Tuesday, February 17, 2015


<continuation of our 'entity' thread from a few nights ago>

Salutations, best beloveds. It is I, Zebulon, the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old boy stoned for witchcraft in Hasmonean Jerusalem. That's the Hellenistic, though thoroughly Jewish dynasty existing between the ouster of the Post Alexander, Syrian-Greeks and the coming of Rome. Jews had names like John Hyrcanus and Aristobolus the Second, frequented gymnasia, yet studied Biblical Commentaries. Some free thinkers actually journeyed out to Bactrian ashrams. They say, certain phraseology in The Liturgy comes from those times. But I died as a child, barely sampling that world. Once I saw one of the Nephylim, though... Our word for aliens. A vaguely man shaped nimbus of silvery light. It came through the roof one hot summer night ( we slept on a terrace up there to escape the heat), stared at me from a featureless face, emanated what I assumed to be otherworldly syntax and continued up toward a dark, gunmetal colored vehicle. Everyone else was sleeping. Yeled, our Saluki (like a levantine Afghan hound) was up, but nothing phased him. A hunter he was... a watchdog he was not.

And now I watch and narrate the lives of others. All seems quiet around the townhouse. Edith boils pasta. Vampires, for some reason, enjoy the smell of boiling pasta. She and Billy eat it later. They haven't seen (or felt) the entity. But that doesn't mean he's not there. You see, he hasn't made up his mind yet. Does he want to effect a permanent (really just a long term) transfer, or a routine, quick 'try on?' That's where he infuses his essence (or energy) into the unlucky host. Believe me, for the host, it is not pleasant. All sensation stops. There's no interaction with anything. No sound, or sight, or taste, or smell, or touch. Just thought in a featureless, intangible darkness... Rather like the consciousness that sometimes occurs after death. Some spirits tarry too long in the body, you know. And then it's hard to break free. Indeed, they don't even know where they are. They say some stay that way forever.

But the 'interloper' has a good time. They're in the driver's seat. They control things... How wonderful physical sensation is. They see, feel and taste and all. When they're done and ready to move on, some 'release the corpse' via a swan dive from a great height, thus explaining various 'jumpers' around local bridges and skyscrapers. 

And this entity's eyeing our Billy. Long term, or quick visit... either way, it's no good.

It's snowing now... one of the first dry, powdery snows of the season... Not too much. Maybe four inches. The city sleeps, snug and still beneath a clean, fluffy comforter. A bright, white, winter night. ... or early morning. Like a cityscape on a sound stage made by God.

Billy sits in the den tapping this out. I 'write.' He 'channels.'

Does he grasp the situation?

Well, after associating with night-folk for almost four and a half years, what do you think?

Stay warm...

<more next time>


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