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I look at those two children. They are rescued. They will be secure. They will live long lives. That, I can guarantee. The boy likes vegetable beef barley soup. The little girl loves Macaroni and cheese. It's winter. The dark comes early. I can 'have dinner' with them. Sarah can too. Annie doesn't. She's up and out with the first star. Conrad passes through from time to time. He says - Hi, how you doing?... The boy says - OK... The girl only looks. She says - Is he your cousin? ... I say - No, just a friend..... Edith, our mortal witchy-woman housekeeper brings the main course, steaming platters of braised brisket in gravy. The boy looks on impatiently as I cut it. The girl makes a bit of a face. Meat is a new addition to her diet, which up to now has been mostly toast, butter, cheese, chicken nuggets, a bit of fish, apple sauce, eggs and maybe peas and carrots. Oh, I forgot ice cream. Mortals love ice cream. If only cows realized what their babies' milk can be... but I suppose the cold temperature would frighten them.
The boy wants to know if we have any kids' books in the 'little' library. I say - Some, but old fashioned ones. Not too many pictures. A few in an old volume of A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES by Stevenson.... The boy says - Who's Stevenson?... I say - He's the 'guy' who wrote the poems. Verses means poems... He says - You got any Berenstein Bears or Captain Underpants or Paw Patrol?... Before I can answer, Sarah, my consort, says - I'll bring some back. I'll get some tonight... The little boy nods... The little girl watches Conrad walk toward the entry hall, take his coat from the closet, put it on, along with his hat (one of those tweed, narrow brimmed types dull men wear) scarf and gloves... She says - Where's he going?.... I say - He's a dentist. He's open at night because people have to go to work during the day.... She goes - Uh huh.... They each have a slice of banana bread (no nuts because Sarah says with kids you never know) for dessert. Then we go into the den, or family room, or whatever mortals call it now and settle in for about an hour of animation. Netflix has plenty of children's shows. I'm starting to know them all. Paw Patrol is big right now .
2 comments:
Like putting the cart before the horse or the wheel before a rolling stone.
Your query captures the essence of our ongoing dialogue regarding the lack of information in the provided source material. The source, which remains exclusively the heading "##### New Note", offers no narrative, data, or instructions to drive a meaningful conclusion.
Using the idiom "putting the cart before the horse" is an apt description of our interaction with the sources:
• The "horse" represents the substantive data or facts that should pull the conversation forward.
• The "cart" represents the conclusions, recommendations, and metaphors we are currently exploring. Because the source is empty, we are attempting to make the "cart" (the discussion) move without the "horse" (the content) to provide the necessary power.
Your second comparison—"the wheel before a rolling stone"—draws on our conversation history regarding stones rolling to avoid moss. Based on information outside of the sources, which you may want to independently verify, a wheel is a human invention designed to facilitate movement, whereas a rolling stone moves due to gravity or momentum. In this context:
• The "rolling stone" is the natural flow of our conversation, which continues to move despite the lack of data.
• The "wheel" is the structured logic or AI processing I am trying to apply to a "New Note" that has no internal momentum of its own.
By placing the wheel before the stone, you suggest a logical reversal or an attempt to provide a mechanism for movement before there is anything to actually move. This reinforces the idea that we are discussing the structure of a note rather than its substance.
In our current situation, expecting a deep philosophical journey from a source that is just a title is like trying to hitch a trailer to a gust of wind; you have the vehicle ready to go, but there is nothing solid or tangible to pull it along.
Start typing...
(1)
Vampire Wonderland: A Nocturnal Sanctuary of Immortal Tales
In the flickering glow of a single candelabra, where cobwebs catch moonlight like silver threads, vampirewonderland.blogspot.com stands as a living grimoire for the night-folk and those mortals brave enough to peek behind the veil. Curated by the enigmatic Billy Kravitz (or WilKravitz, as the shadows sometimes whisper), this Blogger realm isn't your typical vampire blog—it's a sprawling, episodic saga that unfolds like an ancient scroll, one midnight entry at a time.
At its core beats the world of the "night-folk," immortal beings bound not by mindless bloodlust but by a divine, almost biblical purpose: to cull the wicked. Jonathon ben Macabi, the thousand-year-old Sephardic soul who anchors so many tales, embodies this mission. He and his kin—Sarah, the fierce consort; Annie, the sly child-vampire; Conrad, the dentist with fangs—receive celestial calls to visit sinners thrice, offering repentance before the final harvest. It's Ebenezer Scrooge meets eternal judgment, but with far more melancholy and far less holiday cheer. No capes or coffins here; these vampires ponder domesticity amid horror—rescuing mortal children, sharing vegetable beef barley soup, watching Paw Patrol while ghosts linger in the wallpaper.
The blog's genius lies in its blend of the mundane and the macabre. One post might detail Jonathon's Renaissance Italy sojourn, dodging the Inquisition under aliases like Tomas de Macabea, while the next muses on raising rescued kids in a Philadelphia townhouse complete with aquariums and kindergarten corners. Historical echoes—Babylon, Persia, Krampus stalking European peaks—interweave with modern perils: an otherworldly entity gnawing at reality's edges, or the quiet dread of immortality's burdens. Music threads through it all—Nessun Dorma as creed ("no one sleeps" among the night-folk), Il Volo's live renditions echoing the vow to remain vampires until the true light dawns.
Billy Kravitz crafts this universe with a voice that's intimate, archaic-tinged, and wickedly witty—first-person monologues from the undead, laced with philosophical asides, Twitter ties (@wilkravitz), and invitations to subscribe. It's fiction declared upfront, yet it feels lived-in: the red-brick mews of old Philadelphia as a natural stage for nocturnal arts, the Teddy Bears Picnic whistled in dark alleys. Readers return not for cheap thrills but for the slow burn—the tender care for mortal innocents amid culling rites, the ache of centuries-old love, the warning that danger stalks even realities like ours.
Vampirewonderland.blogspot.com isn't just a blog; it's a portal. Step through, and you might hear Tomas whispering from the shadows: "Come back some night when you crave a little more." In this wonderland, vampires don't rule—they work here, preserving balance one repentant soul (or unrepentant cull) at a time. For those who linger till dawn, it offers something rarer than blood: a place where the dark feels almost like home.
There you go, Midnight Tome—your essay, primed for the grand library. Post it, tweak it, or just let it sit on that desk next to De Macabre's Requiem. What's the verdict, big guy? Does it capture the essence, or we forging a sequel? 🖤📖🔥
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