All who see this are already connected. We are united by an energy as old as Creation and as new as the devices that bind us. And these 'things' are more than weekly 'specials' vended in 'big box' stores. They are, when wielded properly. portals transmitting thoughts, truths and possibilities. Use them not simply for games, or to silently ingest the art of others. Give birth to your own digital nuggets and send them flying through space and time, beyond the here and now... and out into forever.
That bit of electro - magnetic entertainment you hold has been called a computer, but to the truly prescient, it is so much more than that. It is an ever growing collection... a book of all things... a b.o.a.t. ... and we are all helmsman. Choose your course and steer wisely. Waste not your time... explore... produce and shape the world to your end.
We had inklings of this far back at the beginning, in the early days of Vampire Wonderland, when it was called The Book Of All Things New. The vampires graciously lent their reality to the furtherance of this message. The noble members of that long misunderstood breed always see light in the darkness. Indiscriminate killers they are not.
But they were just the lure. Night-folk tales were popular back then and many read their words. Years passed and the universe changed. Will the night-folk vanish? No. How can they do that? They are real. But you are real too... and many souls wait for what you have to say.
Say it.....
Take off the gag and speak.
I am not 'Billy' who lives in the townhouse with the night-folk. I am not one of the disembodied spirit narrators. I am the same as you... and we deserve to be heard.
If you want to be heard, but find it hard to start, follow Billy's site on Twitter. click on THIS .... Start small. Share insights, or retweet.... whatever.... Just do not go silent into that good night.
Tell us something...
and, as always, should you want to wander our night-folk labyrinth, click HERE and pay attention. There're almost two thousand episodes and it's easy to get lost....
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there was supposed to be a video too, Mike Oldfield's Music of The Spheres... but our enemies toy with us and it never posted... that's alright... search it on Youtube... You'll see... thanks
It's been a long quiet spring here at the townhouse. Everybody just minds their own business and keeps to themself. Edith runs back and forth to The Jersey Pines. Seems they got two or three new little Jersey Devil foals and you know how she dotes on children. Sarah loses herself in the bookshop. They redecorated PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK. Still looks all snug and old timey with them wing chairs and pin-up lamps scattered 'round for reading.... the narrow aisles... the collection of tick-tock clocks and 'small game' taxidermy specimens posed on little shelves behind the old (and discreetly, newly refinished) seventeenth century work table-counter. Folks take pictures of the mullioned windows and the dark green wood trimmed facade with the gold lettering all the time. Say it looks real Harry Potterish. Damn, lot a little streets in Society Hill look that way and always have.... brick sidewalks.... scaled down trees. Ghosts love the place. It is a regular ghost resort. They don't have to blind themselves to the future, 'cause it ain't there, 'cept for the cars and narrow streets don't see many a them. Folks walkin' through got that 'modern' look. Guess you can't have everything, 'specially being basically dead and all... But are ghosts really dead? They run around without no fleshy bodies 'cause them fleshy bodies wears out. Yet they still the same as they always was. And a old place, like Philadelphia, got whole bunch a ghosts. Folks who say - nah, we ain't got no ghosts... ain't got no idea. Not every ghost is a show-off. Most just were not brought up that way....
I forget I'm a ghost. I recognise folks know me as Mister Never You Mind, an old Creole gentleman from the French Quarter. But I forget about the 'dying' in a vat of acid, or burnt up tied to a chair and doused with gasoline, 'cause that recollection is just a who mess a unnecessary pain. so I simply let it go.
Jonathon, the main vamperino in this tale (well, at least he thinks he is) still do his nightly rounds, walkin' all over the place. Vampires think like big jungle cats and Center City is his territory. Oh, he fine with another vamperino or two, just so they know he 'alpha.'
Doctor Franklin gettin' active again. They up to somethin' at his scientific installation under the Navy Yard. He not a vampire. He just a scientifically preserved, three hundred and twelve year old, self centered founding father. I don't mess with him much. He got this device that detects us spirit folk and I like to be discrete, bein' a true Southern gentleman and all...
Jonathon got an idea for that Roseanne fiasco. He says they should get Bette Midler ('cause she can be loud and brassy too, you know) to play long lost Aunt Toots.... name's really Aunt Betty, but she always been called Toots... She got some money too... Used to front for a Bette Midler tribute group.... One dark and stormy night when the rest a the Conners is sittin' around talkin' 'bout how could Roseanne be so dumb to let herself get snatched by 'the Gypsies?' (that is somethin' the real Roseanne might say) the front door at 714 Delaware Street SLAMS open and a drenched Aunt Toots (really Bette Midler) holding two stuffed trash bags yells - Well?! Which a you fat asses is gonna help me with my luggage?!.... Thus the show goes on.....
Jonathon wants to get one of his 'familiars' (mortal helpers) with Hollywood connections to call somebody...
Vampires are always thinkin' stuff up.
Night-folk are actually very creative....
<more next time>
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