Friday, January 30, 2015


A being of flesh, with no spirit, would be a sea squirt, or perhaps a mushroom. While a being of spirit, minus flesh, would be naught but an on-going dream. A combination of the two is necessary, at least in our material world and spirits have sought out flesh since the beginning. 

Jonathon has attracted such an entity. Some call them hungry ghosts. Indeed, Johnny Jump Up, our resident ghoul, was one such manifestation. But he is gone, or as gone as disembodied souls can be. While the other one is not.

Imagine life with no sensation. Well, there is sight, or something like it. But even hearing is compromised. What comes through is more a knowledge of the sound in question, rather than the actual frequency. Would you like to have vivid, detailed dreams about char-broiled steaks without ever eating one?

Spirits are everywhere. Most are departed human souls desperate to come back. Others are something else. Beings get lost. There are rips in the fabric of creation. And if they quickly disappear, there's still that instant when they're there. That's when things fall through. Often they pass from one spiritual realm to another. But sometimes they wind up here... and then we have to deal with them.

Let me share a story from the past. A noble family from Normandy, or Brittany, or some such place, possessed of three stout castles, each on its own rich barony, had a son. And when he was of an age to learn the knightly arts they placed him with a neighboring landholder, who gave him, as squire, to a truly chivalrous knight, so that he might learn. Things went well for the first three fortnights. The boy had a good grasp of armory and how to care for it. And he was quite adept at mucking out stalls. Horse turds are not merely discarded, but must be carefully gathered and set aside to feed all manner of vegetables and corn (medieval word for 'grain'). The noble youth had a special talent for doing that. But one day, as he greased his mentor's broadsword, he was cut... a rather deep wound right by the second knuckle of his second finger, on the side where it meets the first. Please know I speak of the left hand. And as he'd earlier been shit sorting, his hands were none to sweet. Therein lies the rub, for it is well known that shit and blood don't mix. The former comes from God, while the later belongs to Satan. Four nights hence the youth was dead. Well the fleshly parts were dead, but the spirit part lived on. Indeed, it beat the meaty parts home by two days. 

One night, as the baron tarried with his concubines (there was no accepted term for them, but that's what they were) a shade appeared by the bed. The plump, naked girl eeked like a mouse and cowered beneath the coarse, rough sheets. But her master knew the ghost-thing standing there and sat up. He blinked. He stammered. He said - Geoffrey, is that you?..... For nine heartbeats there was nothing. Remember, this was a new ghost and new ghosts take time to draw themselves up... though, finally, the ghost said - Aye, father. I am dead. Laid low by Shit-In-Blood disease.... Then the ghost just stood there..... His father shuttered, and whispered - I will make you whole..... Within minutes, a serf was brought forth... a second son, for even the lowly deserve an heir. The castle alchemist quickly dispatched him with three deft thrusts... one to the groin... one to the spleen... one to the neck. And as he lay dying, the father said - Make haste, Geoff. Inhabit the wretch!... So the ghostly youth, familiar with this country remedy, slipped into the bloody innards. And even for a spirit, divorced from actual sensation, that which came through, by whatever means was far from pleasant.

The alchemist sprinkled the ninety nine percent dead serf boy (maybe one hundred percent... who knew?) with a vial of the finest aquavite (Scots whiskey) brought all the way from Cawdor, as he mumbled old, Pictish incantations. All the while, the father screamed - MOVE, boy! DO SOMETHING! Show us YOUR PRESENCE!... They all waited... the father... the plump, naked concubine... the alchemist... plus a few nervous men-at-arms. Maybe there was a wench (servant girl) or two moving among them. That, I do not know.

But presently the ruined corpse began to move... not much, though subtle differences were detected. The quiver of a lip... A trembling foot... A soft, oily fart.

The father rose from the bed, wrapped in its sheets, the better to preserve his baronial dignity (though leaving the naked concubine quite exposed) and knelt by the mess on the floor. The alchemist cleared his throat and said - Master, we must get on..... The baron nodded. Then the in-house 'scientist' yelled - Bring in 'the host!'..... Eight heartbeats later another terrified serf was produced (I suppose he'd been waiting all this time). They tore off his rags and threw him down on the cold, stone floor.....

The incarnation would go on.....

< this passage was included to illustrate the rich lore of spirits and what might be done to 're-house' them... more next time>


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Thursday, January 29, 2015

Jonathon Sees Horrific Sights ... 1/29/15

Sarah spent her nights in the bookshop. She liked Philadelphia After Dark. Why not? She created it. Oh, don't think she leave and wander about. But she always goes back. Helps straighten up the place. Dusts what has to be dusted and all that. 

She visits the hospitals around 11PM. They change shifts then. It's easier to slip in and slip out. You know how they dim the lights after visiting hours. Staff retreats to the nurses' stations. Docs pretend to be so engrossed in paperwork. Some are. Others play act. God forbid some concerned family member tries to ask them a question. I mean... how do they bill for that?

Sarah silently glides into darkened rooms leaving droplets of her healing blood upon the lips of drugged and dying people. She bites into a fingertip and lets the magic drip down. Most so blessed get better. Their people thank the doctors.

Should a nurse come in and catch her there, she sublimates. Sarah's good at that. She 'disappears' through a wall, usually an exterior wall, and floats down toward the pavement, or perhaps a tiny, landscaped garden. Sometimes her victims, the souls she culls, never know she was there. Female vampires, vampirinas, are often like that. They come upon the victim while they sleep. Evil people rest too, you know. It doesn't take long. She drinks the life, waits for the 'cool' blue flame and leaves. Did you think vampires drag victims around and leave them in dumpsters? Only in stories... not in real life. The blue flame doesn't leave much. Sometimes a bit of bone... a left over toe... some greasy residue..... If you've been with us for a while, you know. 'Spontaneous Human Combustion'-- that's what they call it.... But there's no such thing as that. Night-folk made it up. Makes things so much easier. 

Well, that's how Sarah does it. She's neat, clean and discreet. Actually, most vampires are like that. Gory, dripping, lurid fangs and snarling lips are just in stories too. God, what they say about vampires.

Tomas lives a fairly regular existence too. Though occasionally things happen. This night he went into an old hotel... a shuttered building waiting to be demolished. A decrepit flop house actually... creaking, sagging floors... cracked plaster... barren, empty rooms.... and darker than you can ever imagine. People go in looking for shelter. Most stay near a door, or window. Fast escapes are pivotal. Tomas distributes silver dollars. I mean real silver dollars. They're easy to sell. Most go for fifteen or sixteen times face value. And no one bothers him. They don't even talk. People know him. Not that they know what he is. They just know he's different. Hell, the place is sticky with ghosts. But the homeless have their own demons. There's 'Orange Eyes.'..... Two reflective, wide open, expressionless eyes that just peer out from pitch black rooms. 'Laughing Man' is another one.... Low sinister, manic sounds. No one's ever seen him, but some have felt the bites. Vampires are intrigued with spirits and ghosts of all types. Not that they run after them. But they're curious. The night has many secrets. 

Tomas makes his way down a narrow interior passage. A bit of light fans out from an open door. There are no window shades on this floor. People take them for the plastic. They spread what blankets they have and bed down on it. Keeps out the cold. He stops and looks in the room. The light is ambient light... city light... from everywhere and nowhere... A dull, grey, winter wash from the sky.

He sees a small dead body in the corner. It has to be dead. No living thing could lay broken and twisted like that... A child perhaps? Homeless children suffer terribly. Then he hears scuffing against the floor, as the feet begin to move. The arms stiffen. He hears bone grind against bone. The think sits up. Is it staring at him? Hard to tell. Then it rises to its feet, as if pulled by strings. Indeed, it walks much like a marionette... stumbling... trembling.... The mouth hangs slack and open. Tomas knows he can get away. He knows he can sublimate through the place, out into the open air, but yet he doesn't.... The thing points at him.... a withered, almost fleshless arm... Lank hair hangs from the skull.... A voice, not a child's voice, but a voice, emanates from just behind the corpse... It says - Kiss me. Moisten my lips. Share the blood... Share the blood... Share the blood.... then it lunges toward him. He recoils and pulls away, backing out into the passageway. The thing bobs, bounces and jerks after him, passing from blackest shadow to somewhat less gradations of darkness. Tomas rises up, his black, leather bootkins inches from the floor and glides back down the hall. The thing trips and falls, but keeps racing toward him, as if scraped along the floorboards by a giant hand....He still hears the words - Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me..... Then he slams against the wall, desperately trying to keep his feet from the dead things grasp. He screams. Seconds later, his body instinctively sublimates through the plaster and masonry, exiting six stories up over the street. For a moment he hangs suspended, then crashes down upon the roof of a Nissan Altima, killing the driver before scrambling off and disappearing down an alley.

But the thing knew him now. It had his scent and felt his resonance.

'Laughing Man' begins to cackle....


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Tuesday, January 27, 2015

I AM CURIOUS ..... an ENTITY 'Speaks' ... 1/27/15

I am eternal, at least as far as I can tell. Perhaps I was floating through this space when your star system appeared? Maybe the light caught my attention? Maybe the swirling shapes, or charged particles? It's difficult to say. I had no language then. Everything was nebulous and visceral and fleeting. I remained in place as the various physical forms condensed around me. 

And think not that you were the first worthy minds to inhabit the place. There were others and they were proud too. The second world, the one you call 'Venus' had some beings that intrigued me. I'd snake through that civilization and witness things. Did I have sight? I don't know... but I saw and I heard and I tasted. 

Death puzzled me. Where did the 'Venus' folk go? One moment they were here, beings brought forth from the ether and then they were gone. I was undone. How can things change so fast? Does not the rock last for eons? And is the water flowing now but continuous manifestations of the first water ever to be? Why is life different? What happens when it ends? What manner of 'regime' ordains such a thing?

Permit me to move on. The loss of my 'Venus' friends pains me.

And then we come to you, descendants of a strange, sea worm swimming six hundred million planetary revolutions ago. Such elastic creatures you are, throwing off old forms like worn clothing.... Water breathers... Air breathers... Notochords ... backbones.... Egg layers... Live births... Mousy things... Monkeys and You. Such variety. I must admit you keep me entertained.

I play and I learn. Believe me, I learn. But this time I'll be more disciplined. Not like with the 'Venus' people. I'd make them do things...At first little things, like dip grandma in molten lead. I have an hypnotic way with material beings. I plant things in their minds. Like puppets they are... No offense. First twenty five percent of them exposed themselves on town squares. Just like that. They went 'wheee!'  The cops didn't know who to grab first. But twenty five percent of them were doing it too. ... Oh, I laughed and laughed, or as much as anyone without a physical diaphragm can laugh. Then (this was a few of their years later) I had them crush the heads of whoever happened to be right next to them. Let me tell you, buses were not the place to be, especially if some nut up front decided to crush the driver.

But one time I went too far. I never thought they'd do it, but they did. I said - Everybody swallow a child... They had big mouths... more like the lids on your step-on, stainless steel waste baskets... but with little shark style teeth around the top and the bottom. So they could really do it... and they did...

That was the end. Look, I'd fix it so the next day, within one planetary rotation, they'd forget... And they always did. But this time was different. I don't think they remembered all the details. Still, they must have wondered who all the kiddie clothes belonged to and whose pictures were on top of the piano. I don't know. After that they just didn't care. 

See, the thing is (and I'm talking about entities like myself) we have to remember they're living creatures.... That's why I want to be one too.... A living flesh and blood creature I mean.

I've been watching that 'Jonathon.'  In truth, I first noticed him after his visit to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn House in London. Never paid attention to vampires before. I don't know why. I just never did. 

But now I see him as a bridge... a conduit between the physical and whatever it is I am. Maybe vampires are embryonic 'entities?'... Maybe the one they call 'Papa' is just farther along? Perhaps I was a vampire? That must have been billions of years ago. I should have been farther along than this. Maybe I've regressed? Maybe I was not a vampire? Maybe I'm wrong.

You see, I question. I probe. I experiment. And I've never come across another such as I.

Do you know what that's like?

<more next time>


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Monday, January 26, 2015

YOU WILL NOTICE ME..... The Vampire, Jonathon, Takes The Floor... 1/26/15

Steam rises from my body. A 'gift' from 'Papa.' Mysteries of the blood and all. Now I can generate heat. Well, to be more precise, I can channel heat. If I am cold, I access it. Please don't ask me to explain. I still don't understand all the technicalities. So I make my rounds. The snow doesn't bother me. Perhaps a tiny bit of the sun I cannot see burns within me? I can do many things. But you already know that. I am Jonathon, also known as Tomas and I am vampirino.

I am also reborn, brought back from what I assume is a world beyond this one and robed in a different body. Thankfully, he looks like me. After approximately nine hundred and forty years... (I like to say a thousand) I'm rather set in my ways. Lucky for me, Doctor Franklin understands that. 

The streets bear an icy glaze. Automobiles are off somewhere sleeping. I study my image in store windows. Sometimes a manikin looks back. Certain ones acquire souls, or something very like souls. I nod and they acknowledge me..... Good evening, Sir Night - says a composite and resin little girl in apre ski wear.... She thinks it, but I hear thoughts too..... Who have you killed, this dark time? - she asks..... I say - None but the evil.... Then the figure goes quiet. Manikins are so easily distracted. A taxi stops for the light. I hear Dance Of The Toreadors vibrating out from the vehicle. An opera fan the driver is. I hum a few bars, 'round the corner and continue my nightly constitutional. In years gone by, I'd rest in a telephone booth, waiting for my dinner to approach. Some were dark. The booths, I mean. Burnt out bulbs, you know. Perfect spots for night-folk to hide. I'd sing to my 'feast' and draw them forth. No indiscriminate murderer, I. ... A reverent beast, I am, culling only those needing death. Their faces come to me in visions. An angel says - This soul needs renewal. End the fleshly life and send it back... So I do. I am glad to be of service. Once each month I take this holy 'wine.' But every night I give some back.

Sarah walks the hospitals. I keep to the streets. Tonight I preserved the life of a runaway... a fifteen year old boy. Strange how readily young people accept us now. Why not? In this time of scientific wonderment our far more ancient form of alchemy fits right in. 

I bite into my finger tips. Bright, red droplets well up. I say - Chose life and live, boy. Take what I offer... and he does. Then I give him a check card with two thousand dollars on it. The bank makes them up for us.  They know. The branch manager is a 'familiar.' Saved his wife from morbid obesity once. The blood does that. Seeks balance, health and all that. 'Bank cards,' it's what we do now.

But the boy will live and twelve years hence humanity will have a new Bruce Springsteen.

I go into an all night convenience store. Edith likes Double Stuffed Oreos. They sell Double Stuffed Oreos. I buy some. Vampires do that too. 

It's getting colder. I feel it... even though it doesn't bother me. My sharp leather jacket and water proof fedora take care of that... not to mention the 'internal heating' I told you about. Wonder if I can go all icy in the summer time?

I begin to whistle my 'night song'--- If you go out on the streets tonight, you're in for a big surprise.... Teddy Bears ain't the only ones.

Streets are almost empty. A few strange types are out. Some people love the cold. It numbs them.

Stay safe. Stay warm...


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Sunday, January 25, 2015

THE GUY WHO BLOGS for THE VAMPIRES, Billy Kravitz, TALKS .. 1/25/15

OK, I'm happy he's back and it all worked out. I'm glad he has his 'purpose' again. But he has to recognize that I want certain things too. Blogging for vampires isn't all I do. I write other things too. Some of them are (dare I say it?) screenplays. And I'm fairly sure I can write. I mean I know the difference between a first draft and a polished manuscript. But even my first drafts 'read' well. People who write know these things. We see other people's material, often professionally presented as either novel, or screenplay. We read it...and re read it to the point where we can see the writing instead of the story. Sometimes its special and sometimes its not. And we look at our stuff and think --- Why not  us?... Or more accurately - Why not me?

Well, that's how I feel. I want Jonathon to help me. I want him to sublimate into some agent's bedroom, like Marley's Ghost and scare the smoked ricotta right out of them. I want him to leave one of my screenplays on their Williams Sonoma night table. Maybe he could give them a drop or two of his blood, so we'd be friends and all... 

Is this probable?... No.... But the trouble is, I know it's possible. He helped a certain Philadelphia director break through, but that was before I got involved in all this. And something happened they never talk about. Every time I ask him he makes a face and looks away.

Their out back now, in the little kitchen garden. It's freezing.... all glazed in ice and slush. Sarah cleaned off this little wrought iron settee they have. Now their bundled up and wrapped in blankets... but they're out there. Vampires love the outdoors, even the truncated spaces we have in the city. Funny, since they don't need oxygen. I think early vampires lived out in nature. In fact, I know they did. 'Papa' did. He led moonlit hunts and everything.  Rode on the back of a woolly rhino. I don't know what they were after. That's not important. Could have been baby mammoths, or cocktail franks. He wasn't gonna eat it. Liked the drama of it all... Great Shaman of the lake-front tribe.

Edith made them some hot bullion. They can tolerate clear soups and beverages. Sarah likes clam juice. Jonathon tells her it's pure crap. Lord Byron's night fiends, they are not.

Sarah might help me. Am I crazy for wanting it like this? Well, tell me. Tell me why I'm crazy? My stuff is good. I could smash my skull against the doors of some production company and never get in. While some guy who went to camp with what's his names son makes movies. Look, I know it's not always like that. But that's just it. You use the tools life gives you. I got a powerful, moral, altruistic vampire and his more or less like minded 'wife.' Am I supposed to feel guilty about asking them to help me? 

If they won't, Edith will. She's not adverse to throwing a spell or two. She likes me. Buys the cold cuts I like.... Hawaiian Pastrami and all. I know a few simple Red Paint spells. They're not really spells. More like Zen contemplations. But they make things happen.. You know... visualization is realization... Once, in The Pines, I found a gold watch in the mud after I did it. Didn't work, but guy at the we-buy-gold place gave me two thousand dollars for it.

Look, the vampires have plenty. God knows how much they have. And they share with me. I can't complain. But I want my own and not just 'stuff,' but recognition too. I don't mean red carpets. Red carpets are fun, but red carpets are just rugs. I want to be acknowledged by other creative people. I want them to believe in MY abilities. And if it takes some vampire voo doo to make it happen, who the hell cares?

Wait a minute. Does that sound right?

Well, you tell me. You bounce around on line . You know how hard it is. What am I supposed to do?

I'm gonna try one of those Red Paint 'spell' things again. Not for a gold watch. I don't want no gold watch.

Just gonna do it and see what happens. 

Look at them out there. He hugs her. They watch the stars... all honorable and altruistic and 'good' vampire and all. But they got their 'familiars.' They control them. They juice them up with the blood and all.

I'll tell you another thing. I think that GOTHAM show has it all wrong. Batman, Bruce Wayne, I mean, was born sometime around nineteen ten. He was thirty years old when the first comics came out. That was about nineteen thirty nine... nineteen forty. So shouldn't GOTHAM look like World War 1 era New York?.. Horse drawn ice trucks... Old ladies in long dresses... Celluloid shirt collars... Them semi-open chauffeur driven limousines... Old time stuff. Not like that 'I don't know what time it is' easy to reproduce 'Manhattan.' There should be the essence of a whole new time being born. But they just don't see it... or see the need for it, 'cause 'you' buy what they sell anyway. 

I'm gone upstairs. I got a book... a Red Paint book. They don't write books. Some guy, some anthropologist wrote it fifty years ago. That's where I get the spells. I know a little from The Pines first hand. But a lot comes from the book.

Gotta try something. 


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Wednesday, January 21, 2015


Be honest --- haven't you always wanted to guest host Saturday Night Live? Well, if Lorne Michaels won't hire you. Hire yourself. 

Read this post. We've been doing this for two months. The feedback is positive and everybody has a good time 

Are you wanting FAME? Do you want to be well known? ... Be with us on this big funny promotional (and it's simple, easy and free) thing we have. 

This SATURDAY NIGHT many people are gathering under a hashtag --- #realSNLtalk <~~~ you can click on it. Some are already 'verified'... all are creative and talented. 

All you have to do is get your best lines together and TWEET them to #realSNLtalk.... Get together with a partner & Tweet an ongoing sketch if you want. Just DON'T FORGET to end each tweet with that hashtag~~~> #realSNLtalk .... 

If you're good with photos & graphics, especially humorous ones... Tweet them... But PLEASE remember to end (or begin) every tweet with #realSNLtalk... Sounds crazy for me to repeat this so much but we've been running for two months and people claim to be joining in BUT they don't tag their material. Unless we tag everything and group it all together under the same umbrella there's no impact. So THAT'S WHY I bang the #realSNLtalk drum so much...

It started as an alternative to the #SNL site, which mostly either gushes over or trashes Saturday Night LIVE and its cast members. We were different. We discussed things... not just empty quotes of somebody else's material over and over and over and over.

Then we realized... HEY! We got personalities too! Let's put on a show... So now, even if Lorne Michaels won't let us guest host, we can grab the SPOTLIGHT on our own.

Join us. Be there at 11:30PMest . We run concurrent with the real SNL show. Give us a funny 'take' (or funnier take) on their  material. Go off on a rant of your own. Tell a joke. Relate a weird, humorous story. Post pics. Dance around on a video. Use your cute little dumpling of a baby as a ventruliquist's 'dummy' (wish I could spell... if I make money in showbiz, that'll be my first big thing--- hire a well known, high profile, fancy, Hollywood spelling tutor... oh, I want that SO bad)... Did I say the part about exploiting your babies? You could also hold them up under the arms and make 'em dance.

That's all I can think of now. Wanna watch Carson Daly.. BLAKE SHELTON's gonna be SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE host this week. And music guest too. We're gonna feature the 'verified' and well known #BluesRock sound of @wilybo and @karenak <~~~ yeah, they're clickable.

Oh, if you know your way around @cryptTV ... tweet a '6 SECOND SCARE and ad our #realSNLtalk hashtag too. Comedy and Horror overlap... sometimes unintentionally.

That's all. Tell your friends. 

Have fun... Get famous...

Join us...

Did I mention to always use the 
#realSNLtalk hashtag?

And for impact, all people taking part are going to post the SAME TWEET at 11:30PMest. They're going to say ---
LIVE! from this screen, it's #realSNLtalk! .... Then, for the next 90 minutes, EVERY TIME they post the #realSNLtalk hashtag goes with it.

OK OK OK, I'm done.


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And It Was Done... JONATHON IS RESTORED.. A Vampire Returns ... 1/21/15

And it was done. We don't have to run through the details. After four years of this (although essentially no one visited during year one and year two) you know how to make a vampire. You've seen it... a simple give and take. The essence of one flows into the other and then goes back... Repeat a few times... collapse in rapture... stare poetically at a moonbeam, while a poignant aria or duet plays softly in the distance.... a few deep breathes and there you have it... a vampire.

Jonathon sits on the floor, his back against the stones, staring at his outstretched legs. Sarah sits on the bed. She wants to go to him. But 'Papa' hanging in space like a suspended marionette, stops her --- No. Let him be. He has to shed. Itches and burns less when people aren't hanging all over him. 

She looks at Jonathon and says - How do you float like that? Sublimating, once you learn, is easy. Flying is too. But floating is hard. How do you keep all the air molecules from slicing through your body?..... 'Papa' just shrugs.... Sarah rests her hands on her lap. Jonathon begins to fidget. The peeling... the shedding of the skin has begun.

'Papa tries to distract them... He goes - I used to love Vienna.... Before the war, I mean.... The Second World War? - asks Sarah..... No, The Thirty Years War - says 'Papa.' That one might have liked it, my Jewish son, the one sweating and peeling by the wall...... W-what do you m-mean? - mumbled Jonathon, who'd stripped off his clothes, the better to roll off thick, heavy strips of wet oozing skin. Don't think of sunburn peeling. This is not like that. Sunburned mortals merely shed their epidermis, the thin, filmy, topmost layer of the skin. Newborn vampires lose the whole thing... the epidermis and the dermis entire, down to where hair follicles and sweat glands live. Though it would be wrong to picture Jonathon as a flayed mortal. For as soon as the old hide left, a new, smooth, fresh replacement came forth to take its place. Oh, he was bald for a few hundred heartbeats and completely hairless. But only for a little while. And the new growth was powerful better than what went before. 

But what 'Papa' referred to was the position of Jews after The Thirty Years War. You see, Christians had shredded each other to bits. Steak tartare was more spot on. Then, for added amusement, they burned witches. And please don't think that magic appellation meant only women. Men took fire-baths too. So did pubescent children. Elferinos and elferinas (pubescent vampires) suffered greatly. Populations were halved. In some places it was worse. Towns and villages reeked of death and only the crows were glad. But oddly enough Jews were left largely unmolested. Confined in damp, rotting, creaking ghettos, locked away from truly reverent people, they somehow survived (in this instance anyway). Electors, grand dukes, margraves and princes went begging for subjects. So Jews, in exchange for paying unconscionable taxes, were raised up from their former 'full time' martyr status to new positions as 'replacement' subjects. Commerce flourished. Towns were rebuilt and 'civilization' went on.

Jonathon (rolling the last of his old skin from his groin, scrotum and penis in a careful, delicate manner) looked up and said - Wasn't there. Not in Vienna, I mean. Prague... I was in Prague. Served as 'Golem' when they came to burn the ghetto..... What for? - asked 'Papa.' Though he very well knew..... For surviving - said Jonathon..... 

And they all laughed at the irony of the human and more-than-human (vampire) condition..... Soon after, Jonathon was restored. 'Papa' gave him a new suit of clothes, more or less like the jeans, bootkins, white shirts and leather jackets he'd worn before.

Sarah said - What do we do now?

Go home......- 'Papa' said

They stood there in that raw stone tower and held hands. 'Papa' closed his eyes and so it was... or rather once was.

The enchanted place was gone. The highlands were no more, nor any small part of it. 

Everything fades away. That's just how it is.

But three people approached the townhouse on a dark, cold, misty night and Edith (the housekeeper) opened the door to let them in.


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Monday, January 19, 2015

THE EVENT... Papa Likes Drama... 1/19/15

And then we saw it... a pressure wave... a ripple in the air, or whatever passed for air in this place raced toward us... a tsunami made from ether. It tore the clouds asunder. Birds attempting to flee before it lit up like sparklers, as it passed. Sarah and I moved away from the raw, stone 'window' and hid under the bed. God knows it wouldn't have saved us.... a piece of wood shaving in the path of a blow torch. But I was still 'mortal' and she wanted to protect me, so we cowered there, under the huge, carved bed. Funny, what you notice. The illusion (what else could I call it?) was so complete, down to the spider patrolling her web beneath the bed slats. How calm she was... a black and yellow, glossy beauty, delicately knitting a bunting 'round what looked like a plump, green eyed marsh fly. Though upon closer inspection I saw it lacked the loathsome, insect mouth parts and instead had a neat, tiny Betty Boop arrangement, complete with lipstick and a little beauty mark affixed to its shell-like carapace. Was it looking at me? How could I tell with eyes like that? Besides, at any moment I expected to be incinerated and pulverized by the miles high wave. Sarah kissed me. I kissed her. We said our prayers and composed ourselves for the coming ordeal.

Then the tower began to vibrate. Stone resonates to a musical pitch when heated. I could almost hear it 'singing.' Maybe it was screaming. Next came the noise... a sky crushing roar, akin to the monstrous wail rising up from the depths of hell. I was deaf. Blood ran from my ears. Sarah's hands flew to hers, for she could still hear it. 

Blinding light sliced in through the narrow, open slit, blasting shards of stone from the opposite wall. Blisters rose on the backs of my hands. Sarah lay motionless as a corpse, her eyes glazed and 'lifeless.' Vampires face destruction differently, you know. The 'death' part has already been attended to.

And then it stopped. In an instant, in a micro instant it was over. The very stones of the place moaned and fell back into position. Outside, the crushing immensity of the pressure wave froze, each suspended particle of soil and dust contributing toward a translucent ocher hue. We crept out from under the bed and looked through the 'window.' A dead dragon hung there in the ether, it's heraldic countenance twisted and broken... how sad.

Two heartbeats later he spoke. I jumped. Sarah turned. 'Papa' was back, this time in the buckskin attire of a Scythian horseman. He pointed to the incredible sight outside and said - That is who I am..... Then he sighed and just like that, it was gone. All was made right. The highlands were green once more and songbirds swam through the air.... 'Papa' gestured toward Sarah and said - She does not burn. Your blisters are gone. And the stones are all healed...... I said - Is this all an illusion?..... No - answered my once and ostensibly future progenitor - More like a magical construct. Real, when I want it to be real and gone, when I want it to be gone. I was already 'quite formidable' the last time I brought you over. But a lot happens in a thousand years, not counting my brush with Madam Shang. I almost said 'time,' but it was far more complex than that....... I couldn't resist. I asked - Is what we have now 'real,' or is the whole thing also a construct?.... He looked away.... 'Magic' seems an inadequate word for such as this - I said.... 'Papa' nodded. Then he asked if I was ready. I know he meant 'ready' for the unimaginable abilities I'd receive in addition to his blood and I assured him that was so.

Thus it began... and Sarah was there to witness it all. I left this temporary mortal state behind. And Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea, returned to what he was, guided by a miraculous being who many say resembles no one so much as a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere.

But he'll always be 'Papa' to me....

<more next time>


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Sunday, January 18, 2015

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: .. 1/18/15 .. A VAMPIRE ROMANCE IN OLD TARANTO OR POSSIBLY BARI

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: A VAMPIRE ROMANCE IN OLD TARANTO OR POSSIBLY BARI: The cozy, little bistro closed for the night and so the vampires returned to the street. It was two in the morning. The city was quiet. Som...

Many people from places all over the planet like this passage. It speaks to Papa's changing nature and the fluctuating levels of vampire security... not just vampires, mortals too.

Tomas and Sarah travel through Europe so that she might learn a bit of his early times.

If you like this 'peek,' click NEWER POST at the bottom and see more, or click OLDER POST, depending on the direction you'd like to take.

To get started, click where it says 'A Vampire Romance in Old Taranto or Possibly Bari' up above.

Thank you for any support you're willing to give me.

< we'll return to Papa's Highland Tower next time>


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Friday, January 16, 2015



And then we slept. That's all I know. When I awoke, we were in a large, carved bed, snuggled into the hollow of a straw filled mattress, made up with a homespun linen sheet and covered by two down filled comforters. The round, tower room was still dark and chill. Papa still sat in his throne-like chair, there by the foot of the bed. Still in full, Scots regalia (though of a seventeen forty five type). And I thought, how strange for him to observe us like that. But then I noticed he wasn't there. I climbed out of the bed and went closer. The eyes, his eyes, were glass... clear glass. I fished a long piece of straw from the mattress and lit it on the brazier. Then held it up before what passed for corneas. I peered inside and saw weak, orange light reflecting back from the interior surface of his skull, if it was a skull. Papa had left the building. His skin looked like fine, bisque porcelain. The clothes did too. 

Sarah opened her eyes and whispered - What are you doing? ..... I said - I don't know.... She said - Is he conscious?...... I said - I don't even think he's here..... She threw off the covers and joined me. I blew out the tiny flame, lest it burn my fingers. She softly ran her hand along his jaw..... Where is he? - she asked.... I just shook my head. I'd seen magic, horrific magic. I'd seen the Earth encased in an over head ocean. Above the clouds, a shimmering, translucent, emerald shell. I'd seen a girl in Medieval Jerusalem consumed by what was essentially a huge maggot. The crushing immensity of Jupiter's lurid cloud decks.It's all here. It's all in the record we call Vampire Wonderland. Google it. Search for it. You'll find it.

And you want to know what magic is? It's manipulation. Everything is everywhere, like pages in a vast eternal book. 'Magicians' just have the ability to leaf through it and find things. I could do some as a vampire... telepathy... sublimation... the manipulation of small things, coins, knick-knacks. But Papa was something else all together. And time meant nothing to him, or those like him. He could sit at the bottom of the ocean, beneath the crushing sea, watching little crabby things crawl over giant tube worms for decades. Perhaps he conjured just a bit of weak illumination to witness it all? Maybe it emanated from his skin?.... He could climb to the heights, throwing himself from a mountain top, arms outstretched and sail around the world on thermals and jet streams, always staying in the dark. But sunlight didn't harm him. They say he could 'transfer' himself to the vaccinity , of our parent star and hover there, transfixed, encased in a sphere of ether, inviolate and unchanging, staring at the planet sized 'mountains' roiling 'cross the surface, as monstrously huge flares arced over his head. Why did the light not blind him? Well, let me put it this way. In your world it would. But God knows what world he was in. And God knows what additional 'tricks' he'd acquired from Madam Shang. She's even older than the Lady Renate. I don't know if she was ever human. Which is not to say she was not mortal, just from some other place.

Had he already forgotten us? Were we stuck here, imprisoned like Rapunzel in a high, remote tower far, far away? Would he return in a timely manner, or wander back after centuries? Were 'centuries' even the right frame of reference?

I was getting hungry. I was still mortal, after all. Would Sarah, being 'night-folk,' become desperate enough to feed on me?

Do you see how complicated 'magic' can be? Precision is everything. So much can happen. There are so many variables. There are so many pitfalls. 

Yet I want to go back there... to that special place... where all things are possible and everything is everywhere.

That's when the room began to grow warm...

<more next time>


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Wednesday, January 14, 2015



First of all, my name is not misspelled. I write it that way as an allusion to the Hebrew original ----- Yo-nah-tohn. That's all. We get tweets and Emails and all manner of digital messages about it. Please know that a name is a personal thing and mine conforms to basic rules of phonetics, so that's it.

<now back to our story>

Papa doesn't sublimate. He can, if he wants to, but after twenty eight thousand years of paranormal evolution, he has other choices. So at the same instant we left the tunnel, deep under Center City, Philadelphia, we appeared in the castle. And this is not a romantic redoubt out of a courtly fable, but rather a stark, grey fortress set atop a high place on the treeless, Scottish uplands.

There was a huge iron brazier in the middle of the room and if we were mortal we'd have breathed steam. That's how cold it was.  Papa sat down on a large wooden chair. It looked like a feudal throne such as a local laird would have occupied while dispensing justice to his tenants. Maybe it was. Sarah went to the window, really just a narrow opening in the wall. I came up behind and hugged her.  She was so cold.  I looked at Papa. He never made eye contact, but he knew. Two heartbeats later the brazier glowed with a deep, red light. Peat, I think it was. Such a warm, natural fuel. Whether real or just an illusion conjured by our host, I do not know. Does it matter? Soon there were other furnishings in the room. Sarah and I sat down on two, deep, Romanesque chairs, by the brazier. Moonlight streamed in through the window. Save for the occasional low 'pop' from the fire, all was silent. We almost fell asleep...

Then he spoke. Papa said - Please excuse what to you must seem to be unbearable lethargy, but this is how we are..... (more silence)... Sarah said - Who is we?...... Papa studied his hands and said - Old ones.... I said - Where are we?..... The 'Old One' smiled and said - With me..... Then he pointed toward the window and whispered - Look...... We turned. Since the opening was small, we couldn't see much, but a dragon flew by. It was far off and bathed in a silvery, lunar haze and when it passed, two small ones followed after.... Other than that time in London at the Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn House, I'd never seen anything like that. Certainly not a family. And I know Sarah hadn't..... I looked at Papa and said - Are you a vampire? I mean 'still.'...
He thought and said - At this point, I don't know and I don't care..... Will you bring me 'over?'.... With that, the sound of Judy Garland singing 'Over The Rainbow,' straight from the nineteen thirty nine movie, quietly radiated out from each and every rough hewn stone of the place..... Papa said - I like that song and don't worry. For your purposes, I can be anything..... A vampire? A life-eater? - I asked. He just nodded and smiled.

The Judy Garland song faded away, replaced by a low, quiet, old tribal chant. Guess he liked that song too. In twenty eight thousand years you hear a lot of them...

Soon I saw the dragons fly back the other way. I suppose they were going home...


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Tuesday, January 13, 2015

HOW TO MAKE A VAMPIRE... Part III ... 1/13/15

Papa held out his arms and Jonathon went to him. This was, after all, the being responsible for his preternatural existence. They embraced. All was still, save the tiny, dancing flames upon the many candles. The two elferinos and two elferinas hovered about them like angels in a seventeenth century altar piece..... Then he gestured toward Sarah and she approached. Papa hugged them both.

For approximately twenty three heartbeats no one moved. The mole-folk just stood there, like congregants at a strange service. Then, one, wide-eyed mole-girl with a soft mop of dark ringlets, began to sing. She went - I think it's so groovy now that people are trying to get together. I think it's so wonderful that people are finally getting together.... Some of you must know that song.  The others began to clap to the beat. Papa looked into the eyes of his two descendants and smiled. He felt like a mortal, but he was so much more. Blood was a special delicacy, though not a fundamental necessity. And please know, to ordinary  vampires, it is not so much drinking blood, as it is taking lives. They exist independent of the physical world. Oh they feel it. There's gravity and pleasure and wind and rain and music. But they don't need it, though some are weak in that regard.

Papa raised his hand. Instantly, all were silent.... Papa said - Bring me the girls. The mole-people were reluctant to do so, for they so craved the show and none moved, at least not fast enough to satisfy the uber-vampire.... Time for a lesson. Papa pointed to a shifty-eyed mole-man squeezing a pimple. Before the man could go - Me?.. he immediately bounced from the floor, smashed his skull and shoulder into the ceiling, crashed back down and repeated the whole thing two or three times in quick succession, til he was an eighty seven percent dead bloody mess. Some of the mole-children began to cry.... Papa paid them no mind. Just focused on the mole-king (you can tell mole-kings by the squirrel-skin scarf they got wrapped around their neck... some say it ain't exactly squirrel-skin) and said - The girls..... Mole-king looked at Zeke and Ed, his two acolytes. They're real cooperative types. They like being acolytes. Getting a ladder and fishing those two girls up out of the pit (really a storage space that never got its heavy metal door) is a whole lot better than scrapping up an eighty seven percent dead guy. Besides, the girls were naked. They climb out so fast, like an invisible, crazy monkey biting their ass. Not that they got the same ass. Each got an individual ass all her own. First one's a pickpocket. Second one's still saving up for pickpocket school. You know the government don't help with that.
First one's supposed to be Jonathon's 'First Meal.' Number two's the 'Seed Carrier.' I know it's brutal and primitive and wrong, but that's what vampires do. Seed Carriers conceive before he's fully changed, while his seed is still viable. They have a different routine for making female vampires, but I don't know if they want me telling all that. 

Papa looks at the mostly dead guy and snaps his fingers. Guy groans. You could hear shattered bones grind back into place. Heals up real fast... Like a messed up string puppet getting pulled up straight. Now he's just maybe seven percent dead, which is pretty good, since in his natural state he was like nineteen percent dead. 

Naked girls look worried, 'cause being bare and all, getting zapped with magic can hurt. Papa says - Cover them up and get them out of here....

Two mole women lead them off...

Jonathon whispers - W-won't I need them?
Papa caresses the back of his neck and says - No.... Sarah looks pleased....

Then Papa addresses the mole-folks and goes - People of the subterranean tunnels, we bid you adieu...... With that he grabs Jonathon and Sarah. They instantly sublimate up through the ceiling, the actual subway tunnels and the sidewalk, into the cold, night air. Of course all the sublimation power came from Papa. Garden variety vampires can radiate it out a foot or two from their bodies. No telling what a specimen like him can do.

Fourteen heartbeats later a big, black car rounds the corner and stops. Motor purrs. Window comes down. Papa sticks his head in and says - Much obliged, my good man, but I believe we'll manage on our own...

Then he grabs our two main vampires (though Jonathon is still technically mortal) 'round their waists and pfft! they vanish into the ether.... headed for a place, known only to him..... there to do the deed and bring his long lost son back into the fold...


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Monday, January 12, 2015

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 51ST BINGO BOY episode 12/22/12... 1/12/15

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 51ST BINGO BOY episode 12/22/12: BINGO BOY - post 51 Welcome. Welcome, Oh, best beloved. Witness the first day of the New Beginning. Yes, I heard many of you saying we w...

This is a peek into our BINGO BOY story arc and this episode is narrated by the disembodied spirit of an ancient Mayan nobleman. That's what some dead folks' spirits do when they pass on... find work as muses or narrators. Who do you think tells you the stories in them books?

This tale's all about a rough, crooked bingo hall and all what works there...shills... kids collecting quarters... number callers and bosses... But they got dreams... And they got complications. 

Please click on up top where it says 51st BINGO BOY EPISODE... part takes place at the Jersey Shore, if you like the Jersey Shore. Part takes place in like a jail cell down a little row house cellar.

Even got a cute, pudgy baby in it... Not the jail cell... the story...Please jump in.. Look around.. Click 'OLDER POST' to see older episodes or NEWER POST to see newer episodes.... this was a NaNoWriMo thing, but people say it'd make a good movie

BINGO BOY by Billy Kravitz (that is if they let me direct)

How to Make A Vampire III comes back next time.


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Sunday, January 11, 2015

HOW TO MAKE A VAMPIRE Part II.. 1/19/15 plus, watch this too... Goth Andrew De Leon Amazes The Judges With His Voice

The world, or rather 'all worlds,' the omniverse, I might say, is quite an unusual place. So please, do not be self-limiting. Don't let others plot your course. Do that yourself. 

Jonathon experiences many things this night. He is emotionally 'busy.' That's why I'd like to ask you all to permit me, Johannon, his faithful servant since the beginning, to channel this. You know me. I've done this before... one of the disembodied, spirit, narrators and all that. Let me say the words...

And they assembled in the underground 'station,' a never used, subway stop, deep beneath the streets of Philadelphia. The mole-folk were there. Sarah was there. The elferinos and elferinas saw it all too.

I suppose there were other spirits in attendance. Nobody counts the ghosts. But that doesn't mean we don't see things, even if we fail to see each other. Now let me tell you what I saw...

Flickering light from the many homemade candles gave the place a neolithic look. Such an assemblage... wide-eyed, grey skinned mole-folk, pubescent, elfin vampires, other more mature life-eaters and God knows what else was in there. I suppose the ghosts buried alive during the cave-in when they built the place (or at least some of them) were there. I saw two or three eighteen nineties mustachioed navvies (laborer, ditch digger) myself. One with a half crushed skull and eyeballs dangling from optic nerves looked interested. His buddy, flopping along like a seal on mashed arms and legs seemed intrigued too. I don't know what fixed-in-place entities endure. They are like sentient pieces of furniture... abiding and absorbing every worm, dust mote and beetle. Apparently the entombed navvies can move about a bit. They have a certain 'radius of operations' so to speak, perhaps governed by their spirit-strength at the time of their deaths? A student of the ethereal world I am not. I just 'live' here. Thank the Lord I am not fixed in place, but rather tied to the physical form of my 'charge.'... I am tied to Jonathon, also known as Tomas. And that arrangement is largely consensual. Nine hundred and fifty years (roughly) a body servant. I saved him when the Crusaders burnt that Provencal synagogue and was there (in spirit form) when a vampire found his sooty, barely living form in the moonlit ruins. But enough about that.

Let me focus on what went on in that never-used subway stop.....

All eyes looked up at a point in the center of the rough, moldering ceiling, originally painted in a rather Maxfield Parrish sundown motif.  Though most of the image planed down like snowflakes long ago. Right where the nucleus of a streamlined comet used to be came 'a something.'.... a dark presence... a huge drop`of tar-like excrescence that grew and hung there fat and pendulous for an instant, before plummeting down to the (what was once) polished concrete surface with a sharp, concussive force.

Inky fluid splashed everywhere, peppered with tiny bits of pulverized cement. Everyone moved back, as noxious smoke rose from the spreading stain, coiling into a column and condensing into a 'human' form....

Jonathon (standing by Sarah) froze... 'Papa,' the very same being who saved him from the smoking ruins all those centuries ago was back. And, you know what?... Jonathon was resigned. Sarah was too..

And who is 'Papa?'.... Well, maybe 'What is Papa?' would be a more natural question. If you've been attentive, you know he is a vampire. Though that breed has many variations. This one is said to resemble a thirty two, or thirty three year old Richard Gere. At least that's what Sarah says. And he's twenty eight thousand years old, 'mothered' by the great Renate, herself even twelve millennia older. They move in and out of the world capriciously. We see much more of him than her. 'Renate' is not her birth name. No one knows that. She just picked it up somewhere. Imagine her time... her mortal time, I mean. Among the first 'modern' humans to venture into Europe, or that part of it uncovered by ice. Vampires, you see, go back to the Neanderthals. They have this 'prayer.' They say --- 'Each but a link in a chain. May no one know the source. 

Sometimes Papa's benevolent. But only sometimes. He did save Jonathon, after all. But he did destroy the Etruscans and Mohenjo-Daro too...

So there he stands, dressed in full Highland Regalia, of a type worn in Jacobite times ... seventeen forty five... last gasp of the Stewarts and all that....

Papa can do many things... a 'man' of many appetites.

And now he's back...


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Friday, January 9, 2015

HOW ABOUT ORB THEORY INSTEAD OF STRING THEORY? (more vampires next time) 1/9/15

This is an outgrowth of a Twitter discussion. HOW TO MAKE A VAMPIRE Part II will combust upon this screen next time. I just want to get this down before the omniverse shifts and shuffles my thoughts.

OK - The Kravitzanian Theory of Matter

Everything we see or feel is made up of an infinite number of orbs. The space between alpha orbs is filled with beta orbs and the space between beta orbs is occupied by gammas and so on. The chain goes on forever. The space between ALL orbs is filled by even tinier orbs. 

Every orb, regardless of size rotates, but the angle of rotation relative to its neighbors constantly changes. Thus electrical charges (extremely microscopic in nature) constantly change and fluctuate too.

This does not negate theories governing everything from atomic particles on up. What some theorists call 'strings' are charge paths winding among the orbs. Atoms are made of orbs. 

Empty space is completely filled by stationary orbs... orbs that do not spin. However, when rotating orbs rub up against stationary orbs their motion causes the stationary orbs to begin spinning too. I don't know if the 'new' motion is inversely or adversely proportional.

Thus no point in the universe is empty...merely inactive. Maybe dark matter is inactive matter. The framework is there. The orbs are there, but (at present) no motion or charge moves them.

I don't know if orbs are hollow (probably not), or filled with a series of even tinier orbs.

Thus every possible point in creation can rotate in every possible direction. Electrical charges generated by each infinite point can flow, or discharge in an infinite number of directions too... a clockwork, roiling 'ether.' 

Perhaps entropy is the accretion of countless irregularities on the sub atomic, orb level?

Does ANY of this make sense? I'd be interested to see if actual physicists stumble upon this and read it. 

A valid (on any level) thought experiment, or just wee hour ramblings?

Great discoveries have begun with less.

Please share this post with those who might know... or at least know more than I.

I appreciate any help you're willing to give me.


If you wand to ramble through our equally infinite paranormal universe, google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you 'click' ad ANY word, THEN 'click.'.... See what you get. See where it takes you. I've posted more than 800,000 words. The combinations are limitless. If you play this game, you're going to discover some strange and unusual places. I hope you have fun.

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thank you --- Billy