Saturday, November 19, 2016

No NIGHT But Tonight... Our Vampires' Favorite --"Finale B" (from RENT) performed by Broadway Inspirational Voices




Everything posted here for the last month or two was a delusion. Night -folk are very prone to dream. Some sit quietly staring at a light bulb for evenings on end. Others feign divinity to balm their own fears. That's just how it is. We search and look and find nothing. Oh, there are bits and pieces gleaned from ancient tomes, but antiquity doesn't equal truth.

I speak to you tonight as myself. I am Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi. Billy doesn't type this. I do.... I'll get to why the delusions. I will. But, as you know, vampires rarely think in linear fashion. The magic fluctuates within us. It swirls like cream in coffee. It floats like the mist. Still magic is dead magic. It is the blood that courses through creation. It fills the space between atomic and subatomic particles. Some search for 'dark matter,' but we night-folk know better. Some of you do too. Not enough, but some.

And before I forget, let me clear up something. Permit me to explain a mistake mortals often make. You occasionally see narratives claiming to be about vampires, but they're not about vampires. Witnesses and writers are not always well versed in our world. They hear bits of disjointed local lore... peasants tales... grandmothers' stories and half truths. This has always been a problem in isolated parts of Eastern Europe. Different exotic specimens are lumped together and tarred with the same brush. Non-decomposing 'zombies' are termed 'vampires.' They look like vampires. They rise from the grave, like local vampires do. And they dine on the living. But non-decomposing zombies are not the same as true night-folk. They devour flesh and blood indiscriminately, bone, organs and gristle too. They're seen by daylight, not often, though it happens. True, they don't rot away like their less fortunate brethren. Small 'blemishes' and unsightly areas quickly regenerate after good feedings. In a sense, what ails them is more organic and less a matter of enchantment. Is there a magical component? Of course, however of a base frequency, similar to the universal echoes of the Big Bang. It's just 'there.' No one really directs, or controls it. For that reason, many true night-folk hate them. Interlopers, masqueraders, liars - that's what they call them. Some call them 'maggots' too. I stay above all that. Please don't laugh at me, but I and those like me, aspire to sainthood. You know how I am.

I sit with Edith (our witchy-woman friend and housekeeper) at our kitchen table filling little, midnight blue, velvet, drawstring pouches with shiny silver dollars. These are genuine silver coins, big ones. Each is valued at about twenty five dollars. Every pouch gets five. I give out a lot of pouches. Been doing it for centuries. They're 'Gelt Sacks.' Little children get them during The Festival of The Re-Dedication, but not with silver dollars. And the custom comes not from my own background, but from Central Europe. I picked it up in my travels. These days, most beneficiaries are homeless folk. There's a little note inside each sack directing them to an honest precious metals buyer. Brings a little brightness into their lives. You know, I'll tell you when I picked it up. Some have read my old Hanukah tale. Well, it's a true story. It really happened. I think if you search 'Indulge me... Hanukah tale... Billy Kravitz' it comes up. And with very slight alterations, it makes a nice Christmas tale too. I know. I've used both versions at times. Funny kind of vampire. I know. Homeless souls are a 'thing' with me. They are so vulnerable. Each is an opportunity for a good deed. Look, I kill, at times, yet I'm not a monster. Few of us are. Well, maybe to our victims, but the hell with them.... They ARE monsters. I live on monsters. That's what I do.

Now why the delusions - Night-folk are a vain lot. We dress to enhance our bodies... finely cut attire... subtle shades. Fashion is for giggly cheap little things. We don't do that. But our kind craves attention. Perhaps it comes from living in shadows, or seeming too. You don't know what a sensation Doctor Polidori was when it came out. Dracula wasn't the first. Doctor Polidori was. Everybody read that book when it first appeared. Eighteen seventeen, I think it was. The era of romantic poetry... Keats.... Shelley... and that other one who never used his actual name, but signed himself 'Lord' Byron. Such an old lady, garden party nicety. I'm glad he overdosed... or they overdosed him.... But back to the 'delusions.' When we got our first computer, we didn't know what to do with it. I took it from a victim... a loan shark. Kept his records on it. A real 'creep,' as they say. You should have heard him plead. You should have heard him offer me money. I killed him and took the money anyway.... Came in a nice, leather briefcase too. Edith, our housekeeper, you've already met, knew how to 'google' things on it. We found out how to make Peking Duck... what a whole bunch of naked people look like and how to dicker for a cheaper boob job. We got free WiFi from someplace. Bob knew how to get it. He was a vampire who lived with us back then. Somebody caught him on tape... put it on You Tube. Bob found out. Thought he was a star. Stared at himself for hours. Got loads of views. No one thought it was real. Figured it was a hoax... One night we stumbled onto some blogs. I didn't say anything, but how I wanted one. So naïve. I truly thought .... Well, you know what I thought. We beg for readers all the time. Some of you do too....

We wanted gimmicks. We wanted readers. So Doctor Franklin became a vampire. We had big, secret meetings with night-folk from all over. Wanted to 'fix' the election. Wanted to control the world, but in a nice way. Wanted to do a lot of things.

Trouble was, none of you read it. So now we're not lying anymore. Just the truth. Just how we really live. I think some of the episodes were real. What went on at the seashore in Baylah's boyfriend's house was mostly real.

Please understand all of those lies were my fault.

Don't blame Billy. He wanted to write about settlers on Mars and an alternate American history where fascists really do take over. So don't blame him...

That's all.

Now allow me to venture out before the sun comes back and distribute some of these small, velvet pouches.

It's what I do...

<more next time>

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