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JONATHON SPEAKS~~~
I mentioned 'prophesy' a few posts back and you saw an inkling of the miraculous when I opened 'the book' (La Ciencia Vampirismo), but now it starts.
'The Voice' never stops. It isn't loud or intrusive. It's just 'there.' Some call it a muse, or a conscience, or a devil, or an angel. If you're not too particular, it can be all those things, but to the true of heart it is always The Voice of God. It is always there, but we don't always listen.
Edith says humanity needs more music lessons. She says that when children all took trumpet, or violin, or piano lessons life was quieter. I said - Were the 1930's and 1940's quieter? People took a lot of music lessons back then.... She makes like she doesn't hear and goes back to her dulcimer. They play dulcimers in The Pines. Banjos are the main thing, but they have parlor guitars and mandolins too. Dulcimers are old. Everybody used to have dulcimers. In the 1600's and 1700's dulcimers were the pianos. Every goodwife had her repertoire... Christmas music... hymns... Old English folk songs. Listen to the video up at the top. They had a nice sound... still do.
A little girl walked into a town in the Golan Heights. Nobody knows her name, or where she came from. She speaks in a language all her own. At first they could not understand her. Then a woman from a university (I don't know which one.)... a linguist, figured it out. Every fourth word was Hebrew. Every fourth word was Arabic. Every fourth word was Aramaic and every fourth word was Farsi. They want to give her one of those cheek swab tests to reveal her genetic make up, but haven't done it yet.
I didn't 'get' this through any vampire ability. I got it on the computer, a little Mideast news feed I subscribe to.... a real small organization... sort of coded too. The name has nothing to do with the region, or the people, or the politics and they change it all the time too. But it's sure an interesting feed. They say the 'Girl Of Four Languages' talks about 'others'..... children from other places. No one knows who they are, or where they're from. They print rumors. They admit it's only hearsay. One story says Putin picked up a similar child, a boy who speaks Old Slavonic and I don't know what else. There's supposed to be a little Tibetan girl and a Bolivian Indian boy who speaks Quechua (Old Incan type language), Spanish and Portuguese. I read about another one in Africa. I read a lot of things.
But all of these things fit with my prediction. I knew. I still know. It's not over. It's just starting..... People are beginning to 'hear.' They're aware. Not everyone, but enough. They know the way we live now has to change. That's why we have all those radical 'fundamentalist' groups. They know it too and they're scared.... 'Brighten The Corner Where You Are' and all that. But when all the corners are brightened, where are they gonna hide?
Baylah says she has dreams in Tuareg now. She still spends most of her time at the Jersey Shore with her rich, mortal gentlemen friend, but we speak. I call her. She calls me.
I study people on the street all the time. I look at the children. Stores are open till nine or ten o'clock. Apparently small children have no set bedtime now. I keep expecting one of them to start talking like that little Golan Heights girl. I keep expecting a lot of things.
The Vampire Revels are coming up. I told you about that 'get together' a fortnight ago. Still don't know if I'll attend. Sarah can do without it. That I know.....
(It's 5AM now. Jonathon closes his laptop and gets up. He knows how to type. Billy still does everything else and he doesn't know that much either.... Our vampire tells Edith he's 'retiring.' She nods, waits for him to leave then clicks on HGTV. Edith loves that network. She turns it down low and watches for maybe thirty minutes, then she goes up too. The den is quiet. The house is quiet, save for the periodic sound of the furnace, or tiny little noises made by the dear little ghost boy in the library. Sarah bought him a new set of Legos, pirates, I think it is. He plays with them on the thick Turkey rug in the small pool of illumination that washes in through the slightly open draperies, from the streetlamp near the corner.
That's how it is... life in the townhouse.....
Now please allow this disembodied, spirit, narrator to say good night, or good morning, whatever the case may be...
<more next time>
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