking for water. Now they're off in the fields somewhere, nibbling dry, dead grass peeking out from the snow. Some of the humans found the dead 'stable boy.' They chip off little pieces of his flesh with tiny, sequin-like shards of broken glass. In times like these one must find things. Thank God the flesh is frozen.... 

I got some for the two children... the ones from the dollhouse, I mean. I sear it a bit in the flame from a match. If you stand on it and quickly scrape the tip with a broken nail file, it'll light. The flame doesn't  last long... maybe two minutes at best. But at least it's not raw. They have some of the mushrooms and shoots from the trays in the cellar. That's how they live, hidden in a what-not box, off in a corner of the library. I 'cook' on the slate floor in the mud room. All great houses have a mud room. It's where specimens from the garden are potted for indoor display.

Dear God, what's going to happen? The insects will come back in the spring. I've seen some flies... and that spider. There's always a few wintering over... but what will spring be like?

Polidori and 'Tillie' (a female offspring) want me to kill the giant female and her mate. But I don't want to do it. I don't want to sublimate through their skulls. They had a world. They couldn't, or wouldn't see our humanity. But they had a world... Funny, I use that word, me, a vampire. Well, ours is a world of inconsistencies. What can I tell you?

I'm thinking this estate must be very remote. No one's come to visit and it's been weeks... No neighbors... No postal service... No inspector-general, or whatever they call the constabulary around here..... (sigh) A Chekovian universe populated by dogs.

When it gets warm, they'll fan out. The people, I mean. Maybe there'll be more vampires among them by then? Some will stumble onto other estates. More giant canine creatures will be killed. I'm guessing some humans will accidentally stow away in luggage and find their way to cities and towns.

One world ends and another begins. 

I'm thinking they could eventually destroy any larger adversaries.... the vampires among them, I mean... Maybe tiny mites will remain? Perhaps there'll be treaties with the bees and packs of shrews for hunting?

I've gotten the vampires to agree to my one-victim-a-month rule. Polidori's from Earth. He knows about faith (such as it is on Earth) and vows and all. But the others are only coincidentally human. How that happened, I don't know. God knows what they believe... If they believe.... But soon it'll be time to feed again. How will they chose the victims?

And if I can't get back to my universe, what will I be here?...An Annunaki-like spirit from some far off place? An ancient sage?.. The Old Man of The Mountain?

Full circle, just like 'Papa'... neolithic once again

The female canine thing,  out in the bare, grey, winter garden, draws the blanket 'round her like a hood. Then she rocks some more. I watch her through a small window in the mud room by climbing up an intricately turned, ladder-back chair.... 

Shhh.... She's crying, or howling, or keening...

I wish I was home....

<more next time>


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Sunday, November 16, 2014

I think this arc is the best thing on the whole blog~~>Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 42ND BINGO BOY episode 12/12/12

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 42ND BINGO BOY episode 12/12/12: BINGO BOY - post 42 Nobody in the narrow, little row house near the el tracks slept much that night, except the baby. Jimmy bunked in wit... The whole BINGO BOY arc is one long continuous story... and NO VAMPIRES...Not a paranormal tale. Real life... Rough life... peppered with a bit of humor and incongruity. Grandmom's bingo hall was never like this...unless it was.

Love... murder... kidnapping... extortion...We got it all. 

All I know is, for the older couple, for the family oriented former dominatrix and her bad guy - good guy Ukrainian emigre prisoner cum boyfriend, I see Goldie Hawn and (if he's healthy enough) Burt Reynolds. For the younger ones, I don't know. See what you think. Maybe you got ideas. Scroll around. It began on 11/1/12 or 11/2/12, I think and runs for anout two months...maybe a little longer.

I hope you want to see the whole thing. 

Very grateful, as always,



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We all gotta believe.... See it... Do it... Be it...

Saturday, November 15, 2014


We met a few nights ago. I am Elizabeth, an ally of the Ironstone Family. A life-eater, but discrete. After more than eight hundred thousand Vampire Wonderland words and at least sixteen hundred episodes, this is my debut. And I want to tell you how I came to be. 

Nineteenth century Philadelphia was a very different place. Perhaps only in the details.... Gas lit streets.... The wider ones (and that is a relative term) for houses. The back streets in between sheltered horses. Their brown turds peppered the cobbles everywhere. In summer the flies bit everyone.

I worked as a maid for a family near Tenth and Pine. Do you know the area? It's the Antique District now. Back then, in my day, 'strivers' lived there. Gentlemen with a plan. Not Blue Book, to say the least, but maybe the parents of Blue Book people. They had Four stories, an entrance hall (often termed a vestabule in Philadelphia) with high, wide stairs on the right and a passage toward the dining room and kitchen on the left. An archway lead from the entrance to the parlor and the parlor connected to a smaller, more private sitting room used by the family on a day to day basis. The second floor had bedrooms.There were five, two toward the front and three toward the back . Above was a study... a sewing room...a sick room. Every house had a sick room for those afflicted with fevers, pertussis or unidentifiable rashes and boils. Many times it was the death room too. The other spaces  were locked. I never went inside. Then there was the attic. Back then we called it 'the garret.' Oh, it had a finished floor... hardwood, but not as fine as downstairs. We went climbed up narrow steps in a closet to get there.  Mansard windows looked out toward the street. Two small, portholes faced the back. And it was cluttered with the flotsam and refuse of an affluent family. There was even a stuffed ape. A chimpanzee, I think it was. Back then, it was just an ape. I never knew where they got it. But it was large and hunched. The face frozen in rage. Sometimes they made me clean it with a special, soft bristled brush used for the maintenance of taxidermy specimens. I hated it... alone in that grey, dim place... Late in the day... dusk... always that time. Last task for the evening. Any sickness... any lung fever acquired in that dead, dust filled atmosphere was mine. Then I went down to the cellar, joining the other domestics in a little common room where we took our meals. Others served dinner. We did not. They fed us leftovers. And considering the times, we ate fairly well. Sleeping quarters were downstairs too... clean and whitewashed. But I don't want to talk about that.

One time, when I groomed the ape, it moved. It wasn't the light. I was used to the gloom. It wasn't the rain, or mice, or anything like that. The head turned ever so slightly and it looked at me... Not straight on. Not eye to eye. But I could tell it was looking. I saw the gleam. And the teeth... the huge, monstrous teeth had changed. I knew, because I cleaned them too, with an oil from a special bottle used for cleaning ivory. They got it from India, or Siam, or someplace like that. I couldn't read the letters on the label. It smelled like what an undertaker might use. 

But the teeth were red. Not bright red, but a dark, streaked, scab-like smear. I froze for perhaps seventy heartbeats, too afraid to move. Please know that we, who you call 'vampires' think in terms of heartbeats. It's natural to us. I think many, who regularly visit this site, already know that from Jonathon, or Tomas, or whatever he calls himself. I keep to myself. I never mix with them.

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened. I almost died. Colette, the other maid came in.That wasn't her name. The Missus gave her that name, because she liked it. French, you know.... Colette said - Lizzie, are you alright? You've been up here so long..... I was puzzled. What did she mean? How long?.... But she gestured toward the window... and I could see that it was night. Not what we used to call 'the gloaming.' Not dusk, but full darkness. And the attic was dark too. How long had I been standing there?

Colette called my name again. I carefully placed the strange foreign bottle down on the floor and walked toward her, or more precisely the light from a small spermaceti  lamp she held in her hand. We quietly made our way down to the cellar. 

Supper was over. That's what we called it... 'supper.' The family ate 'dinner.' We did not. But there was a cheese sandwich and some potato salad left for me under a plate. I had that. Got some water from a little zinc (old original Philadelphia dialect word for 'sink,' since they were made from that metal), went into my cubicle and washed my body, before getting under the covers. Then I imagined a life for myself in a home of my own, on a fine street with a handsome family and hot food on translucent china.

But as I drifted off, I saw the teeth, smeared with old dried blood.....

<more next time>


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Thursday, November 13, 2014

Fundamental Change in an Alternate Universe... 11/13/14

Tomas talks tonight----

I saw the 'end.' I knew what would happen. The new vampires would kill their exploiters. At least on this estate. And not all the humans would survive, but the species would go on. At least I did that. 

But what would happen to me? This world is not my world. And if you're familiar with my story, you know what a homebody I am. Even the city in it's tortured state would be better than this. The trees are too monstrous. The snowflakes like wafers. The sky so high and vast. Eternal night seems clean and small and close. I like the stars, my stars. Oh, you can see them in the city. There are streets... narrow, little, dark places... old mews... cobbled lanes... devoid of excess artificial light. Cats prowl the shadows. Small, curbside trees provide an additional barrier. But there are spots between the trees where starlight filters down. How it soothes me. Most of the universe is dark, you know. The glare from a trillion suns, on a cosmic scale, soon weakens. If that wasn't so the midnight sky would burn with white hot light. The tiny bits of flotsam we call planets catch some of it. The light, I mean. And we call those captured photons 'day.' .... Well, I am tired of it and prepared to go back to a sun I never see.

What will the people do after the monstrous canine things are gone? What will they do after every giant skull and every brain inside is shattered?... It only takes a handful of vampires to do that. And the locals take to 'sublimation' so well. 

Flies will come to feast upon the flesh. I've seen them. Loathsome things... iridescent nightmares smeared with excrement and reeking of the grave... with eyes like sequinned basketballs and bodies hard as glass... And their fat, white, worm-like spawn are even worse

Each giant corpse is as a tower, eighteen stories high.... with enough meat and fat and marrow to sustain a city of tiny humans. I'm told dog meat is sweet.  Maybe they'll like it....before the flies come?

And  after?... Well, there's always the hedgerows. Might have to battle insects for prime turf. Ants have formidable armies and lethal stingers too, not to mention the bees. What epics will be written then. Perhaps they'll ride mice into battle?... Smurfs in all but hue.

I had a dream. Gazing into a mirror, I studied my reflection... a dim image in an old, dark room, cluttered with arcane accoutrements such as might belong to a magician, or alchemist. My journal was there too, as was my handwritten, illuminated copy of La Ciencia Vampirissmo.... I miss that book. To think that I have gone through two bodies, while it remains the same, a pure, inviolate testament to life-eater truth.

And as I inventoried myself I saw a fissure, or deep cut, stretch open on my forehead and run up into my scalp, where it came down my skull and continued down the spine. Then there was a wet, sucking sound, as the skin and hair and fat and tissue parted and peeled from my cranium, exposing the wet and bloody bone. Soon after it rolled from my face, parting at the nose, til my fleshless countenance stared back at me. I saw the muscles and tendons of my neck... my clavicles and sternum.... Like a fresh, oozing carcass, exposed to the students in an early Victorian surgical theater.... Yet I lived and my eyes were still bright.

What did it mean?

When would I know?


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Tuesday, November 11, 2014 a vampire transforms a world... THIS IS WHERE WE'RE GOING .. 11/11/14

This is a continuation, picking up roughly where 11/5/14 left off~~~~~

The kitchen 'girls' came down when it was still dark. They didn't care about the death of the 'young miss,' but they did gossip about what killed her.  The tall, more or less collie looking one thought she shot herself. Her co-worker, a stout, peasant looking, mastiff thing didn't care one way or the other, just busied herself peeling SUV sized spuds for the homemade tater salad, after. 

Tall one says (in giant dog talk) - What all you want me to do with them little people? ... Stout one goes - Shut up and don't ask me, you stuck up, bitch you. I seen you mushin' up with the first footman. He liked me first (tall one rolls her eyes) and you know it. How you do with your tail and all, swishin' it around. That's a whore tail. Everybody say it is and I'm gonna bite it off. So leave me alone.......

They work in silence. More potato peeling. Tall one makes some kind of peanut butter and suet cookies. They are dog people after all. Then stout one says - Raw. Raw. Serve 'em raw. But wash 'em up real good first. Get that little rubber hose and hook it up to the sink. Reach into the tank, grab one, but don't kill it. Lay it down on the dish towel, ass side up. Spread the cheeks and wash it real good, 'cause some a them gonna have lots a shit up there an' you gotta clean it out. Rich folk ain't partial to shitty crap, specially at a funeral. Specially when nobody know how she died. Wonder who's gettin' her old clothes? You know she gets her entire wardrobe from Wolff's in the city. New stuff every year. Wouldn't mind some a that myself.... Tall one snorted- What's a stumpy little thing like you gonna do with her city clothes? Make turbans outta them?..... Stout one goes - You keep talkin'. That tail's gonna go bye-bye. One night you gonna be sleepin' and I'll go 'Whoops! The razor slipped!.. And we're all gonna laugh!..... Tall, collie-looking thing says - Aw, you can go to hell...... But meanwhile she keeps washin' them asses. Then she put 'em in a big stainless steel bowl with steep sides, so they can't climb out, 'cause if one runs away and dies behind a cabinet, or something, it is gonna stink. Picks up another one. Lays it down on the towel. Gets the little hose. Opens up the butt cheeks. Gives a look and sees this one ain't dirty down there. Holds him down anyway and gives a good squirt, just in case. Two heartbeats later she's screamin' and yelpin' and grabbin' her paw-hand, which is all shredded and gushing blood. Everything's all red. 

Stout one yells - What the hell did you do!? The potatoes! The potatoes! Watch the potatoes!..... Collie girl wraps another towel 'round her hand and runs out.

But that clean-assed little thing ain't on the counter. He ain't no where. Stout one looks and looks and looks... He's gone... 
Thing is, he's a vampire. You know the one they call 'Polidori?' That's him. Shucked off his clothes so he'd fit in. Already made four new ones. Vampires, I mean. Ain't all shucked their skin yet, but they do drink blood. Soon they'll be 'sublimating' (passing through all types of matter) and killin' dog folks too.

Soon they'll be a whole army.

Little humans in that stainless steel bowl start buzzin'. Not so you'd hear. Their method of communication is more chemical. Touch faces. Touch bellies, buttocks. Bring hands up to their cheeks and they know. 

You see, they don't all have to go vampire. That would be suicidal. Just some. Just a few...

Just enough to kill all them giants.

Stout one don't even feel that little human thing creepin' up her back. Don't even feel it climbin' up her skirt... her apron strings... her blouse. Thinks it's like a little itch on the back of her neck. But then it's too late... 

Every mammal, except one or two sloths, has seven neck bones... seven vertebrae. Humans, giraffes, bats... dogs. Even monstrously huge dogs on a far off planet, in an alternate universe... Even the stout, mastiff looking thing. And all the tiny human had to do was pierce through one of them..Just sublimate... Just break the bone. Just severe the nerve and that would be it. 

And that was it. No one ever knew if Tillie, or Tomas, or the 'mother' woman, or one of the new ones did it.  What difference would that make?... One heartbeat later she was paralyzed, sprawled on the ice cold tiled floor.... Ten heartbeats later she was dead....

Did the funeral still go on?.... Of course...

But God knows what they did for potato salad....


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Monday, November 10, 2014

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Idina Menzel - No Day But Today - Los Angeles, Oct...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Idina Menzel - No Day But Today - Los Angeles, Oct...: A rainy night. No fancy script, just plain letters. They are not here. Tomas and his Sarah are out, bundled against the cold hard......... Please click on the IDINA MENZEL line up above for a reprise of a good episode from eight months ago. A cold damp night is a cold damp night. And good music is good music. ~~~~~ NO DAY BUT TODAY.

If you like, scroll around at the bottom. Click NEWER POST or OLDER POST to see it all. This is a good story arc. Our vampires are people first and night-folk second.

Bundle up all nice and warm. Go out onto the raw, dark streets and observe...

thank you

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Saturday, November 8, 2014

peek into another place and another vampirina we haven't encountered yet 11/8/14 .. Autumn - Vivaldi

Seasons change. Lives pass. There are members of the night world we haven't encountered yet. While Tomas and his band prepare for The Redemption of The Prey People in that strange alternate universe ruled by Giant Civilized Canines, let us explore another place...

Fall settles upon the land. Not the soft, warm, 'Indian Summer' variety of September or October. This manifestation cuts deeper. Leaves are gone. Most of the insects have died. Apples are in the barn. Turkeys say their last prayers in anticipation of ritual slaughter. Children hurry home from school under grey and darkening skies.

A fox takes up residence under a holly thicket, waiting for careless, fat squirrels and their acorn spiced flesh. Grandmother walks the grounds, cataloging every image, as she has always done. Some gnarled maples... Crayfish in a brook... Ravens in the branches of recently denuded oaks. She loves the place, two hundred acres of meadow and woodlands tucked away in an unspoiled corner of Bucks County.... America's Cotswolds... another Brigadoon. And on a rise, overlooking a rustic, though subtly manicured greensward sits  'the house' a late Federalist, Pennsylvania stone manor. Has it been in the family since the beginning?... No, they came after the Franco-Prussian War, 1872 or 1873. Great-great-great- great Grandfather arranged finances for the Prussian ruling house. His second son, never to lead the firm, since that burden always falls upon the eldest, was provided with funds and shipped off to America. Connections in Philadelphia and New York arranged a position with The House of Warburg in Manhattan, a private bank heavily invested in railroads and silver mines. Thus was the family's 'New World' fortune established. 

Heinrich became Henry and Eisenstein became Ironstone, as the family settled into nineteenth century Philadelphia. The Bucks County place was mostly for weekends then. For the most part, life passed within the confines of a commodious brownstone mansion on North Broad Street, not far from The Pennsylvania Academy of The Arts where Thomas Eakins taught, and hard by that bastion of New World Spirituality, Temple Rodeph Shalom, mother chapel of the Reformed Faith hereabouts. Indeed, the family still prayed there, if not every Saturday morning, or Friday evening, often enough.

Once, while walking home from Eventide (the sundown service) an Ironstone son, some say Reggie, others Barnet saw a young woman... little more than a girl actually. Her hair was lose and full, an almost scandalous rarity in those days. And her coat seemed a bit too insufficient  for a November night. Although lyrically beautiful, she seemed 'fallen.' The brothers tried not to make eye contact, though in her own soft way, the girl was quite brazen and she decided for them.... Please, sirs - she said - may I have some assistance?... Though instead of lowering her gaze, as other, still respectable, beggar girls might, she continued to look right at them..... Perhaps it was Reggie who gave her the silver dollar. She took it and laughed--- Not this. I didn't mean this. Please help me. Please help me. .... Then she trembled and sighed, as her eyelids fluttered and she collapsed against Barney's (well, that's what they called him)  velvet collared Chesterfield coat. He didn't know what to do... She began to slide down toward the sidewalk.... Grab her. Grab her! - said Reggie... So he did... And seven minutes later, in a deepening late fall chill, they carried her 'round to the stable entrance and put her in a storeroom by the kitchen. Did anyone see?... Not really. Gas lights soften details and provide, at best an 'impressionist' image of the truth.

Thus came Elizabeth. Was she a vampire then?... No, but quite far down that road.... They bribed the cook and hid her from the family, feeding her cold meats, buttered bread and hard cooked eggs. Though a fortnight hence she dined on other things.....

Grandmother knew the tale. They all did, for Elizabeth was still with them.....

<more to come.. please listen to the portion up above. it's Vivaldi and you might like it...happy autumn>


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Thursday, November 6, 2014

not part of our pixilated paranormal tale, but too good to pass up ... 11/6/14 ... David Letterman - Darlene Love "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" 2013

Tomas left the little boy and girl in a velvet lined lacquered box in the library. The lid didn't fit right and wouldn't close tight, so they'd get air. He threw in a few supplies from the dollhouse kitchen too...a  couple bottles of sparkling water... thimble filled with bacon shavings and tiny, chocolate chip sized, round loaves of pumpernickel bread.. Then he pushed the box behind a stack of books. They'd be alright, since the table was wedged in a corner hard by an ugly chair. Nobody would sit there.

Then he sublimated down to the cellar just in time to see the kitchen girl and two footman slide out the large tray and begin gathering what to them were miniature humans. The huge, civilized, dog things carefully plucked naked people up from the damp mushroom bed (careful not to crush any) and dropped them into a cigar box sized, wooden container,

perhaps eighty in all.  Considering what they'd just seen the tiny vampires do, some of them didn't want to go. Now they had an alternative. Now there was something else. Before, it was just live-graze-mate-reproduce-get taken to the glass tank in the kitchen-and die a horrible death. But now, even though they did not have a word for it, they could be vampires... little tiny, clueless, mean ass, vampires. At least that was something. So they squirmed and kicked and bit. Some were dropped to their deaths on the hard packed dirt below. A few survived, after a fashion, but the red, crab things quickly shredded them to bits. One or two fell into the folds of the kitchen 'girl's' skirts and carefully lowered themselves down, disappearing under the bottom of the lowest tray. Would the crab things find them? Who knows? But for now they were free. And some (the biters mostly) got crushed between rough, canine, paw-like fingers...  Ribs caved first... Abdominal organs spurted out through ruptured testicular sacs in the males and grotesquely swollen pudenda in the females. Thousands of shrimp sized people in the other stacked trays (fifteen in all) huddled together in the dirt. Next time it might be their turn.

But Polidori was in the box and the brand new vampire boy was too.

Then the footman slid the large rough, wood tray back in place, never a smooth procedure. When they had to jamb it in a few people bounced over the side and smacked down on the dirt. But they were only the second or third tier off the ground, so the fall to them equaled approximately two stories. Were there dislocations? Yes. Blunt trauma injuries, scrapes, fractures too. But they didn't suffer long. Crabs got them.

Tomas saw it all. Then, in near total darkness he climbed the old, splintered steps, squeezed under the door and entered the cold, shadowy kitchen. There was no moonlight. But white, midnight clouds reflected a bit of weak illumination in through the large, multi-pane windows. The glass tank was up there. From his angle he could just barely see it. But he could smell the humans and the two vampires inside. Should he sublimate? He did manage to make it through the huge, canine skull. But powers vacillate and he still had to get through the thick glass. If it was crystal, if there was lead in it that would be impossible. Vampires can't pass through lead. But the glass in the tank had a green tint. Crystal is usually clear... utterly clear.... 'crystal' clear. Well, he'd know soon enough.

The staff would be back to start preparing soon.... Bake bread...maybe a few pies and cakes what with the funeral luncheon and all. He had to be ready by then. Make a few more vampires. Kill a few more of the giant canines. Scare them. Terrify them. Make them think all humans had the power now. God knows what would happen then.

But at least it would be over. One way or another it would stop. The people would be free.

What came after was something else...

It had to work. It had to. And the children in the lacquered box had to be safe.

Tomas cried. He just wanted to go home. But we all want a lot of things and most times they never happen...

<more next time>


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