Tuesday, April 25, 2017

TO ILLUMINATI, LIFE IS A GREAT CIRCUS.. 4/24/17..Don't Miss the Circus 1903 World Premiere Tour


To most souls, the world is a dull place. They work. They eat. They procreate, feed their suspicions and sleep. Perhaps there's a reel on a Saturday night, or a hot pancake breakfast on Sunday? Perhaps there's nothing of the kind? Such is life. Few aspire to anything else. Cheap gin takes care of that. Lack of gentle birth does too. And the fleas suck life out of everyone.

The Illuminati coalesced to stop that. But progress is slow and more like a careful, artistically arranged erosion than the growth of plants.

The man with the long salt and pepper hair taught me that. Others in our rarefied congregation taught me different things, though all formed a very special and magical chord.

If you read last night's entry, you know I saw the homecoming of our First Facilitator. I saw his vessel land. A lighter than air craft it was... the great grandfather of all blimpdom. Yet in those early days as miraculous as Fatima. They addressed him as 'Lord Facilitator. He had short white hair, receding at the temples but ample enough everywhere else, a trim matching chin beard and piercing, blue eyes. His attire was all black too... a severely tailored long coat over a satin waistcoat and narrow pants. I was there when he disembarked. They had it down to a science. The roof of a large stone and timber barn opened, just like two halves of a gift box, thanks to the grunting ministrations of ten men (five to a side) manning large cranks effecting a series of gears. The lighter than air ship, a cross between a hot air balloon and gondola (in this case enclosed) and an early framed craft settled in like a hen on her nest. The cranking resumed, this time in the opposite direction. The roof closed. I don't know how it maintained its integrity minus a central, ridge beam, but it did. Apparently the Illuminati know things about the physical side of architecture too.

The man with short white hair looked at me and said two words - A novice?.... The man with the long salt and pepper hair nodded. Then the leader joined us in the phaeton (our coach) and we rode back, through the moonlight, toward the manor house. There were two other passengers in the gondola, a Neapolitan violinist and someone else. I never learned who the someone else was. It might have been a woman dressed in a mannish manner a la George Sand. I don't know.

After late night brandies in a small sitting room lit by the embers of that evening's fire we retired to our beds upstairs. Mine was in a tiny space under the eaves, but a short, stub of a candle enabled me to get there. The bed sheets were the finest I'd ever known in my life. I saw stars through a small window, while far off, in another part of the house, an unseen juggler slapped clubs together in an intricate rhythm, as he practiced a new routine.

The next day they put me to work in the scriptorium, copying texts in second century Latin with the aid of a delicate, though solid, contraption made of fine, wooden beams and small, copper rods called a scriptograph. Four pens, each mounted one foot from the other, reproduced what I wrote.... Such wonders they had. I saw electromagnets and a frighteningly real automaton of Harlequin the Clown.

They said his face was covered with real, human skin. But few got to feel, for he'd snap errant fingers with sharp, pointed teeth forged from the best Spanish silver. A French count lost a pinkie. I know, because they told me, plus the relic is still displayed under a small, glass dome in the library...

Harlequin still sits there on a chair right next to it, smiling in a most amoral way and waiting for only God knows what.

Come back next time and I'll tell you how to make ice knifes.... razor sharp blades perfect for slitting throats and opening femoral arteries. Death comes quick, though no weapon is ever discovered.

And now, Lawrence Edgerton bids you adieu .

<more news of the illuminati to come>


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Monday, April 24, 2017

We Are The Chamber Music Of Humanity 4/24/17 ..Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center - Brandenburg Concertos


After that first meeting, or coming together, or whatever it was, we broke up into groups. As a newcomer, I had no group, but was told I'd be assigned shortly. People began to move on to more cloistered parts of the manor house, or other smaller, though still quite dignified residences on the estate. I moved out to the entrance hall and pretended to examine a large, bronze cast of Hermes on a marble topped commode table near the door. That's when the man with the long, salt and pepper hair came out to meet me.

He said - Come, let us walk... I followed him out the wide door and down the steps to a waiting coach, a sleek, little, enclosed phaeton of a type much favored in Paris during Napoleon's time. You can Google it if you'd like to see an illustration. Quite racy they were. Often drawn by matched dappled greys. There was a coachman, but no footmen, so we helped ourselves in and we were off, down the drive and through a little wood. Coach rides by moonlight were rare. Travelers usually stopped at inns. But we were on a trip of a different sort. Besides, the coach lights, small brass and glass lanterns similar to the large ones flanking the entrance to the manor house, cut through the darkness just enough.

The man said - Well, what do you think?.... When will I see my family? - I asked..... You mean your foster family - he said..... They're the only one I know - I corrected.... He nodded and in a low voice added - Fear not. You will. But ask me anything. Relax. Let's talk..... For a while just the clip-clops. Those of you who know only this age cannot imagine how hypnotic that was. The slight, steady bouncing of the conveyance caused an all over release of tension... even in a strange, new situation, such as mine.... Perhaps my companion was aware of that?

You see, my boy - he went on - what we do is find new things... new things with potential... new ideas... new devices, practices, beliefs, species and all that. Then we decide which ones the world needs...... Isn't that natural? - I asked. Doesn't society just drift in a direction all its own?..... The man smiled - No, it does not. We're it not for our benevolent guidance, Europe would still be in something quite like the Middle Ages. Public burnings would still be commonplace. You know the last private Inquisitional execution happened just months ago. And what passes for democratic, parliamentary elections here is an embarrassing joke. Although surgeons throughout the Mohammedan, Hindu and Buddhist worlds carefully bathe their hands and instruments prior to operating, most homegrown healers still scoff at the idea..... Before he could go on, I looked up through the trees and witnessed an amazing site. Just above the trees, which were old and venerable in those parts, a fat oblong bladder (later I knew it as a type of hot air balloon) caught the moonlight as it sailed across our path. What was a fifteen foot long enclosed gondola with four, dimly illuminated portholes hung from the bottom. A rotating pinwheel mounted on the rear of the passenger containment seemed to provide propulsion and the whole thing was kept on course by a ship-like, moveable rudder protruding through its bottom...... Holy Mother of God! - I exclaimed. What in Creation is that?!..... 'That' my boy is our First Facilitator returning from a conference on the Isle of Man...... Didn't I see the First Facilitator earlier tonight? - I asked..... No - said the man with the salt and pepper hair. You saw 'A' facilitator, but not the first one..... Shhhh, I hear a fiddler - I said..... Well, I suppose you do. Our courageous leader never travels without one. Soothes the nerves, don't you know. And he has a top notch one from the great music schools of Naples - said the man.

I was dumbstruck, as he whispered - Symbolic, I suppose. We are as the chamber music of humanity. We quicken minds and goose the frustratingly reticent toward what's right....

Who decides what's right? - I asked.....

We do - went the man....

Then I just listened to the lively, though retreating song.

Thus were the Illuminati and indeed, they still are.

<come back next time for more>


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Wednesday, April 19, 2017

THE ILLUMINATI KING SPEAKS ..The Doors - The Crystal Ship .. 4/19/17


Once inside the large, classic, manor house the man with long salt and pepper hair led me across a dim entry hall floored with black and white marble tiles. We went into what I assumed to be an 'assembly' space used for dances and receptions during the season. Were such things part of my world?... No, they weren't. But I had a vague idea. In my little hamlet, we used to watch from the hedgerows and wave to the black or dark, red burnished, lacquered carriages as they passed, delivering the various landed families to balls and festivities.

The room was large and set up for some type of meeting. Thirty high backed chairs flanked each side of a rectangular, parquet expanse. A throne-like dais occupied the far end. Brass chandeliers and sconces bathed all in a soft, golden candlelight. The walls and ceiling featured a restrained, elegant plaster-work. The man with long, salt and pepper hair directed me toward a chair far down from the dais. I looked at him. He nodded. I sat. He walked across the polished hardwood and took his place in a seat much closer to the 'throne.'  Liveried footmen gave each in attendance a glass of wine. The right arm of each chair ended in a small platform with slightly raised edges apparently meant for drinks. I studied  my fellow congregants, a mixed group of men and women attired in fine, though somber garments. Some looked at me. Others chatted quietly with their neighbors. Then a door opened  right by the throne. All stood in unison. An older gentleman entered and sat down on the large carved chair. The other sixty people in the chamber, of which I was one, sat down too. Upon closer inspection I realized we were a mixed group representing humanity in its entirety.

Then the man on the dais began to speak.... Welcome to this synod.  May we accomplish much. - That's what he said... It was all so straight forward, like a meeting of the brethren in a Methodist church. I wasn't sure what it all meant then. Odd, how quickly I forgot about the tiny, human shaped creatures with the sugar-glass wings, but I did. There was a light incense in the air. Maybe it sedated us?... The man on the dais spoke of pigeons. They communicated through pigeons. Homing pigeons, they were. But I didn't know that then. Illuminati all had coops and the birds flew from 'light' to 'light.' That's what they call each other, 'lights.' In places with multiple 'lights,' not many, but enough to form a small congregation, they call those groups 'beacons.' He asked a few people if their flock was healthy and strong. He asked others, who I assumed were philosophers, or writers, if their tracts were ready. A woman from Krakow said her 'beacon' needed a new printing press, for their old one was smashed by the Czarist police. Most of Poland was ruled by Russia and that autocracy (an absolute, brutal, crushing, 'monarchy') was a particular nemesis of  theirs.

You see, Illuminati were never involved with dark art. They (we) were just the first people to 'know.' They realized life could be better and they understood that certain organized forces did not want life to get better. Oh, the elites lived wonderful lives... the ecclesiastic elites, the ruling elites, the financial elites... all of them. To be truthful, we had 'lights' among those powerful groups too. It's always better to reform from the inside, though progress was slow. Few people realized there could be anything better. And we did not preach violent political upheaval. Tolerant, progressive, constitutional kingdoms suited us just fine. You know what we were? We were children of The Enlightenment... Voltaire, Spinoza, De Carte, Goethe, Tom Paine and the like. Doctor Franklin, in America was part of it too.

The sad fact is 'common people' lack confidence. Give them a friendly taproom and a congenial company of fellows who share the same burdens, fears and biases. That's all they want.. a refuge from their troubles. Do you think Old India was the only land with a caste system? England was just as bad and we considered ourselves a 'modern' western country. ... Look, it's as they say at the top of this 'blog' --- Everything is everywhere. What choices do you make?

But I wax too philosophical . Let me return to the wonder of it all. I remember so much.

The Illuminati sometimes 'planted seeds.' I was one such seed. They placed me with foster parents, so that I might grow up and see the problems of the world. Then they snatched me back from that modest existence in a none too gentle way, as a demonstration of their capabilities.... And they (we?) are capable of a lot.

Sometimes 'retrograde souls,' that's what we call obstinate, powerful types in our way disappear. None take credit. It just happens. Is that a 'dark art?'... I don't think so. I don't know. Is it?

Come back next time.... We'll explore... Never be afraid to 'feel' the world... Never be afraid to dream...

<more to come>


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Tuesday, April 11, 2017


Although some facts are changed, this leads into material that is very spot on and not meant for everyone. Please know that.

Lawrence Edgerton speaks -

I was in a dome, a large, rustic, grey stone dome. The interior vault was studded with windows. Some were round, some triangular, others had a long, rectangle shape and they pointed everywhere. The center of the space featured a seaman's glass, only bigger, much bigger. It was brass, perhaps eighteen feet long and maybe one and a half feet across.... a tube such as a  giant admiral might use to track his ships at sea. The oversized thing rested on a fulcrum, also brass. The large end faced a triangular window. The window was open. I could see a star, or what I took to be a star. Everything in the sky was a star to me, save for the moon. I knew nothing. But that in no way indicates a lack of intelligence, merely a paucity of opportunity. And even a moonbeam can pinpoint a mouse.

Then a man stepped out of the shadows. His salt and pepper hair was long, reaching his shoulders. Dressed in black, he was. I'd never seen a man with black linen (shirt and neck cloth), but that's what he had.... He nodded. I nodded back... He gestured toward a stool positioned by the 'eye' end of the glass and said - Take a look..... I hesitated.... He went - Go on. Sit down..... Can I move it? - I asked..... Just look - he said..... And then I saw the golden rings of Saturn... For the longest time neither of us made a sound... Finally, the man said - Nine hundred million miles. What you're seeing is a giant world nine times as far from you as you are from the sun.... How big is it? .... Well, let me see. If it was a fishbowl, seven hundred and fifty Earths would fit inside.... What makes the halo? - I asked...... The pulverized bones of all the souls in hell.... I just looked... and then he smiled.... Why am I here? ..... Why are any of us here?....

He opened a door-like triangular window down by the floor and disappeared into it. I heard him say - Follow me.... And I did.... We walked across a broad lawn. There was a Greek revival manor house in the distance, quite new and probably an updating of an earlier structure. You know, the Romantic crowd and all? Most of the windows were dark, or nearly dark. A few, on the first floor were somewhat brighter... not by much, though considering the darkness of the night, the low, coppery light seemed mysterious and inviting.

I said - Who lives here? Who's house is that?.... He said - Think not of it as a private residence, but more of a religious order, or a retreat...... For whom? - I asked.... For many people - he said.

Now the men driving the conveyance that saved me uttered one word --- Illuminati... and I had no idea what that meant. I asked the astronomer with salt and pepper hair if he was one. .... I thought it might be a family. People from the Italian Peninsula had been coming to England since George II's time... The man said - We are all Illuminati. You are Illuminati too. Ah, how nice. They come to greet us..... I looked up to see a swarm of  what appeared to be at least a dozen, glowing, night flying dragonflies, but they were not jewel-like insects. Each proved to be a tiny being with human form and two pair of 'sugar glass' wings. The man chuckled, as one of the creatures whispered in his ear. I suppose it tickled...

It that manner we progressed  o're the lawn and toward the weathered bronze doors ( a find from an old Venetian palazzo ), softly lit by two exterior, glass lanterns.

Whoever these Illuminati were, they certainly had good taste.. and, from the look of the place, quite a bit of power too.

Just before entering, I turned to look at the sky and for the first time in my life saw the great and terrifying arc of The Milky Way rise up over the moorlands.....

<more next time>


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Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Snatched By The Illuminati 4/3/17 ..Candide Overture: Leonard Bernstein conducting


Lawrence Edgerton would die today. Was he guilty? Did he steal that watch? No. Might the punishment fit an earlier, undiscovered crime? Not at all. Courts were not too particular in Regency England and a good show was a good show. Country folk from round about liked it better than the opera. Not that any had ever seen such a spectacle, but if they had, a good public hanging trumped everything.

Jemmy, the jailer's boy, unlocked the iron door. Lawrence was ready, standing erect in the middle of the small cell, bathed in a wee bit of gray dawn coming in through the high porthole. He'd smoothed his clothes as much as able and finger combed his hair. The thick quilt (used as a mattress) and the two thin ones were rolled and towed by the foot of the sleep shelf.

Jemmy said - No rush, ye know. There's still a bit of livin' time left. I've got a heel of bacon if ye want it?.... Lawrence just shook his head... Jemmy went on - Was last night's bowl to your liking?.... Lawrence nodded.... Jemmy said - A homemade shepherd's pie it was. Not from the poorhouse kitchen. Got it from Mrs. Spencer what cooks for the vicar. She does all the 'd.m.d's' around here. That's 'dead man's dinner.' Prison term, don't ye know. How's yer gut? Ya gotta use the pot? Seein' as it's yer final performance, I can take ye out to the real privy in the closet down the way. Clean enough, it is. I use it and the Mister too, when he comes by. He's me gov'ner, the real jailer..... Lawrence didn't move.... Jemmy went - Here, take me hand. I'll walk with ye. Best you take the chance. Them what don't tend to soil their britches and ye don't want to die with a load, seein' as how they box ye up and plant ye right after. Don't want to take that into the Next World...... Lawrence didn't move. Jemmy took his hand and led him off..

Now there were a few other unfortunates scattered among the other cells. Maybe five or six in all. They knew today was a killin' day. Everybody in that sad, sad place eventually faced a killin' day. Best not get caught on that stretch of road. But they sit quietly in their cells. Well, not sit. Most lie wrapped in the quilts, staring toward forever.

So Lawrence used the privy, went back to his cell and waited. He could hear the muffled sound as yokels gathered for the show. Children laughed and yelled. Farm wives waved 'yoo hoo.' A man set up a brazier and sold chestnuts. The glass in the porthole up by the ceiling hummed and rattled. And then they came for him.

He never saw the actual jailer before. Looked more like an undertaker... tall and thin... black serge suit... high, white neck linen. Maybe in this remote spot he was like an undertaker?... Maybe he was both? Somebody has to bury all the poorhouse bastards.

And now we see things through Lawrence's eyes.

Five heartbeats later, the man in black offered me a small sack and spoke.... He said - Put these on... I reached inside and took out four heavy, golden 'cuff' bracelets. Each snapped open and closed. The inner surfaces were covered in a rich, soft, black velour. Two pairs they were. .... I asked - Why? Why do I need them?....Jemmy chortled. The boss pinched his ass real hard he did.... Jemmy went - Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Then he just stood there all chastened and silent.... I couldn't help but smile... Gallows humor, you know. The man in black barely noticed before continuing - Death can be hard, or death can be easy. Please, do as you're told, lad. The smaller ones go 'round yer wrists. The biggers are for yer ankles.... From the tone and timbre of his voice I could tell resistance was futile and I did not like the part about 'hard death.' I just wanted it to be over. I was caught. I was helpless. The world was not mine. Odd how people think. Maybe there is no death? Maybe it's all just life? Maybe it's like heat? You know, we speak of 'cold,' but there is no cold, just the absence of heat. Death is simply the absence of life and when it ends, we're not even aware of the cessation. We simply stop. Thought stops. Light Stops. Sensation stops. In my case, just because I've fallen into this cesspit. Like a fly caught in a web.

They ushered me outside into the chill morning mist. The crowd cheered. Farmwives munching raw turnips cackled like tortured hens.  Their grimy offspring snaked through full grown people's legs, grabbing chestnuts from the chestnut vendor and whatever else they 'found' on the ground. My sleeves covered the wrist cuffs. My pants drooped over the ones on my ankles. They fit very well.

Jemmy rang a big, brass, clanging bell and yelled - Here ye! Here ye! Here ye!.... Mothers grabbed their children. Men kept the stern, tight, flinty-eyed faces they always wore. Then the assistant jailer, or whatever he was, gestured toward the jailer-jailer who stepped into the bare earth clearing 'round the gallows, cleared his throat and read from a sheet of parchment. I figured it was about me, but I paid him no mind. Anything they had to tell me would be communicated by shoves and pokes, or worse. Two crows tracing varied patterns high above against a bone white featureless sky drew my gaze. I was mesmerized.

A sharp jab sent me up the steps to the hangin' stage, perhaps twelve feet above the crowd.. Odd that my wrists were not manacled. Maybe somebody forgot? Maybe the metal cuffs had something to do with it? At the time, I don't think I even noticed. What I did see was a square, black conveyance off beyond the edge of the restless throng, probably there to bear me off after the deed... Though I thought the doomed were buried soon after on poorhouse grounds?... Who knows?

The vicar prayed, or appeared to pray over me. We all went 'amen.' I was asked if I had anything to say, but I didn't want to talk to those pigs. As the executioner had picked up the noose and prepared to slip it over my head, the herd let loose with yells, whoops, cheers and calls. They'd not have heard me anyway.

In an eyelash width of time, before the paid-county-killer caught me with his rope, the back doors to that black, windowless conveyance slammed open. Then a deafening CRACK, as blinding, white arcs of electronic discharge snaked through the air just above the heads of the amazed farm-folk and locked onto my four metal cuffs, violently JERKING me up from the platform and yanking me toward the maw of the dark, unmarked cube.

An instant later and I was in. The steel framed doors BANGED shut, just missing my feet, as I collided with the padded front wall of the thing and fell 0nto a large mattress. Then blackness, as six matched chestnuts tore off over the empty moors. One heartbeat later the small portal by the coachmen's seat scrapped open and someone yelled - Be ye Lawrence Edgerton, boy?... I yelled - Yes! Yes! Yes! Who ARE you?! Please, who ARE you?!..... I heard one word - Illuminati... as the screen scrapped shut once again.

And then the ride went on...

<more next time>


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Thursday, March 30, 2017

Canto Duo de il ILLUMINATI 3/29/17 .. 2CELLOS - Thunderstruck [OFFICIAL VIDEO]


One month later and part way through my third reading of the Bible they told me.  I was to spend the rest of my natural life in jail...I broke down and cried. A few moments later, the judge said - But seeing as we're gonna hang you in approximately thirty six hours, that shouldn't be too much of a burden. And  Mr. Sprat's grandson, Monty, will be in to give ye hangin' lessons afore..... They say if everything goes just right and I assume the proper position plus the correct level of tension I should do fine.... Dead, but fine. I assume 'fine' means less pain and torture.

Jemmy, who comes by with our feedin's asked after my final 'bowl.' I told him I wasn't interested. I told him what low-life, heathen thieves and bastards they all were, from the judge on down. He shrugged and went - That may be the case, but a good meal's a good meal and it calms ye for what comes next. ..... But I just stared at the daylight through the porthole above me sleepin' shelf. Not yet twenty, I was. My poor family. What must they think? Folks disappear on the roads all the time. Most goes travelin' with companions, known companions, people they see in church, or when they're out and about. I do too, but the Conway's sow dropped a litter and folks tend to stay close to home after that. ... Jemmy respected my silence and whispered - I'll see you get something good.... Then he left, but soon came back with a couple items, an extra quilt and a little brass carriage clock.... In a quiet hoarse whisper he goes - The extra quilt's for later, when it gets dark. You'll want it then. And the clock is to mark the hours. Them what goes this way say it's better to know than not to know. I figure they let you go a bit more'n thirty six. I'll bring yer grub soon. Ye got two nights sleepin'. Tomorrow's a livin' day, not a dyin' day. That comes next. They does it in the morning, one hour after cock's crow. Figure half passed seven, or there abouts...... I said - What if I want to know the hour after dark?..... Jemmy goes - Tap the little brass thing on top what looks like a watch crown. It'll chime the last hour. Tap it again for the quarter hour, the half hour and so on...... Then he just stood there... I asked - What do ye thing they'll do with me watch?...... It's his worship's now and he makes quite a takin' - said my new friend...... Then, after a few thumpin' heartbeats and in a small, wee voice I go - What will they do with me 'leavin's'? Not the 'resurrection' men. Please, not the resurrection men. I don't want to go a carved up chicken in no surgery school. Please...... Jemmy nods - I'll see they plant ye nice. We got a field. Ye won't get no name, but ye will get a number. Eighty three, I think ye are, by a nice little crab apple tree too...... I sighed, leaned hard against the wall and hugged my knees.... Layin' down didn't seem right, since I'd soon be doin' that till Judgement Day..... Then Jemmy left to get me food.

Me friend, Mike, says to be dead for a blink or a million years is all the same. Look, we all been dead already. What do ye thing ye were before ye were born? Was that much of a hardship?

Well, what comes after 'last breath' ain't no different. The risin' a the bones is comin'.

Nothin' lasts forever... not even death.
And besides, ye might wait it out in heaven's own bright light.......

<more about Lawrence Edgerton's ordeal next time>


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Monday, March 27, 2017


There ain't no pictures, moving or otherwise with this one. Him what scribbles this account searched for 'em, but them what collects 'em ain't got none. Who wants to see the sad, anguished mugs of them with freshly plucked eyes (both if they were really wicked), or shit holes burnt shut? Aye they did such things to them in the cells. They did worse. But I'm gonna tell ye what they done to me.

Cotched me on the highway, they did. Marked me for a bandit. I tell 'em I'm just bound for me aunt's house in York, but they ain't havin' none of it. Says - How come ye by a gent's watch?.... I tell 'em me pa gimme it when he died. Won it in the Alderton Lottery. Judge goes - Oi! Ain't them tickets a bit dear for such as ye, boy? Goes for a quid a piece they does..... Them watchin' the show starts suckin' they teeth like rats what been feastin' on a gristly pig. Then the 'Jolly Man' (every judge got one) starts yellin' - Hang 'im! Hang 'im! Hang 'im!  And the rest start stampin' they feet....

Judge bangs his little judge hammer and yells - Oi! I does the condemnin' 'round here! Shut up, ye poxie bastards, or I'll have the left hand of every livin' one a yeh!.... Then he snaps his fingers and the assistant bailiff hold up his left arm what end in a rusty hook.... Judge goes - Took his'n I did. What did I take it for, Johnny-boy?.... Johnny-boy addles his brain a bit and then says - Clickin' me heels on a Sunday morning. Couldn't take me feet, 'cause him what does the deed lost his foot-cuttin'-knife to a fancy man in settlement of a whore bill, I believe, so ye take me hand instead.

Dirty sod in the third row goes - If it please Your Worship, the scrawnier flea bitten hag behind me want's to know why ain't he lost both of 'em?..... Judge asks - Why, Johnny-boy?... Johnny-boy giggles and shrugs... So does the crowd.... Judge says - Hummm, let me take note of that.... Johnny-boy swallows a giggle and the rest goes quiet too. Regency English justice can be a very tricky proposition at times.

Then they go back to me.  I tell 'em 'bout me aunt and how I bring her laudanum, 'cause them what live upstairs say she howls and wails too much and how she can't help it 'cause a them chickens keep peckin' her legs..... Judge asks - Is she insane ?.... I go - No, sir. Taxes is higher for them what coops 'em up, so landlord says she gotta keep 'em in with her. But they forgive four pence a week on the rent...... They all look at me and I add - Maybe she is crazy.

Judge sighs, takes a bit of fortification (grog), scratches his ear and says - There's still the question of the watch. How come ye by it?... And he holds it up for the crowd. Few even understand the idea of regularly measured time, let alone own such a coveted object of status and desire.... The judge asks - Solid gold?..... I nod. What could I do? There's a stamp on it. He's bound to see that, probably already has. The room goes quiet. I have no friends in that congregation, for church is what it was. True courthouses were few and far between, so was truth, or the recognition of it.

Nine hundred heartbeats later I was guilty. The crowd cheered. The judge bowed. He held the watch even higher. They roared. The first bailiff, in possession of all his hands, plus four men at arms, led me off to prison, a thick walled, stucco over brick wing attached to the county poor house. Then they put me in a cell and locked the solid (save for a small face sized shutter operated from the outside) iron door. I was 'home,' a five foot by seven foot, slate floored chamber with a rough, wood 'sleep shelf' along the far wall, a rolled up thick quilt that served as a mattress, a thinner one for a cover and what looked like it might have once been a pillow. Under the shelf was a slop bucket. Light entered via a small, dinner plate sized porthole up by the ceiling, ten feet above the floor. The walled were whitewashed, as was the outside. But the bright color only made the roaches ever more visible.

No effort was made to find the people responsible for the Alderton Lottery. Who knew if it was still in existence? The watch wasn't even first prize. That was a 'gentleman's' farm with a brick, more or less 'manor' house near Londonderry. Chits for all the big contests went for a quid a piece. The judge was very familiar with that. Perhaps he's addicted? No effort was made to find my family. They'd either ship me to the Antipodes, imprison me for life, or hang me...

Before dark they brought me a bowl of  stew.

The next day I got a small crate that served as a table and an Anglican Bible. I fell into a routine... meals... empty the slop bucket.... one hour in the small, brick walled yard (always alone)... clean clothes every Saturday, plus a trip to the wash room. I asked for writing materials. No one answered. I'm told there were seven other souls in residence, not counting the eighty or so in the poor house. But the walls in the prison were so thick I heard nothing.

I prayed. I wept. I went numb.

That's how it was.

In ninety days I'd learn my fate.

I am Lawrence Edgerton and all these words are true.

<more next time>


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Tuesday, March 21, 2017

EARLY SETTLEMENT ON MARS .. 3/20/17..Vaya Con Dios - Freddie Fender LYRICS.wmv

They sat on the wide, deep veranda of Estancia Viejo (The Old Stand). And if you have read some of our EL RANCHO TEXACO tales you know La Polvarosa (Red Dust), the other place what belongs to that Texaco clan. This place is different. This is where Miss Sissie's people lived. I'll tell you about the early days, when her people first come out here. Mars was a real hostile place. Had an orange-pink sky, little chiggers diggin' in the dirt. Tuva-Tuva folks still dried up in the ground. Not much sound. Air's too thin. Ain't no moon up there... no 'real' one. Just puissant baby moons what look like two little taters far off in the sky.... Like taters on roller skates, or something like that. They move pretty fast. Demos and Phobos I think it is.

Her Uncle Elvis came out before the rest of them as a hand on the old Twenty First Century Limited... Not the new one... the old one. Made the trip in a month and a week. And that was an Earth month, pretty fast for the time. Remember, we are talking about the 2080's... the 2090's. You ever read about them Mississippi River Boats? Then you know what I mean. Bunch a gamblers and speculators and whores... and them what just studying to be whores. I talkin' 'bout all genders.

Place got terraformed real fast. Smashed a few comets into it. Atmosphere didn't heat up 'cause there wasn't enough atmosphere to heat up. But did leave 'em with thicker air. Then a whole million shit loads a whatever green crap will grow came next. You know how quick kudzu took over the American South Land? Same thing on Mars. City of Barsoom (pronounced BAR-sum) built by robots. Folks want a real place to live, not them canister vacuum cleaner hell holes, them tombs for living people MARS ONE ... like misery and social isolation for the rest of your life. Can you imagine the suicide level on that one? If you get an impacted dental infection you got to die of it?.... No, first you build the city, with all the amenities, THEN you banish the people.... They'll age slower though. Low gravity does that. Less strain. Wonder if it causes constipation?

Oh, look at him... Billy's getting tired.... He's staring at the television. Already watch the late news twice... YO! SHIT FOR BRAINS! They ain't gonna tell you no NEW stuff!

He likes EL RANCHO TEXACO... Tex-Mex 'Pondorosa by way of Dallas' culture on Mars.

Lemme let him go to sleep...

He's drooling

Vaya Con Dios, y'all.

I'm one of the disembodied spirit narrators.

Let me steer him upstairs before he finishes all the potato salad.

<more next time>


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Friday, March 17, 2017


After what happened in the advisor's residence, Jonathon found refuge in a boarded up row house in another part of town. There were others there, but they ignored him, adrift in chemically induced dreams more vivid and comforting than any part of life they'd ever know. The vampire quietly settled down in an empty basement closet, waiting for sleep to come, though sleep did not come. He sat there, leaning against the wall and he thought. He saw catacombs... bunk beds for the dead... passage after passage of recumbent moldering bodies. Some stared at the wall, others at the bottom of the platform above. A few turned their skulls toward the passageway, as if greeting (or judging) the occasional visitor who sullied the darkness with their flickering oil lamps. It was as if Jonathon was one of those visitors. He silently walked on for quite a while, too scared to turn around and face the horrors behind him. Then one corpse, a long slumbering woman in an ancient, moldering, lacy gown, turned her eyeless, parchment skinned face toward our vampirino and in a dry whisper said - None bear fools' righteousness more than they who fail to see the fault within themselves.... After that she collapsed into dust....

Then he roused from his stupor, quietly left the basement and walked through the creaking and groaning structure giving a 'vampire's kiss' to all the ruined people resting there. A drop of his enchanted blood passed from his mouth and through the lips of each recipient. Three score heartbeats after the act of acceptance they were restored. All the people got up and left that place, returning to their lives. Did they know who did this? Who cares? It was done and they were well.

But Jonathon wanted to go home. He needed the townhouse in Society Hill. He needed his own surroundings. The sound of that whimpering child haunted him. What memories would she have? One soul's 'good' is another soul's 'evil.' He once heard a saying - History is hard on children.....

Boy, is it ever....

When he got back to Philadelphia, Doctor Franklin was waiting for him. He sat at the granite peninsula in the kitchen, with Edith , the witchy-woman housekeeper and Sarah, Jonathon's vampirina consort, playing Risk.

Franklin said - Diversions calm the heart, dear boy. Come, sit down. We'll talk. As you know, I have no love for the current administration. If the 'Annex' in the Poconos had not been there after what they did to me, well, not to me, but to my complex, I think I would have killed myself....

No, you wouldn't - said Jonathon. You'd have screamed and cried and yelled and ruminated, but 'killed yourself?' No.

Well, you tell me. What would I do? - said the old reprobate...

You'd get even - said the vampirino.

Franklin chuckled and went - BINGO! Was testing you! Knew you'd get it! That's it.....

Then he just grins and sits there....

Do you mind telling me what you've done? - asked Jonathon.

Looking down at the Risk game board, Franklin said - I've just conquered Irkutsk, my Andaluciano, hidalgo friend. King of Siberia! King of Siberia! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

Sarah went - Finally. Game's over. I'm done...... Me, too - said Edith and they began to put all the pieces away.

Then, in a quiet voice, he goes - So, Washington was rough, was it?

Jonathon nods..... Franklin said - Close contact always is. You're a vampire. You're stuck with it (reaches into the pocket of the cardigan he wears over his Philadelphia Eagles sweat shirt and puts a little silver cylinder on the counter), but maybe not.

What is that? - asked Sarah.

A septum plug from a piercing shop. What do you think it is, you saintly vampirina, you? This, or what's in it is an almost perfect weapon. It doesn't explode. It just 'changes' things. And don't ask me to open it. God! That's the last thing you want - went the patriot-scientist.

The others just stared at the small, shiny thing glistening on the granite, so after a few heartbeats Franklin continued - Deep within that protective barrier rests a few micro-grams of the prion that causes Jakob- Creutzfeldt Disease... the human version of Mad Cow. Think of it... a simple scrap of something not really living, not really dead... like you all. Not you, Edith, but 'them' I mean. No cell that comes in contact with any of those lethal agents is in any way chemically changed. They're merely contorted into a slightly different shape. It turns out that, that shape is the wrong shape for normal cerebral functioning. Brains stop working. People die. And it's fast.  We can pinpoint its application, or we can be slightly less discriminate.

And then silence.....

After a bit Jonathon says - Tell me more.

Not now - responds the scientist-statesman. But we will test it overseas first.

Against who? - asks Sarah.

Look at the news, my dear. Can't you figure that out? - went Franklin. And, no, official government channels are not 'in' on this. Well, maybe a few rogues are. But it's essentially just me, myself and I, plus everybody else up at the 'Annex.'

Then he laughed, dropped his head on his chest, as if dead and went 'guhk.'.... A quiet, little 'guhk' noise is Franklin shorthand for mysterious, sudden death. The old reprobate has been responsible for a few of them over the years.

Edith said - Yeah, OK, right. Who wants cold drinks?

Jonathon carefully picked up the silver cylinder and studied it.....

What a game changer.....

<more next time>


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Thursday, March 9, 2017

Jonathon Culls the Herd a Little More... Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Who's That Creepin'? - clip 1 .. 3/6/17


Jonathon went back to the white marble capital on the Potomac. There was more to do. What he did the last time (please see prior post) was 'fixed.' As long as they control the media it's easy to fix things... Those viral videos you see on line?... They're faked... What you read?... Only rumors.... And as long as the power that drives the regime (the frustrated, revenge driven, bitter masses) stays loyal, they can do anything. It doesn't matter. There are no more Democrats and Republicans, or Liberals and Conservatives. All we have now are Inclusives and Restrictives. Are you 'in,' or are you 'out?'

As a survivor of Crusader massacres and a witness to countless Inquisitions and genocides, our vampire hero, Jonathon, understands that. He recognizes how basic and visceral and childish and selfish and willfully evil adults can be. Other peoples' children do not feel pain. Other peoples' mothers are cheap bitches. Other peoples' fathers are hideous animals. Look, you're already on line. You know the sites. You know what they say. Sad thing is they're not so marginal anymore. So called 'mainstream' right wing news networks quote Breitbart every day. And the administration feeds off it. You see it's a coalition with them. They need the bad boys. They need their heat and love and permission... Don't cry for me, Argentina. Everything I do, I do for you.... You know the song.

Some of the Inner Circle knows about vampires. A few have lead rooms of their own, especially after what happened the other night. The smart ones turned their dens and family rooms into lead rooms. That way there's room for everybody... the kids... their husbands and wives... the grandchildren. Everybody sleeps dormitory style, most on air mattresses, till they can get real ones. Guys came in and covered every wall, ceiling and floor with lead panels... put interior lead shutters over the windows... even did the same in the powder room. Safe and snug. The little ones thought it was fun, like camping out. Most of these places, at this level, had wet bars and refrigerators... all the comforts. An unusual situation? Yes, but not unbearable.

Jonathon waited till they were asleep. Vampires can sense that. The brain waves change. They can feel it. I know many night-folk claim there is no physical side to what they do. They claim it's all spiritual... at least the 'noble' vampires do. The others don't care. They just gorge. But Jonathon does care. He bothers little with the physical, preferring to live in the spirit.

When all inside that stately home sailed through the nighttime sea he sublimated into the house, moving through a commodious living room accented with photographs, lots of family pictures... the grandkids on the boat.... summers at the lake house... winter trips to Vail, where they also owned a place.... family weddings... graduation shots, from nursery school to graduate degrees. The patriarch loved his brood, or maybe he was just proud of them? It's often hard to tell.

Yet the government big-wig didn't love every family. Every decision he'd ever made in his political life was aimed at one thing, diminishing the amount of public funds used to help those in need.
Most didn't need that much, but they needed something and he did his best to make sure it wasn't there. Said he was forcing people to stand on their own two feet. Said he was training people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. What he really did was run interference for the rich. Not the 'toy' rich. I mean the genuinely wealthy. Nothing wrong with being wealthy. But all those scriptural parts about 'remembering the widow's children' and feeding the hungry and extending a hand to those less fortunate must have been taught on days he was sick... or out on the boat.

Well, Jonathon was the 'paladin.' He did what he could to lessen the damage and right the wrong... on a macro level at least.

Now please note that every interior surface of the den/familyroom was sheathed in cold, grey lead. But one door fronted a small closet and the interior surfaces of that closet were not sheathed. Jonathon could smell it, or rather sense it harmonically. Vampires give off a slight resonance. It's how they avoid lead. They feel the echo. But none came from the outer wall of the closet, so all he had to do was sublimate in from the dining room side of the wall, push open the door (you could push it from either side) and enter the room. The contractors forgot all about that little closet. You know how contractors are. Everybody in the administration wants a lead room. Installers are busy all over Metro D.C.. Hell, lead's the new hardwood among certain political types.

But the room was drowned in darkness. The lead shutters kept out moonlight and even the ambient glow from outside... a tomb for the living. A large leather sectional occupied the center of the space like a huge dragon, as the humans snore through their dreams. After a few heartbeats Jonathon's eyes (and since he's a vampire, his skin too) begin sensing heat sources in the room.... the forced air vents... the bellies and torsos of the people.... soft, sleep vapors forming little breath genies over mouths. No one suspects a thing.

Our trim, Andalusian vampire finds his prize and kneels down beside the mean - big job - government - grampy man. Then he carefully rolls down the blanket, leans in and punctures the man's throat, in that silent, catlike manner of his. Ah, but the blood is warm and thick and languid in an old flesh sort of way. He savors it... Like tender beef left to hang.... But soon it's over. The rich man and powerful presidential appointee is dead. In one smooth move, Jonathon whips the neatly folded, thin, black, plastic tarp out of his slim, black jeans and snaps it open (letting it settle over the corpse) just before the exsanguinated body ignites into 'cold' blue flame. Thus is the fire hidden from view. Oh the artificial membrane soundlessly flutters a bit, as if covering popcorn in a microwave. When that stops he pulls it off, wads it up and stuffs it in the large, cylindrical, stainless Steel, step on refuse can from BED BATH AND BEYOND (not a link.. we just like the way the blue letters look) behind the bar.

Then he goes to the closet door, cracks the kinks out of his neck, puts his hand against the interior lead surface and prepares to exit. But before he can push, someone else pushes in from the other side and another man in a form fitting black outfit steps in. They stand there for a moment. Neither being moves. The newcomer clicks on a pin light and aims it at Jonathon's eyes. His pupils immediately shrink and recalibrate. Then he pivots out of the beam. But before the second being snaps it out, the mirror-like glass doors of the fireplace reflect it into the eyes of a little toddler girl.... She wakes up, sees the two figures and begins to whimper.

Three heartbeats later they're all up. Some guy (an adult son) turns on a lamp. His mom (wife to the corpse) sees her husband reduced to a greasy smudge on the rug and starts screaming and screaming and screaming ---- Ahhhh! VAMPIRES! God damned fuckin' VAMPIRES!! 

Who knows? Maybe Jonathon could have slipped out, but he didn't want to leave the rest of them there with that
apparently 'government operative' specimen. And he was rattled too. This was supposed to be his gig. So he just stood there, as the other one leaped over a bunch of squirming, shrieking family members on the floor and gives the old lady a 'Jerry Mahoney.' You know, like when a ventriloquist's dummy turns its head all the way around and starts making faces over its back?... But she didn't make faces. She just fell back on the floor and stopped moving altogether.

That's when Jonathon gave the second vampire his own 'Jerry Mahoney.' Only thing is he kept turning and turning till the head popped off. Second vampire tries to find it and stick it back on.  Might take a few days, but if he holds it in position, while waiting it out in a cool dark place, the original connection should regenerate. But the bottom part of the neck still attached to the head was sealed tight like an old fashioned hot dog casing and time was running out. The headless body didn't know where it was going. It kept jabbing and grabbing at people on the floor till it burst into 'cold' blue flames just like that grandpa guy did. Lamp got smashed. No light save for the flickering azure fire from the twitching vampire body and its independently twitching head.

Somebody tried to call 911, but cell phone signals are like vampires. They don't pass through lead either.

Jonathon hid in the shadows. When the other one's remains were gone and the room was dark once more, he slipped out through the closet and made his escape.

Yet another senior team member plus his wife disappears?.....

How would the White House explain this?

<more next time>


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Thursday, March 2, 2017

Our Vampire Jonathon Discovers a Lethal Tool.. consider the GRENOUER 'Brain Fever' video too.. 2/28/17


Our vampire hero, Jonathon, carried out his plan. He sublimated into a posh D.C. residence and abducted a certain, highly disliked presidential advisor. Then he deposited the man down on the street  in a , shall we say, very rough Washington neighborhood. Before rising into the dark, night sky he ripped off the startled functionary's night shirt, howled as only one of the night-folk can ( setting off car alarms, waking sleepers who ran out with pit-bulls chomping at the bit), kicked him in the butt and disappeared. 

They cornered the naked presidential advisor (who shall remain nameless) behind a 2011 Cadillac Escalade. He was whining and crying and going - No...no... Oh God... Oh God........

Some of the guys from the block would get too close with their pitt bulls. He'd go - Get away from me!... The dogs were pulling on their chains and growling and all...... Finally, an old woman goes - He's that fat 'Baby Hitler,' sloppy, government bastid..... Then everybody starts shaking their heads and clicking off even more pictures.... Kids go - Make him dance a little.... Old woman says - No, you're not gonna make him dance a little. You want him to have a heart attack?!....

Then she goes over to the sloppy, government bastid kneeling and shaking behind the Escalade and says - Wouldn't you be more comfortable if I got you like a blanket, or something?.... The guy nods and goes - Uh huh... Then he sniffs back some snot, 'cause it is getting chilly.... Some guy offers him  a flask. He don't want to drink it at first. Guy goes - It's Scotch man! That ain't gonna hurt you!... So he takes a couple swallows...

Five minutes later the 'Baby Hitler' unnamed government guy is wrapped up in a Dora the Explorer polyester blanket (for when the grandbabies visit) on the sofa next to the old woman's sister, Helene, who nods and smiles a lot. They turn the sound down on HGTV so he can make a call on an old fashioned house phone, which he likes, 'cause it's harder to hack into and twelve minutes later a black vehicle coincidentally quite like a Cadillac Escalade pulls up, full of Men In Black who give everybody suspicious looks and bundle him off toward the White House. They keep the Dora the Explorer blanket, but give the old woman an envelope with twenty five hundred dollars in it, so she don't care. Helene says - Bye... and they leave. She wants to hear how much that beach house in South Carolina costs anyway.

The Men In Black try to get everybody off the street and back in their houses. But that doesn't mean anything. Pictures and video are already going viral all over the internet.

When they take the guy in the Dora The Explorer blanket into the White House (the private 'residence' upstairs), the president asks one question. He says - How did this happen?.... The advisor tells him about the man who came through the wall and swooped him up into the dark, night sky and carried him over the city and left him, naked, in the middle of that 'dangerous' neighborhood..... The president goes - You son of a bitch! What the f#ck are you talking about?.... The man in the child's blanket says - You go to hell, you shit for brains! I know what happened! I KNOW what the hell I'm talking about!.... One of the Men In Black clears his throat and says - Excuse me, Mister President, has anyone briefed you on the 'Night-Folk Protocol?' ..... Thirty minutes later he knew it all. He knew about the 'lead room.' He knew about the failed attempts to kill Lenin and later Hitler with our own, domesticated vampires and he knew how easy it was to 'turn' them. Such easily distracted, fickle creatures they are... but sometimes very effective.

Now Jonathon was planning to stay in the capital (or is it capitol?) for a bit, but vampires feel things through the ether (the matrix that supports everything). Franklin... it seemed to be coming from the Doctor. So he sublimated back through the starry sky and entered the townhouse twenty one hundred and sixty heartbeats before dawn. Edith was up (when DID she sleep?). And Doctor Franklin was there waiting.

Our vampire hero said - Franklin, why aren't you up at the 'Annex?'.... The artificially preserved (but not vampire) scientist-statesman sighed and said - I came back to show you this.... and he handed him a small tablet, showing the video of a poor, unfortunate woman thrashing about with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease... 'Mad Cow' for humans.

Jonathon watched and read the captions at the bottom, as the scenes changed.

Franklin said - Prions... all because of a tiny scrap of genetic material that makes viruses seem complex. Yet they're the most infectious substance on Earth. And they don't reproduce. They recruit. When a disease causing prion presses itself against a benign specimen... and there are many benign specimens throughout nature, the innocent one is corrupted, becoming just like its attacker. Then it goes off. The cycle goes on exponentially. Infected human brains eventually turn to mush.

And it all comes from eating tainted meat? - asked the vampire. (he'd been watching the video.)

Franklin nodded.

It's very hard to come by. The Center For Infectious Disease has some... a few research labs... the government. - whispered Franklin....

They use it? - asked the vampire....

Of course - said Franklin.

For a weapon, I mean? - ads the vampire....

The scientist-statesman nodded again...

<more next time>

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