tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43546505998698530662024-02-20T03:00:31.901-05:00Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderlandEVERYTHING IS EVERYWHERE
What choices do you make?
. Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.comBlogger2014125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-15204628605337059032023-08-12T16:45:00.002-04:002023-08-13T01:39:01.692-04:00To DDos criminals in Singapore <p> Just a short message to let DDos criminals in Singapore know we’ve engaged a noted web lawyer and are investigating your extremely malicious crimes. We know about your footprint in certain other places too</p>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-88266615475951213582022-10-24T23:06:00.000-04:002022-10-24T23:06:17.605-04:00The Vampire Jonathon's Time In Renaissance Italy 7/13/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There was a man living in the town. He was a stranger, far more strange to the Mediterranean world than any vampire. And please know that as a Spanish Jew (at least in my mortal form) this world was fundamental to my very being. I met him at an evening symposium, a dinner and intellectual get together for gentlemen. Please know I used my Spanish name, Tomas de Macabea, to avoid the Inquisition. Agents of that fearsome organization were quite adept at vampire catching. Those of you familiar with the elferina, Marianne's sojourn in the Fortress of Lead, recounted in Vampire Wonderland - Marianne In Britches know this. The rest of you can Google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz Marianne In Britches for countless points of access. I use the name of my twenty first century 'familiar' for convenience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Six of us attended that symposium</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-37678317324893526702022-09-01T07:25:00.000-04:002022-10-25T22:44:34.844-04:00The Khan and His Daughter - inspired by Ashwin Batish Sitar rendition - Vaishnava Jana Favorite of Bapu Mahatma ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">In the fifteenth Resonance of the ninth Emanation a Son of Humanity, Darius the Great, conquered Old Babylonia and vanquished the king, He Who Reveres Nabu, folding Babylon's treasures into his own and greatly free enriching the Empire of the Medes and Persians. The King of Kings, never one to rest on his laurels, turned his eyes toward the East and the West, focusing in turn on the neglected Hebrew polity by the shores of The Sea Between the Lands and the glittering jewel of the Punjab. Thus did the prophets, saints and holy men of the Jews meet the prophets, saints and holy men of the Hindus in retreats and ashrams scattered throughout his empire, supreme on all the Earth. </span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-49739619315407898112021-04-15T02:15:00.018-04:002021-04-15T02:25:34.859-04:00Il Volo - Turandot: Nessun Dorma (Live) vampires shall remain vampires until the coming of the true light<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/pWffUAg8zyc" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">You have not seen me here in months and I have been an infrequent visitor for at least two or three years before that. But I miss you and I need to come back. I am trying to share a piece of music that has, in a sense, become the vampires' creed. I hope it appears. There are those who do all they can to thwart my message. They hate truth and so they hate me. I am Jonathon ben Macabi, and I have been 'night folk' since my nineteenth year, more than one thousand years ago. This path winds back to the beginning. No one knows its source. Please know I speak of mortals. We know. Night-folk understand. Each of us was born mortal, but at some time, at some fortuitous point in the matrix we call Creation, we were no longer mortal, each changed into something miraculous and strange. Many heard a voice, a calm low, soft clear voice. Was it an angel? I suppose. We all think that. It's a question of faith. The angel said - Fear not. Thou hast not been forsaken, but chosen to fight in Michael's Army. The Arch Angel calls you to go out into the world. Thou shalt cull the wicked. Thou shalt extinguish blighted souls. ... And the world has no shortage of them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">We make three visits to the bedside of such offenders. Ebenezer Scrooge was not unique. We relate their sins and ask for repentance. If they sincerely do we leave. Each gets three chances, one month apart. The third is the last. Should they still relish their wickedness they are extinguished. It's not the blood that sustains us, but the mission. We are not The Shepherd, just the sheepdog. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Mortals revered us. Some called us Saints, local saints to be sure, but saints just the same. All was well till inquisitional times. Then it all changed. The world entered an age of distortion. Evil and excess were everywhere. To be sure there were inklings as early as four centuries before that time. The wars for Jerusalem and all. Those in authority termed us demons. Many perished. Some just gave up, sublimating high into the starlit sky till their essence was spread so thin it could never coalesce. Are their atoms still out there? I suppose, but atoms are but particles, mere desiccated crumbs of what once was.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I and those like me are among the steadfast. We remember 'the call.' Some of what you've read here over the years has been embellished. I don't know why. Night-folk just do that from time to time. We crave union with the world. Sainthood can grow tiresome. Still, I continue to do my job.... till that blessed dawn, the morning of True Light, when The Messiah finally appears.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Now permit me to go out into the city. I have to make my rounds... two first visits... one third... </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">You may have seen me, a comly trim 'eighteen year old with long dark wavy hair... black bootkins... black jeans... white shirt... fine tailored black leather coat. I could easily be one of those singers up above it that video. Sometimes my boots throw sparks. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Just before dawn I return to the townhouse. The things I've shared about that place and all who live in it are true, including our two mortal foundlings.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I love that piece... Nessun Dorma... 'no one sleeps.'... at least not among the night-folk....</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com ">THIS</a> will take you to the whole tale if you click on it... <a href="wilkravitz/twitter.com">THAT</a> will take you to Billy's site on Twitter. He's the mortal who coordinates this for us.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Adios....Why 'adios?'... I am a loyal son of old Al Andalus... and Classical Arabic, Hebrew, Aramaic and Old Castilian come natural to me... as well as the ancient nigh-folk dialects too.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-14774832810222706072020-12-07T01:49:00.000-05:002020-12-07T01:49:11.157-05:00Jonathon thinks about his two mortal children- My Chemical Romance - Welcome To The Black Parade [Official Music Video]<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RRKJiM9Njr8" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/RRKJiM9Njr8/hqdefault.jpg);" width="459"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">And so what do I do with them, my two innocent human charges... my children? I watch them every night when I awake. We put them to bed at eight thirty, an hour late by mortal standards. They wake up at seven thirty or perhaps an hour more. So they see me for perhaps three and a half hours now, in the winter time. In the summer, when dawn comes so early and dusk so late they might not see me at all. The boy, the five year old, doesn't say much and his three year old sister looks to him for guidance. So far they ask few questions. Why should they. Edith, our mortal housekeeper sees to their meals. A familiar, a man who oversees our financial affairs, arranged for clothes from the best children's shops, toys from the most inviting toy shops. We subscribe to all the popular children's television networks. Edith or Billy, the mortal who curates this blog for us, takes them out on walks all the time. They get treats and story books, but only if the shop has a special window installed in their front door for safe ease of purchase during this time of pestilence. They have an small ten gallon tropical fish aquarium all done up like a cozy undersea fish village. Conrad, another night-folk who lives here, had tropical fish before his transformation and knows all about them, so he takes care of the tank. It's set up in a room downstairs made to look like a pre-school or kindergarten classroom... all the colorful wall charts, a chalk board, bright tables and chairs, digital tablets... everything. A teacher came two and a half hours every morning. Then lunch. In the afternoons Billy took over. Afternoons were easy... a story... a nap... arts and crafts... Zoom time with a few other home schooled children... a kiddie TV movie before dinner. This time of year Sarah (my consort) and I get to join them. Conrad looks in from time to time. Annie the by now maybe ten year old child vampire in a body not much older than the five year old boy's when it happened. I did not do it. None of us did. None of us would. 'Papa' did that. You'll see him. He's around. I don't know where, but he's around. Annie visits with the children... never alone... always supervised. Sometimes she's a mean little kid, besides being a vampire.. The mortal children call her 'that mean girl.' She's skinny. Her hair just hangs there. Likes magazines and coloring books from the CVS. Sneaks out by herself at night. She's a vampire. What's going to happen to her. Sometimes she sneaks into the vast Penn Museum on 34th Street to commune with the spirits of the mummies. That place is mummy central. She steals things for some homeless guys she's friends with... cigarettes... plastic containers of these big wet napkins like baby wipes, but these are made for old people with like arthritis and all. Homeless people love them. Annie has money to pay for these things, but she likes stealing. The mortal children sense she's 'something' they just don't know what.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jonathon worries about the mortal boy and girl. Only been a few nights, but he thinks about things. They're going to want a normal family. Right now he figures one of his 'familiars' a lawyer with a huge condo and a house down the shore, actually not too far from where Baylah's mortal boyfriend lives. You'll meet her.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bet you never thought vampires had problems like this, but think about it. Why wouldn't they. People say they're 'not human.' But they are. What they're not is mortal. He doesn't want to see these children grow old. There was a woman, a vampire woman in town years ago who took in two mortal children too. She had money. All vampires have money. I'll explain how later, but it's very obvious. You'll get it right away. You'll figure it out. A flamboyant Auntie Mame character. The children never left her. She lived in The Drake, a legendary Center City pre war apartment building... thirty two stories tall... terra cotta Spanish type towers on top. She lived up there... private elevator. You know how often other people in the building saw her? Hardly ever. Mr. Dawson delivered groceries for 'the children' and Denise, her 'French girl' kept house. Mrs. Hopps came before breakfast and left just before dinner to cook all the meals plus a few snack items. Things were fine, until the 'children' got old. Then she brought in nurses. They never needed doctors. The tiniest drops of her night-folk blood banished every ailment. But as with all humans the clockwork mechanism reaches its end and the tiny drops of vampire blood are useless. They were too old to transform. Aged vampires don't do well. They live like ghouls. The vampire woman stayed with them to the end. We don't know where she went.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jonathon didn't want that to happen. Neither did Sarah. When it was time the children would go to that 'familiar.'</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The night he decided, he sat in the middle of Washington Square park. No one noticed him. It was dark. The place was a military grave yard during the War for Independence. They claimed the bodies were moved when the area took on a residential tone, first with town houses, later with the high rise condominiums we see today. The truth is they never moved most of the bodies... a few dozen. They made a token attempt, but two thousand still remain, packed in tight as slats in a hardwood floor. Jonathon liked the ghosts. He'd talk with them. Did they all remain there? No. Most went on to The World To Come, but a few, perhaps a dozen, never left. They'd rise up from their rest and make their way to the bench. Jonathon had his favorite bench. That's where they'd sit. Oh, the ghosts weren't tied to the site. They'd wander through the district... watching people... passing through dark and gloomy department stores shuttered for the night. Once in a while they'd come across a newly 'freed' spirit pacing about in the dark, still warm empty body laying abandoned in some nearby bedroom. They'd whisper some words of encouragement and go on their way. Not like they were family...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jonathon liked their matter of fact manner. Most, by today's standards were still kids, boys in their late teens... maybe as old as Twenty one or twenty two. But, then again, Jonathon was only eighteen when he transformed... Not 'dead,' just not mortal.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Look, who knows when the children might leave? Might be a fortnight. Might be a year. Might be ten years... The 'Black Parade' goes on and on and he's been marching for more than a thousand years.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">On his way back to the town house he picked up a bottle of Sarah's favorite scent... just a casual thing from the CVS... even got a Barbie coloring book for Annie.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">_____________________________</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">hit <a href="https:// feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com ">HERE</a> to see all 2,000plus episodes, but make sure you also click the #free SUBSCRIBE thing when you get there...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">click <a href="wilkravitz/Twitter.com">THIS</a> to join that Billy who curates the whole thing on Twitter... Good night... Cheers</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-29421980815081453242020-12-02T02:32:00.000-05:002020-12-02T02:32:08.215-05:00A Vampire takes in Mortal Children -Baby Mine | Lyric Video | Dumbo (2019)<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iRFL52qp3v8" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The first days were hard. We kept them in the same bedroom. There's two single beds in there, but they only used the one near the bookcase. Mostly they just wept. Edith brought them bowls of warm maple syrup-brown sugar oatmeal, but they wouldn't eat. Sometimes they just lay there, the five year old with his arm around his little sister. Edith stayed in there with them. Jonathon and Sarah didn't go out that night. When Edith went to bed, they took over. The kids took a bit of cold water, but that was it. Once, in a quiet voice, the little boy said - We want the light... Sarah switched on a small 'carousel' lamp on the night table between the beds, then two more hours of silence until they started to fuss. Sarah asked - Do you have to go to the bathroom?... They said - Uh huh... Jonathon got up, but Sarah said - No, I'll take them. The boy said - Take her first. I can hold it. So Sarah carried the three year old into the the attached bathroom. Vampires didn't use the toilets much, unless they like killed a fly, or a spider and had to flush it, but they do like standing under a hot shower on chill winter nights. There minutes later when they came back, the boy said - Now me. She went to pick him up but he said - That's OK. I go myself... So she sat there on the upholstered bench in the reading nook with Jonathon, trying not to stare at the little girl who stared at the both of them. The five year old big brother went pee-pee, flushed and washed his hands. He could reach the vanity by himself. Then he came back, got under the covers and stared at them too. Jonathon said - You want me to put on a movie? I can find one of the Toy Stories, or Dumbo?... Sarah gave him a look. A lot of those kiddie movies have a really sad edge. The boy said - No, that's alright... His sister whispered something. Then the boy said - Can you get the show where Ryan shows us all the new toys? Jonathon said - How do I find it? The boy just shrugged. Sarah said Search Ryan shows new toys... He did... In two hundred and forth heartbeats he had it... Then silence as the two children locked onto the bright, cheerful glossy toy balm.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">After the segment on the big, plastic (but blue smoked glass looking) hundred and fifty dollar horse statue from Frozen, the boy looked at Jonathon and said - I want to ask you something... Jonathon nodded... The little guy said - Who are you? How do you fly?... Jonathon said - You were awake? I thought you were sleeping?... No, went the boy, we just kept our eyes closed, because it was scary at first, but it felt like you had us real tight, so we weren't too scared. We just kept our eyes closed... How come? - asked the vampire... The boy just shrugged. Then he went - So, how come you can fly?... I just can - said Jonathon... Can your wife fly? - asked the boy... How do you know she's my wife? - said Jonathon... 'Cause you have those husband and wife rings on. I seen them sell 'em on Good Deals on The View once and you look like you like her. Sometimes they don't like each other, but you look like you do - he explained ... Then a silent lull till the boy said - So, can she fly?.. Not so much - said Sarah, I'm still learning... I just wanna know. Are you super heroes, or aliens? Sometimes when you talk your teeth look funny. That's why I think aliens. But we watch old Thunder Cats cartoons sometimes and they have teeth like that. That's why I can't tell.... We're just people, a little like superheroes, with the flying and all. We just have bad teeth - said Jonathon.... The boy nodded and went - Uh huh... Then more quiet till his sister whispered something... The boy said - She wants to know if you got any Toaster Strudel or anything... Sarah said - I think something like that. Let me run down to the kitchen. I'll bring up a tray. (Edith and Billy, who curates this blog for them eat mortal food)...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The little boy watched her go, then said - Are you Puerto Rican? Sometimes you sound a little Puerto Rican... No, Jonathon said, not Puerto Rican, just Spanish.... They talk Puerto Rican there too? - asked the five year old... A little - said Jonathon... Then the child quietly asked - Are we gonna stay here?... Yep - said the vampire... The boy just nodded.... Sarah came up with the tray.... The brother and sister ate a bit, then slept... But Jonathon and his wife sat there till dawn...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">-----------------------------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">hit <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com">THIS</a> to see all 2,000plus episodes, but you have to click on the #free SUBSCRIBE button when you get there.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">click <a href="wilkravitz/twitter.com">THIS</a> to follow Billy, the mortal who coordinates this blog for them on Twitter...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">If you missed yesterday's episode click OLDER POST down below to get filled in... Thank you</span></div>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-76491509367031244772020-12-01T00:53:00.002-05:002020-12-01T00:53:48.422-05:00The Boomtown Rats - I Don't Like Mondays (Live Aid 1985) leads into Jonathon saving almost murdered children<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FcZW0GFLSdw" width="459"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The children were bleeding. The five year old was on the rug right in front of the TV. The three year old was right next to him. The dog was crying under the sofa. She couldn't move. It looked like she was screaming, but no sound. Then a figure comes sublimating down through the ceiling. Moves right through it as if it was the surface of a pond. There he is... Less than one heartbeat later, a young man in black jeans and a black hoodie with long dark wavy hair is there, right in front of her... and his eyes look into hers as if he'd like to see her burning like a giant torch.... She moves... just a fraction.. just a bit, but she moved.. and he backhands her across the jaw and sends her flying.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then he kneels down. Gently picks up the five year old. Runs his hand under the throat and neck. Feels a pulse. Bites into the 'V' between his own thumb and forefinger and as the blood begins to flow gives the five year old 'drink'... But only a bit... Just a bit.. This is not a transformation.. The 'life eater' Jonathon does not do such things to children. But if he can, he will restore them. The little boy begins to whimper. Jonathon finds the wound under his bloody Iron Man pajama top, up near the center of his chest and presses down on the edges, till the bullet pops out.. Then another small drink. He rubs some of the blood over the wound. It 'heals.' He repeats this with the three year old until she too is restored. He picks them up and , places them on the sofa and turns toward the 'mother. She, he does not restore. She he 'culls.' A vampire doesn't need to swallow. They just siphon it all in, like gas from a car. In seconds it's over. He lets her fall and watches as she ignites into the cold blue flame. Victims 'burn' fast, till only a greasy residue remains. Then he tenderly picks up the two children and sublimates back up the way he came.. through the ceiling... through the roof and out over the dense, dark Jersey Pine Barrens. Our vampire likes these woods. They soothe him... but sometimes he finds things... Tonight he found two innocent children... and his blood will protect them during the cold windy flight back to the city... In a sense their lives have just begun.... And the dog?... Oh, don't worry about the dog. Folks love dogs in the Pines. He'll shimmy out through the dog door (weighted to deter critters) and run around till somebody finds him. Retrievers are gold 'round these parts.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Two hours later they were back, safe in the townhouse, bathed and snug in cozy beds. He told Edith, the 'witchy woman' housekeeper, all about it. She was a Piney herself. Bad things happen in dark corners of the Pines. She knew. Sarah, his consort, and the others were still 'out.' Dawn comes late this time of year. Vampires like that. Why wouldn't they? And an old city like Philadelphia has so many shadows to explore.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Billy, the mortal who curates this account, took out his laptop, as Jonathon telepathically told him what to record. Edith brought in chilled vodka. Vampires can tolerate clear, or nearly clear liquids. Vodka is a particular favorite. Soon the tall clock in the entrance hall chimed four. Billy said - I'm going up.. Jonathon just nodded... It was obvious he wanted to tell the others... Edith lowered the lights downstairs and went up too. She left the vampire sitting in the den bathed in the black and white flickering light from some old silent film emanating out from the flat-screen above the mantle.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">---------------------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com">THIS</a> for access to all episodes if you also click the #free SUBSCRIBE thing when you get there.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">click<a href="wilkravitz/twitter.com">THIS TOO</a> to hook up with that 'Billy' who curates this all on Twitter...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Nighty night.</span></div>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-83206357028695928672020-10-13T01:43:00.015-04:002020-10-13T01:52:14.208-04:00A VAMPIRE SHARES A TROUBLING TALE - Henry Hall & His Orchestra - The Teddy Bear's Picnic (1932)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dZANKFxrcKU" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I spent some time in Old Muscovy centuries ago. Western Europeans thought it quite exotic and dark.... like a cold, heavy, brutal answer to Cathay. I went with a group of traders. They were interested in furs. I was fleeing from a clan of Noxious Vampires that for some reason saw me as their enemy. Noxious Vampires kill indiscriminately. Noble Vampires do not. A wealthy 'familiar' (mortal who helps night-folk) descended from an old wool trade family, not yet true aristocracy, but definitely listed among the gentry (actually just as good) supplied me with a commodious chest, usually filled with porcelain and crockery, but easily long enough for me to lie down... And that was it. I was off, deep in the hold of something little better than Cristobal Colon's tiny caravels. Perhaps a bit stouter and a few cubits longer, a little more architecture above deck... but seaworthy??? Maybe by the standards of the time, though not by today's. I had a bottle, sealed with a cork... a rather large bottle, a Jeroboam... but I can't remember if we used that term back then. I'm sure we had another name for it. Please understand it's difficult for me to remember all this. Now I speak English, American Philadelphia English. Then I spoke a form of 'Old Castilian.' More a type of altered Vahmperigo, a night-folk dialect that melts Castilian, Catalan and an Italian Piedmontese patois of the alpine regions of Savoy. You see, 'vampires' due to our ability to sublimate, can fly through the night like magic. What do I mean 'like magic?' It IS magic. In one evening I'd cover the distance from the Castilian - Valencia border to Barcelona and on to Turin or maybe even Genoa... all Romance idioms, yet with differences of cadence, accent and music. Night-folk must fit in, so we adapt. Excuse my digression. Where was I? Ah, yes... deep in the bowels of that ship, locked in a long casket-like crate with a large bottle of what you might call a weak vodka. Vampires can ingest clear or almost clear fluids. It's how we fool people, sipping cups of weak, steaming tea in coffee houses... eating broth at dinner, or the like. Mortals are so easy. I'd take a mouthful now and then to put me into a trance-like sleep. True sleep, or our version of it, finds us only during daylight. Even in this crate, down in the darkness, my essence knew day from night. The weak intoxicant helped endure the dark time.</span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">We'd stop at a few ports along the North Sea and Bering Sea coasts. A little trading here. A little trading there. French crockery was big in Muscovy. German clocks, salt cured English mutton... transistor radios.... ha ha ha ha ha... No, I joke. We had no transistor radios. We had nothing! Sanitary napkins were still far off in the future. Toothbrushes, or some primitive form of them, were a rare, exotic commodity. If I had to endure 'life' during those benighted centuries without vampire magic I'd have thrown myself into Stromboli's hellish maw ages ago.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">You see, London was a most comfortable place. The houses, at least those of quality folk were beginning to inch their was up from total shit stained squalor to a state of quasi civilization... more queasy that quasi, but you know what I mean. The damp stone interior walls were sheathed in brown, somber paneling . Rude collections of dull, grey pewter ware lined shelves. The furniture was straight out of a Game of Thrones prop barn. Rich folk kept angry little New World monkeys (brought over by Spain) dressed as courtiers, on gold chains. For some reason they were all named Rodrigo or Miguelito and bit everyone's fingers, when they were not masturbating... Arcane fraternal associations were all the rage... alchemy, tinged with imported schools of Persian sorcery, Indian sorcery and whatever they could get from Tibet tantalized every jumped up minor noble's son with visions of sex, power and influence. I tutored them sometimes when it suited me. Did they know I was night-folk? No, of course not. Protestants were still burned for God's sake! Can you imagine what they'd have done to me?! I'll tell you what they'd have done to me. Welded into one of those narrow, almost form fitting leaden coffins. Night-folk cannot sublimate through lead, you know. Then hauled out to sea on an old cobb, miles and miles from land and tossed overboard into the cold, dark depths. There are night-folk languishing on the abysmal plain as we speak. Some for centuries. Can you imagine? Still sentient, locked in vampire dreams more or less... forever. It's not the blood that keeps us alive. Some spiritual force does that. It's our job to cull the wicked. If we stop doing that, if we stop on our own, we slowly whither away... But if we're prevented from doing that, we endure, waiting for a freedom that might never come.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Some night-folk manage to defy the laws. They break away. They kill the innocent. In truth they'll kill anyone... widows... children... orphans... They keep them in caves deep underground... breeding them and breeding them in total darkness till the light is just a myth... naked and huddled like mole rats. I attempted to destroy such a coven and now they seek my 'death'... Thus my hasty departure.... a centuries old soul in a rather alluring eighteen year old body, off to bide my time among that brutal realm in the frozen East.... Do you think I'll look good in sable?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Come back tomorrow. I'm in a rather communicative mood and ready to share more...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">---------------------------------------------------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">please click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">HERE</a> to wander the night-folk archives and hit SUBSCRIBE when you get there for the free key to over one million words of vampire lore.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Go to wilkravitz on Twitter join me via my 'familiar' Billy. He has a fairly popular site.... Good night.<br /></span><br />
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<br /></div>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-31355445917483605352020-08-13T01:25:00.001-04:002020-08-13T01:25:26.848-04:00Whispers From A Vampire In The Dark .. Elmer Bernstein - To Kill A Mockingbird Suite<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/E5cKSMI6_8k" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes the magic is to much for me to bear. And after all these lifetimes, I don't even know if 'magic' is the right term. Perhaps, we just begin to see deep into the core of things. We see the energy and the resonance and the essence as no mortal ever can... and sometimes we don't want too.... I fly over the surface of the Earth by night... a vampire lost in the wind... racing low o're moonlit waves, far from any shore, just me and the silvery light. Sometimes I dive down. Depth means nothing to me. Oxygen is but a habit and not an addiction.. I see giant squid propelling themselves through the blackness. Not the forty cubit specimens mortals occasionally find. These are kraken... known only in legends. You've seen old woodcuts. Whole galleons pulled down into the cold darkness... screaming, mad with fear seamen, grabbed by horrific arms and passed toward the hellish beak... Some swallowed whole, others sheared to pieces... I hear the ghosts of those lost at sea, wandering the abysmal plain forever... and at times I find old corroded leaden chests imprisoning ever conscious vampires thrown into the sea by faithless protectors. I hear their sobs. I hear their prayers, some in languages already old when Rome was young.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I suppose you know that it is I, Jonathon ben Macabi, who whispers to you. I sit in my townhouse, always in the same room... my favorite place, the snug, little octagonal library, deep in a winged chair, staring out through a narrow gap in the velvet draperies at the flickering light from the street lamp... a modern affectation for the tourists, but oh so very comforting to one such as I, who remembers the originals from a time when trains were new.</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My meal lies on the floor. A fleshy thing, an artist's model, lured back to be my muse. I have that look you know... the sensual, well formed young artist... long dark wavy hair... the black jeans... the white t-shirts (at least in August, when its hot)... the rather ancient looking leather sandals with the ring 'round the big toe. She breathes softly, drugged by the finest absinthe... an evil soul burdened by many sins. You know me. I oh so very rarely cull the innocent. When it's time, I'll lift her. I'll kiss her. I'll taste her every essence. Will she feel it?... Of course. I'm very, very thorough. </span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, when she's dead and her body ignites with the 'cold' blue flame and disappears, I'll return to the streets, quietly dispensing valuable old coins to deserving souls.... homeless people.... sad, desperate waitresses in all night cafes... runaway teens... They'll know where to take them... I am quite the telepath... an old basement level curiosity shop, down some steps on Sansom Street. Center City, Philadelphia has many little byways like that. I know every one... even the mummies in the great Penn Museum thirty blocks from here tell me their secrets... and I tell them mine...</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Do you know ghouls often drag their bound and gagged victims up to the rooftops of old, loft buildings to feast by starlight? Its a 'thing' with them. Sometimes I'll swoop down and rescue one... the victims, I mean.... This world needs rescuing in oh so many ways.... Perhaps the mortal elections eighty three days hence will bring some relief?</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'll have to see what I can do.</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I hope you know there are over two thousand night-folk posts waiting to be discovered. Just click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">MAGIC</a> you'll see... and touch that little free SUBSCRIBE thing when you get there. If you'd like to join Billy Kravitz, the familiar who helps me curate all this, please click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">TWITTER</a> ... thank you... that's all... good night.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-19817345553775358922020-05-19T00:46:00.001-04:002020-05-27T03:03:44.255-04:00IN YOUR EYES.. a vampire confesses -Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes (Secret World Live)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Now CUE the music! Read! And let the show begin!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">This time it all comes out. This time you'll know. Oh, I've spilled tiny little droplets for the last nine years, but now I tell it all. 'Vampires' you call us 'vampires?' Well that, my best beloveds is but a microscopic fragment of what we really are. Do you remember the tales of Madame Chang? Are you familiar with our 'Papa?' What know ye of the Lady Renate?... Ah, I've awakened memories, have I?.. Good. That is as it should be. Can you visualize the Earth encased in a green sea carapace? Beyond the clouds are waves... Do you know those times? We're you there for the Vampire Revels, or what happened in London deep within the 'House on Hoxton Street?'.... a place where the good emperor Marcus Aurelius still lives... a place where sleek dragons snake silently through the night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Who speaks to you now? Well, who has always spoken to you. Who shared insights into ancient tomes and hidden wisdom from La Ciencia Vampirismo itself? Though that compendium of knowledge is but 'Cliff Notes' when compared to the real thing...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I am who I've always been. I am Jonathon ben Macabi. I am Tomas de Macabea. I am 'night-folk.' I am yours... the ordained ambassador from the Multiverse in its entirety to your little part of the forrest.... Shhh... can you feel it?Are you willing?... a subtle vibration... a tiny 'zing' .... a feather light touch that tickles every singularity in your body.... You are here. You are there. You are everywhere... The 'Magic' is the magic... Never think of it as evil. It is not that. The Magic is the One True Thing. You, imprisoned by your physicality, comprehend a small part of it. I understand a bit more... You know my story. I was once mortal too, till 'Papa' rescued me.... for one thousand years a 'vampire' striking the silver tipped heels of my black leather bootkins and sending sparks o'er the cobbles of cities the world over.... That was my 'sign'... my signal to the prey -- run, although it never did them any good. How I loved the chase..... But know ye that only those deserving of death were taken... Oh, I know that I've occasionally filled your heads with bits of something else, yet those have been contrived conceits designed to appeal to lazy minds incased in old lies and hatreds... They needed to see vampires like that. Ancient falsehoods are tastier than truth... You know how that is..</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">And now you shall know more...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Why did you read this? Well, it's simple. This is put here so you might find it. All of it is put here so you might find it. Since the first keystroke of Vampire Wondeland on that fabled August night all those years ago. That's how things start. Every journey begins with a footstep... or a small, little digital click. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Did you know this tiny seemingly ordinary star system you call home was created to be your nursery? Every planet and moon serves a purpose. Jove (great Jupiter) with his almost sun-like gravity draws in comets and asteroids so you won't have to. The Moon was born to steady your dance through the night and tilt Earth's axis just enough to call forth seasons. It also provided an ever enticing stepping stone tempting you into the star strewn sea. Mars was put there for the same reason... a second challenge, so to speak... a bit like home, a bit not... See what you can do with it. And out beyond the asteroid belt lies Great Jupiter with its planet-like moons, a toy solar system to teach you vital lessons before you touch the stars, for the sons and daughters of Europa await. (Google the moon Europa... You'll find out).... Those familiar with the Vampire Wonderland might already know. Like I've said, snippets we've shared since the beginning.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">But there are keys. You can find more. Click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">KEY </a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">ONE</a> to enter... and then hit that free subscribe thing when you get there for all doors to open.. Then, if you have not already done so, click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">KEY </a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">TWO</a> to join up with that mortal who helps us curate it all. I believe it's his Twitter site.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Now permit me to take my leave... an 'eighteen year old' image with long dark wavy hair, for I must make my way upon the venerable streets of this old town and dance the dance that ends in death... To my old friends I say 'hasta la proxima'... To new friends I bid a most sincere welcome...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The 'Magic' is the magic... Learn a little...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">And if you have not yet done so, kindly listen to the music up above, a most worthy piece you'll almost certainly enjoy... as you will, I hope, the rest of our world...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Welcome to PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">remember the subscription is free... and the truths we share are very real indeed... Raise the curtain. Step inside. Everything is everywhere... Come and see...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bon Voyage!</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-38301386831220009422020-04-08T02:15:00.003-04:002020-04-23T01:36:58.085-04:00Boléro (Ravel) - André Rieu accompanies the opening of LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is how it begins. The camera slowly pans over Old Cordoba, in all its courtly splendor. A glittering jewel under the clear, warm skies of Al Andalus... The sultan's palace.... The royal menagerie... ladies haggling in the marketplace.. The Fountains of Omar... The Street of the Butterfly Vendors, each featuring a certain splendid breed, fluttering like captured blossoms, tethered to the shopkeeper's horizontal bar by almost invisible threads of 'dry' (non sticky) spiders' silk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I walk with my brother, Hannan, eighteen months my junior, yet otherwise very much like me. Perhaps I am a bit more filled out. Two young aristocrats, for in our land, under the rule of the benevolent Abd Al Rahman III Caliph of Spain, known as Al Andalus in Classical Arabic, opportunity is open to every Muslim, Jew and Christian who accepts the truth of things. I've been to the palace with my father, an adviser and member of the counsel, not as grand as the great Hasdai, another member of The Faith of Israel, but esteemed just the same. Upon my last birthday the prince, close to me in years, presented me with a gift, two beautiful Arabian stallions, one white, one auburn. I named them Sha-Har (dawn) and Ha-Shki-ah (TheSundown).... What sublime pleasure it is to race them over the hills out beyond Medina Al Zahara. That's what they called the palace. It means City of Radiance and as one who knows, I can vouch that it was the Versailles (if my French is right) of its time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight we have a dinner at the villa. Our father keeps one here in the capital and another farther south in Granada. Some nights you can hear the Roma tribesmen dancing to rapid melodies played on ouds 'round their fires. We had a barbary ape, a tailless monkey actually, named Udo. I think it was a Berber name. Who knows? Once, when the cat had kittens, he ate one. Ravi the gardner killed him with a shovel. Why I remember that, who knows? Memory is a quite inconstant thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The dinner marks my departure. Tomorrow I travel to the Ocitane where I'll study ecclesiastic law at the Academy of the esteemed Rashi. He's a renowned vintner as well as a ranking rabbi and Biblical scholar. Sends casks to the Frankish court in Paris. Speaks Provencal, Hoch Deutsch, Piedmontese and Arabic as well as Aramaic and Hebrew. I hear the son of the Exilarch (pretender to the Throne of David) studies there. The south of France, at least culturally, if not politically, will be a whole new thing to me..</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am Jonathon ben Macabi and tonight I write this thing. Billy, the mortal who curates my record, is already sleeping. Life in the time of pestilence tires him. In a way it tires me too. The mortal world suffers. It's hard for me to remember that. Night-folk (vampires) don't die... not like that anyway..</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So what else did I do that day with my brother?... Ah, yes... we went to the Frankish Quarter to taste some 'white meat,' a term Jews and Muslims used when referring to pork.. the silly experiences young men lust after....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">How was I to know I'd soon be kidnapped into darkness and privy to much rarer delights. Traveling can be lethal... Perspective changes everything...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">With that the rapid music reaches a crescendo and stops (see video up above)... This is how I see the edgy cable or streaming version of my life. This is how I see LA CIENCIA VAMPIRISMO.. This is how I tell MY tale...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Jarring chord</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We focus on the pensive face of Jonathon in shadow....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><and if you know anyone with 'connections' please ask them to click on this link >----> <a href="http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com</a> .. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">then click SUBSCRIBE when they get there to see all one million words .. fans of the genre might also want to visit <a href="http://theshadowsfx/" target="_blank">@theshadowsfx</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">my twitter link is <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">right here</a> ... come meet everybody...</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-46561647433849688432020-03-12T03:32:00.001-04:002020-03-14T04:07:19.785-04:00I Shall Be Released - Bob Dylan and The Band - 1976 Vampires muse on CoronaVirus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't even expect Billy to post here anymore, so I had Aura and Sylvia, they're the two Mole People princesses who shelter down in the warren of never used subway tunnels, set me up with a laptop and show me. Live in a dark world of flickering shadows. Got lots a cans of sterno. They're 'daddy's' the Mole king... Knows how to filtch electricity from forgotten power lines. They get water from dripping pipes in old, never peed in public toilets. Well, I guess some of the Mole People pee in them. Don't know how we get an </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">internet connection down this low, but we do. Mole Folk got their ways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is Jonathon speaking. I'm the vampire. Got two names Tomas de Macabea and Jonathon ben Macabi. It's an old medieval Spanish-Sephardic thing. Some a you know me... almost one thousand years on Earth... Eighteen year old body.. fine black leather bootkins... Yeah, yeah, yeah fine. Enough with the descriptive crap. Been gliding around up on the streets. Not many people out. Mortals got a real Zombie Apocolypse going on. Diners empty. Movie houses empty. Sometimes people run out to a bodega for like a bag of chips, or a bottle of soda... used to fill take-out trays from the salad bar, but nobody touches that anymore. Them tongs got 'cooties.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I like when the streets were alive at night. People coming out of clubs. Old guys drinking coffee in all-night Dunkin Donuts. Folks walking dogs. Homeless guys sharing midget Hebrew National salamis. Cabbies talking outside hotels. Flamenco dancers... Well, once in a while there's a flamenco dancer. I like when the Killer Klowns From Outer Space are out. Not the real Killer Klowns. This is like a Face Book Group, but sometimes they dress up real good and go marching around. I think one of them's the principal of a school, or something. The book shop is still there. Sarah still has her store. She doesn't run it, just owns it. Philadelphia After Dark is a very special place... like something out of the nineteenth century. Old worn hardwood floor. Narrow, aisles... shelves stuffed with hard to find volumes.... comfy wing chairs here and there... few pin up lamps... tick tock clocks on the wall... old fashioned cash register... Yeah, I go on.. but I really like that place... Where I first saw Sarah through those mullioned windows... (sighs). Shop still gets a few people, even now. All-night book shop gets all types. Never crowded in there. Just maybe like two browsers. One regular comes in all the time. Speaks Catalan. Says he's a 'warlock.' Always has a wrapped Pop Tart in his shirt pocket, so I don't know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now everyone's afraid of that virus. They read about Italy and how bad it is over there. Not enough resporators. Physicians playing God. Who breathes. Who doesn't. Can you imagine how that will play out here, considering how divided they all are? The mortals, I mean... So much hate.... Who knows? Perhaps this misfortune will unite them the way aggresive space aliens always do in the movies? A silver lining so to speak. This place can use a few silver linings. They claim Israelis and Palestinians are working together to contain this thing. Maybe it's a sign?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now please forgive me. Aura, Sylvia and I have plans to share a sponge bath in the candlelit remnants of an old 'ladies room.' Odd how after all these years the hot water still works. Magic? Who cares? It's like that with night-folk. Will my Sarah mind?... No... vampirinos and vampirinas are not like that... We go with the flow... and after it all runs out still come back together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">With that, the already undressed, doe eyed Sylvia takes his hand and leads him into the adjacent candlelit chamber...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">kindly hit <a href="http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com</a> to wander through almost limitless episodes of Vampire Wonderland and click on the free SUBSCRIBE thing for even more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">then hit <a href="http://twitter/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THAT</a> to join us on Billy on Twitter</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-41580668936895338762019-11-25T03:27:00.001-05:002019-11-25T03:27:39.419-05:00Our Vampire, Jonathon, really likes this - Ennchanted Forest - Magical Orchestral Music (Jon Brooks Music)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OxlnXhWambc" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">They told me it snowed this afternoon in Philadelphia. I, of course was snug in my dark sleeping chamber drifting through dreams of another age. That's what vampires do.... Old houses... Old scents... Old friends... I've seen operas sung entirely by castrati.... and listened to harp songs played by the fingers of a headless, animated corpse arrayed in the garb of a thirteenth century queen.... Please know that the neck wound was not open and gory, but neatly stitched like the pipping 'round a little throw cushion.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's cold now. I like that. The night air feels like glass. My vision. always keen, is especially sharp on winter nights. Granted, November is not true winter, but just the appetizer for what's to come. Sunday evenings are a bit quieter in the city. Automated, carefully designed Christmas window displays dance for ghosts. Most people are safe in their warm and comfortable apartments, or townhouses. Most people with money, for this is Center City and although accommodations are not quite as dear as what you'd find in Manhattan, they're dear enough... I feed on persons of wealth. They commit the most delicious crimes, not always 'illegal' in a statutory way, yet cruel and hateful just the same.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight I took out a lawyer who nickled and dimed the accounts of lonely old ladies to death til it all vanished and they wound up in sour, urine stained nursing homes. But who cares about him. Slept through the whole thing. I just wanted that insect gone. In the morning, when his housekeeper gets there, she'll find nothing amiss. Probably think he's at work till she wheels her little supply cart into his room. .. Usually cleans the hardwoods first. Next comes dusting. Who knows? I'm speculating here. But when she goes over to strip the bed she'll see something... a thick, viscous, greasy mess... all that's left when the bodies 'burn.' We use that word, though the 'cold' blue flame that follows vampiric exanguination is more like a rapid oxidation... related to true flame, but a little different. The press always calls it 'spontaneous human combustion.' I'm cool with that. Most vampires are cool with that. Makes things so convenient.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I saw something on the street tonight, after l left the lawyer's place. You see, I wander... mostly on the tiny narrow side streets... hidden arteries no snow plough clould ever clear. Cars get iced in all winter, immobile lumps til spring ... But this is four nights before Thanksgiving, not January. The sidewalk was clear. This afternoon's flurries were nothing. The thin, little rowhouses were dark. Maybe a bit of flickering TV illumination peeked out from draperies or shades here and there. City people are night owls, reticent night owls to be sure, locked inside their wired for security domiciles. You can see the little alarm company stickers on every front room window, as well as the small glowing street camera circles 'round every keyhole. No one could slip inside.. well no mortal anyway.</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But this thing was different, for there coming toward me through the shadows was a man... a strange man dressed in the high neck linen and tall top hat of the early nineteenth century. He seemed solid, flesh and blood and all that, yet appeared to be walking on his knees, or the joints right beneath his knees. His gait seemed normal. His eyes were lucid. His bearing erect. Were his legs severed just below the knees?... No, his lower extremities were still there, walking along on the pavement as it was two hundred years ago. Ghosts never change. They remain as they were at death, mored in a world long gone. Street levels were lower in his day, thus the distortion... and he kept coming till he passed as if my body was not there. Did his image appear on any of those keyhole cameras?... I don't know .. </span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I'm sure they picked up my image... a rather spruce young man, all in black, wearing a trim zippered leather hip coat who reflexively shuddered in fear as the spiritual thing went through him...</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Vampires aren't supposed to do that...</span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More tomorrow...</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">hit <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THIS</a> to join me on Twitter ... thank you</span>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-20644159606894675372019-09-25T01:40:00.003-04:002019-09-25T01:40:46.454-04:00Our Vampire Hero, Tomas de Macabea, also known as Jonathon ben Macabi, loves this - Mindbenders - A Groovy Kind Of Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">It is the first night of autmn, in the year known as 2019 and I stroll the old streets of Philadelphia, as I have done for the last three hundred and thirty seven years. You know my name. At least some of you do. I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. I love this place. I love the old, narrow, cobbled streets. I love the endless museums, each more intricately starange than the rest. I am like that. Most night-folk are. The nights are longer than the days now. Welcome to Vampire Time. Darkness is good. It hides all the warts and blemishes and corruption. Cooler temperatures hide things too, but we haven't had any yet. It's still hot and I do so love the cold. Winter is sublime. Steam rises from the old small vents in the pavement. The pipes are still underground, remnants of a network that once powered early industry. A tiny few still use it. Its like that here. Amidst the second largest urban core after Manhattan the past abides... and I have seen it all. Sometimes it makes me cry. Other times I laugh like a mad man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Please forgive me this sudden appearance after a long absence, but time means nothing to me. There are nights when I stand in some shadowy doorway staring at a street light, hour after hour, as if looking at the blessed face of God. Such things calm me. At times I hear angels sing. How do I know that's what it is?... I know. Let's leave it at that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I was on my way to study with the great Rashi at his academy in the Ocitane, a region in the fragrant south of France when the night time found me... meant to become a minister of the faith, a rabbi... but life taught me other things....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Will I end a life tonight? Its the first night of autumn. What do you think? But to be truthful, none can end a life. We can end a body, but the life goes on upon another plain.... How do I know? I told you. I know.... for vampires like me are dead. The thing is... we never reach that other plain... our souls still wed to bodies perfectly preserved and animated by some miraculous force... I can chew my hand off, yet bind it back with duct tape and a few hours hence peel off the tape revealing an arm and wrist and hand as pure and whole as on Creation's morn.... Have I ever tried?... Do you even have to ask?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Look for me by night. I must leave you now. But look for me. We'll sit on a bench, in some city square, among the autumn leaves and talk... in low soft tones so none might overhear.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">With that, the 'eighteen year old' being walks away. Black leather bootkins... slim black jeans... white tee shirt... long dark wavy hair... When it gets cooler, he'll add a trim black leather jacket... but not tonight...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Then he rounds the corner and goes on toward his meal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Oh, one more thing... of course you know we must pretend that all of this is fiction?... As it was on our first night nine years ago, so it remains today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Good night.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-58759404537747182872019-05-18T00:43:00.003-04:002019-05-18T01:28:42.174-04:00This Post Explains Some Real Life Health Issues the Vampire wonderland Way<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is I Jonathon and tonight I'd like to explain why you haven't seen me much these last few moons... maybe it's been more like years? Who knows? Night-folk don't count days. We count heartbeats and raindrops and moonbeams. We count clouds sailing 'cross the stars and solitary souls crying in the night. I sit in the 'little library,' my favorite room, and I think. I think abut the small ghost boy who used to keep me company... the little polio victim. But he's moved on and our townhouse is poorer for it.. I think about all of them, mortal and night-folk. They're not so different. Each is a soul destined to glide 'round this Earth for a time and then pass on to somewhere else. For some the passing is peaceful. They drift off in bed surrounded by their loved ones. Others die alone in dark cold shadows chilled by the rain, but secure in God's love. I talk a lot about God. I'm sure there are those who think that's odd for a vampire. To that, I must answer - They don't know vampires.... We are not all the same, just as mortals are not all the same... Please permit me to let it go at that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's dark but I can see between the the deep green, velvet draperies that blanket the bay window. There's a streetlight a little way down the square. I say 'square' instead of 'block,'.... an affectation of the seventeenth and eighteenth century... from Penn's time... and a lifetime or two later, Franklin's. A thin, pure, narrow, pearly blade of light cuts into the room., slicing through the mullioned panes, on through the upholstered window seat and through the old rich hardwood. It bisects the dense, wool 'Turkey' rug, the tip of my fine, black, leather bootkin, my left leg, including the like portion of my torso, shoulder and arm... And I sit and I contemplate...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Billy, the mortal who coordinates this tale for us, had a health scare. Not his soul. His soul was never threatened, just his body. He hates seeing physicians, but I make him. I insist. Oh, I could cure any earthly malady with a few drops of my blood... but he wouldn't have it. Nothing against night-folk. I realize that. It's simply his way... Thus the doctors... I made the necessary appointments, or rather a trusted 'familiar' (devoted mortal assistant) did and he went.... They took blood, in a far less subtle way than I ever would. They poked and prodded and made enlightened observations, or rather a certain singular 'general practitioner' did... The others came later, as did a whole subsequent series of blood tests, urine samples, cardiograms and sonic images of strategic internal organs... Then, after almost microscopic snippets of livery prostate tissue, plus a quick little bladder scan guaranteed to cause blood tinged orange-red urine for at least seventy two hours (Billy slept through the tissue harvesting and bladder scoping) they pronounced him 'fine.' or the closest they ever come to saying fine. As his 'guardian vampire' (well, what else am I?) I am exceedingly grateful to relieved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I love mortals... and not just as a food source. For I help many more than I cull... Edith, our mortal 'witchy woman' housekeeper says I see them as my own special ant colony. When she shares that I give her a bemused look and add - But I and the ants are different species. Mortal, I am not, but 'human' I am. Observe my body and the form of my being. A sea slug I am not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">--- Then he lapses into silence.... a homeless gentleman who does his best to hide that fact walks down the street, head down and lost in thought... sniff sniff sniff.... our vampire friend, Jonathon, picks up his scent... He sublimates his hand through the mullioned panes and carefully places a stack of five vintage silver dollars (each worth about forty times their face value) on the external brick sill... a magical bit of streetlamp illumination makes them glisten just so. The pathetically self conscious 'little tramp' allows his gaze to rise and sees them. He silently approaches pockets the treasure and continues... Jonathon watches through the slit between the draperies and smiles. It's a thing he does, placing stacks of sparkling, mint condition, antique silver dollars where the 'little tramp' will find them. He does the like for others too. Once in a while he slips in a truly valuable fifteenth century golden Venetian ducat. Through discreet mental imagery, each recipient knows the address of a fine, old basement level coin brokerage on Samson Street, in a way, Philadelphia's answer to Diagon Alley. The lucre is redeemed for a very fair price and a little bit of goodness seeps out into the world...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our vampire, Jonathon, falls back onto the music, quietly playing on an small turntable in the darkness.... He mouths the words and sighs.... Billy has a good friend indeed...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Please clink <a href="http://bit.ly/gw7fAE" target="_blank">THIS</a>. I think you'll enjoy the song</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">......</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">then click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THAT</a> to join me on Twitter...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">thank you and God bless...</span><br />
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-71353612792055780762019-02-20T04:13:00.001-05:002019-02-23T14:54:21.362-05:00 Vampires LOVE Broadway --Anton Zetterholm - ONE LAST PRAYER (Kerrigan-Lowdermilk)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The vampire Jonathon, also known as Tomas speaks -</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I took three lives tonight. Each in their own way most deserving of death. But that doesn't mean I enjoyed doing it. The 'Burden' is like that. We do it because we have to. The blood does supply a certain energy. When that kicks in it all seems worth it and I want to do it again... but then I remember that means taking a life... the most final act in creation... and I hesitate. How much easier it would be if I did not. I think too much. That's what it is. The problem is, thinking and vampirism do not mix. Ours, on the outside at least, seems to be a 'life' of passion and sensation and abandonment. Some experience that, yet not as many as you'd imagine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think about their children. I think about the spouse and all the little family things spread about the house. Who will walk the puppy? And who will lock the door? For once I dim the house lights, it is forever more..... the first few bars of a power ballad there... But this isn't Broadway. This is real life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You know, there's not much in the way of a final confrontation. I slip in while they sleep. Vampires make no sound. Bed partners slumber on. Perhaps a dog might raise its head, yet they soon grasp the inevitability of the situation and go back to sleep. If little children happen to pad in, I sooth them and send them back to sleep as only night-folk can... They know I mean them no harm. My victims are almost always people of exceptional means. At least the ones with families are... big prescription drug barons... 'black widow' second wives... The young ones are usually well taken care of should mama or papa go 'whoops.'... Replacement parents are everywhere and sometimes they get a pony... one of those super expensive Hungarian varieties with the long flowing manes and feathered fetlocks... Is 'fetlocks' the right word? English equine terms still elude me. The Arabic, or Andalucian comes more natural. My mortal years in the Caliphate of Cordoba and all. Rite of Spain Jews, such as my people, used Arabic too for all save liturgical terms. for that we used a Hebrew - Aramaic patois.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Serial killers aren't rich, but we kill them anyway...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight, from a big lawyer adept at milking the estates of wealthy, old widows, I got an antique emerald dinner ring surrounded by ten point diamonds. He filched it from the somewhat demented dowager a day or two before. Found it on the sink in her powder room, next to her teeth. Not the 'good' set, the casual ones.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The husband of the next one woke up, switched on a small lamp and said -- Did you just do some kind of voo-doo crap to my wife?.... I nodded... He nodded back.. We watched her ignite into the cold blue flame and disappear. Her two little yappy dogs jumped into the bed to lick up the g</span><span style="font-size: large;">rease.. After perhaps five or six heartbeats I said -- And now permit me to take my leave... He got out of bed, naked, save for a big Rolex, and mumbled -- Wait. Wait. Wait. I want you to have this.... and gave me a beautiful, framed seventeenth century Persian miniature right off the wall..... I sublimated up through the ceiling, onto the townhouse roof and 'flew' away. The aura around our bodies when we sublimate infuses our clothing and anything we hold close, thus the valuable painting was unharmed..... God knows if he got back into the greasy bed or not, although his side was still quite clean.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I sublimated into a small chapel to pray, as I usually do after my kills. Save for the Eternal Light it was dark. I prayed for the souls of all humanity. Yet should that prayer be answered, what purpose would I have?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I went back to our townhouse... All was quiet. The ghost of the little polio victim was gone.... Edith and everyone else, even all the night-folk were already in their places, for first light was near.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I put out the lights (not too many... just enough to cut the gloom) and retired to my place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sleep well, oh best beloveds...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">kindly click on https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com .</span><br />
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-70971802931590460332019-01-29T20:32:00.001-05:002019-01-29T20:32:33.331-05:00THE 'VAMPIRE' Jonathon talks --#OutOfOz: "For Good" Performed by Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel | W...<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TZ0pXUb5jVU" width="480"></iframe><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Jonathon, our reluctant thousand year old vampire, sits in his favorite wing chair and speaks to us from his special place, the 'little' octagon shaped library, by the light of a small, porcelain, Chinese lamp....</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>The Vampire --- I've neglected my duties. It used to be we communicated almost every night. I told you about myself. I shared old memories and all manner of exotic, spiritual journeys. We poked about below The Temple Mount in Jerusalem and swam with merfolk beneath the sea. You met Sarah and Annie and Conrad and 'Papa'... mortals and night-folk, elferinas and elferinos.... Edith, our Jersey Pine Barrens 'witchy woman' housekeeper and our nextdoor neighbor from Chestnut Hill who fed her kid shitty pizza. Even the three hundred and ten year old Doctor Benjamin Franklin, preserved by harmonics. We've run ghastly experiments in his amazing lair under the Philadelphia Navy Yard and whispered with ancient mummies hidden away in forgotten storerooms deep down below the vast, marble paved public rooms of great museums... Odd how their 'ka' stays so close to the physical remains, when they could fly away to God knows where. Annie (our sometimes strange, little child vampire) would lay down next to a bundle of desiccated, parchment-like remains know as Hec Tan Ti Ti and listen as the bitter 'queen' (well, so said she) recounted an endless litany of slights hurled her way by plotting priests and priestesses, as well as haughty retainers, for even well places slaves gathered power in the 'old days.'</i></span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>I like the spirit-form people you call 'ghosts.' The nice little boy in our townhouse was my favorite. He died from polio sometime around 1950. The family had money and the basement level was finished off and fitted out like a personal hospital. His iron lung, a rather monstrous device resembling a large, horizontal, bed sized tin can for weak, stricken bodies (the heads stuck out a hole, supported by a small padded shelf) rusted in a corner for the longest time. When we bought this particular townhouse a few years ago, it was removed to make way for night-folk, daytime sleeping amenities. Please don't think we sleep in coffins. That theatrical affectation is known mostly among isolated cretins in remote, Balkan valleys. We rest in snug cubicles, more like those Japanese mini hotels one reads about... though ours have a more traditional look with fine paneling, sumptuous bedding and all... There's electricity for televisions and personal devices. The pervasive culture dribbles into our realities as well.</i></span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Sometimes too much...</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>As I said, the little polio victim was my favorite. He'd sit with me, here in this little library, watching almost 90 year old, black and white movies on a small flat screen device resting among the books, on a dark, mahogany shelf. Thank God his malady could not survive death, for he was happy and free. The Wizard of Oz was a particular favorite. He'd watch transfixed. We bought him beautiful toys, the kind sold in fine specialty shops... collections of napoleonic soldiers.... Lincoln Logs... Tinker Toys... many different things...</i></span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Please remember, for at least sixty years, he lived there all alone. Oh, there were mortals in the house, but they weren't the type that accepts 'ghosts,' so he kept to himself. Ghosts can sit, isolated in thought, for the longest time. You have no idea. A houseful of spiritually adept night-folk and even the mortals among us, was a godsend to him... and he was a godsend to me.</i></span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>But there came a night when things changed. It happened less than two months ago. The city had already taken on a holiday air. He liked peeking out at the lights through the draperies. There were traditional (though electric) brass candle sticks in our windows... a full fragrant wreath on the door... Sarah and Edith organized a nine foot, lavishly decorated tree in the den, plus a smaller, five foot edition in the cozy 'morning room' off the kitchen. I took out my collection of antique Hanukiahs ( the actual word 'menorahs' just means regular candleholders). The centerpiece, a three foot tall, silver wonder from medieval Narbonne (just about the only place in Europe with a reigning Jewish feudal court). The little ghost boy watched silently as I lit all eight of them, arranged like a glittering mountain of light on the stone island in the kitchen... On that night when things changed, he looked at me and said --- I have a family..... I knew what he meant and nodded.... Sometimes, when the moment's right, 'ghosts' realize it's time to move on... They feel that 'other place' and are drawn to it.... I told him that I loved him. We all did. He said he knew that and told us he loved us too.</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>I hugged him. The way night-folk hug 'ghosts' is to assume the rather nebulous form we take to pass through walls and other barriers. Then we blend. The others with that ability hugged him too... A few moments later, he smiled and disappeared, just like the last wisp of smoke rising from the last glowing ember.... We cried, even though he was in a better place.</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>That's primarily why I haven't shared much with you for two months.</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>We needed him... and he needed us...</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>When it happened, I thought about destroying myself too. Vampires can do that, not with fire. Few take that route. Most 'sublimate' up into the cold, dark winter sky. We find a remote place and we do it. After a bit the particles of our being are too diffuse to come together and we are gone, like a huge misty cloud in the void.... Who knows if there is consciousness after that? Who knows if it is our final death?... Who knows?</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Yet as you see, I go on, touched by all that came before and by one little 'ghost' boy in particular...</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>All I can tell you is remember..... Be aware of all you have known and all who have known you...</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>The universe needs fixing and God has sent each and every one of us to fix it....</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Let us all go and do good things....</i></span><br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><><><><><><><><><><><><><></i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>please click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">HERE</a> to wander through about one million words of paranormal and non paranormal tales... consider hitting SUBSCRIBE if you might... thank you</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>join us <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">ON TWITTER</a> ... just click</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>feels good to have our 'vampire' back and to be transcribing this blog for him again.</i></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span>Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-9104913379400326692018-12-11T19:28:00.003-05:002018-12-11T19:28:40.969-05:00 THE HARMONICS of HEAVEN shaped the Earth ..Epic Chinese Battle Music - Sun Tzu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This one has no knowledge of those times, or even if time, itself, had any meaning then. This one only brings you the words of Immortal Entities I assume to be Gods... Their names are my inventions. The First One, I call 'Hero' for he ( I also assume their gender) speaks with assurance and authority. I feel deep vibrations when he talks. I see all manner of illuminations. The microbial souls of worthy mortals, both dead and not yet born, flow through the ether like impatient floaters in the eyes of aged scribes.<br />
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And when Hero first spoke those long ago words the harmonics of Heaven reverberated against the heavy 'nothingness' of the void creating solid matter. It that way everything came to be. He was not the only one to speak, thus we have all manner of things... water... air.... bones... sand... fire...the seas within the womb and the seas without.... plus very many varieties of precious jade. This one could go on, but shall refrain from doing so.<br />
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After a random number of aeons Earth came to be. Initially the land was home to very many surprising and colorful beasts, the seas even more so... all ruled by clans and tribes of powerful, intelligent dragons.... After time beyond measure the dragon-folk gathered wealth that was also beyond measure and wearied from life on the surface of the Earth-Orb preferring to fly off to other orbs for in these early ages air filled the firmament out to the utmost frontiers of the empire of your Sun-Star...<br />
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When the Dragon-folk left the remaining surprising and colorful beasts were perplexed. Who would eat their excess children, or trample noise makers? Who would maintain the invisible barriers? Who would reward collaborators and pluck the brains from colorful beasts too smart for their own good? Chaos can be frightening. Potatoes must be mashed after all. Then the beasts known as humans stepped forth saying --- Behold our nimble fingers. Listen to our glittering speech. Allow us to help you....... And the bewildered creatures agreed..<br />
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Thus the age of Man was born, incorporating all manner of Dragon things as well as other additional measures. The nimble fingers fashioned weapons. The cunning minds made rules. Some of the other surprising and colorful beasts attempted to fly off to other worlds, but the ether had changed. The air so very necessary to life no longer filled the space between them. Each orb hung suspended in it's own thin veneer of gaseous protection. A Heavenly Vibration swept the rest away. The worlds became discreet and separate places so that none might infect others with sickness of the spirit in addition to sickness of the flesh... Soon after Man invented war. Hate came next. Oh, it was always there in the shadows, but now it was self-proud and dressed for battle.<br />
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Hero (the First One) said - Let us cull the ranks of men, removing every blighted soul.... and the human mutation you call 'vampires' or night-folk appeared.. .. For a time all went well. Evil strong men were no more. War and hate and capricious death became rare. But Man and especially the Rulers of Men will not be denied. Their spies stole night-folk secrets and turned weak vessels to their own devices... Princes flattered, or threatened, vampires. They studied their ways and wrote the information down. Early versions of the venerable tome those of you who regularly visit this site know as La Ciencia Vampirismo appeared.<br />
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Were there still 'noble' night-folk who attempted to cull the wicked?.... Yes, but they became a remnant. ... Warlords kept powerful 'noxious' types as cosseted pets and discovered many enchanted secrets, like how to 'breed' refined examples of life-eaters and fashion special weapons for particular deeds.<br />
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Browse through the 'One Million Words,' for that's how much they share here. I'm sure the 'Billy' person who helps facilitate this miraculous souffle will include a key, or 'link' down below.<br />
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Please permit this coherent entity, none but a disembodied spirit, time to rest and float through worlds no mortal can know,<br />
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Tomorrow we explore how elferinos and elferinas came to be... Join us and 'know.'<br />
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Here is the key. Click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">HERE</a> and hit SUBSCRIBE when you get there to wander through all of it.<br />
<br />
click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THIS SPOT</a> to be a part of our Twitter presence.<br />
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thank you.<br />
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-34069540993630479802018-11-21T01:19:00.001-05:002018-11-30T14:29:07.159-05:00♥ Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini" a Vampire Remembers Nazis and Stuff 11/19/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There was a special concert on a cold night in December, in the year most people call 1934. Rachmaninoff played his own miraculous score on the piano, accompanied by the legendary Philadelphia Orchestra, led by that most esteemed conductor, Leopold Stokowski. I occupied my usual spot. Noble vampires need music. I myself play the oud, a classical grandfather to the Spanish Guitar. Not that I like to brag, but a certain composition of mine, penned when I was fifteen years old and a favorite in the Court of Baghdad... well, but that happened approximately two hundred and fifty years after my so called mortal 'death.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I remember the dark red upholstery of the box... more like a maroon, actually, trimmed in gilt... the velvet draperies... the tiny sconces made to resemble gas light... a sumptuous jewel box filled with three thousand souls. Your enchanted friend was alone then. Your Jonathon also known as Tomas had not yet found his Sarah. She wasn't even born in nineteen thirty four. Remember, that was seventy six years before I'd even discovered her. So I put on my white tie and tails, called for my car and went. Sometimes I invited guests to joint me, a trusted 'familiar' (human assistants and helpers) and his partner perhaps, however that night, I was alone. It was my time to feed. Guests only complicate things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After the rare and singular performance I retrieved my coat and scarf, put on my top hat, my white kid gloves and strolled out from Philadelphia's grand Academy of Music onto the wide Avenue of the Arts... Most would have assumed I was going to a post concert supper at the nearby Bellevue Stratford Hotel... the usual oysters, champagne, lobster Newburg kind of thing. Even a clandestine vampire can drink iced vodka and socialize... Clandestine vampires can do many things.... I pass the august hostlery and turn down a narrow cobbled street, of which Philadelphia has many. Such byways used to be for stables and servants' quarters. In the nineteen thirties they featured little bars, tailor shops, reweaving establishments, working class cafes. For twelve months, since the National Socialists were democratically voted into office in Germany, a few American sympathizers had started banding together in certain bars. They wore brown shirts, just like over there. They drank boch beer and sang songs. Some were plain old American patriotic songs, others were in German. Not everyone understood the language, but they followed along phonetically. Speakers would get up and talk about stripping the Jews of all they had, down to the last penny. The listeners would nod. They talked about making it illegal for Jews to work, or run small businesses in America, kicking their children out of American schools, denying them treatment in American hospitals and rooting out the Jewish graves in 'good American soil. Then a 'plant' in the crowd would yell --- And what else?!..... The speaker would mime sticking his head in a noose and hanging himself.... Men banged their heavy, glass mugs on the tables.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">How do I know? Well, let's just say vampire hearing is a wonderful thing. I first noticed all this one night while passing a sour smelling gin joint on Pig Alley... a tiny place with a glossy black door and one, blacked out multi paned window. Nothing identified it as a bar. There was a little wooden sign hanging out from the old bricks, just a plain panel, also black and glossy, save for a carefully painted, yellow line representation of a Celtic Cross. The place near the Academy had a similar identification.... I waited for the speech to end and watched from the shadows as the patrons left. Then the speaker came out, belched loudly, hitched up his trousers, sighed and headed left... No one else was around. The street was dark. I could have confronted him, made him talk, drawn him out... but I just lacked patience that night... So I fell in behind, slipped my left arm 'round his chest. My right, kid gloved hand went to his windpipe. In a heartbeat he was mine. He tried to yell, but a strong, sharp pinch to the throat stopped that. Then he tried to kick. So I sublimated up from the sidewalk and tilted forward. His legs hung straight down. I was safe and continued my rise. His heart pounded. He began to spit up warm, putrid beer. He mumbled -- No. No. What the hell are you?... I whispered--- Judgement. ... The eighteen sixties loft buildings on that street were seven stories tall, so I rose up to the ramparts and froze. We could see the fat round moon low over the rooftops through a break in the taller surrounding towers. The hate monger gasped... his last vision of the natural world. Then I just let go..... How his arms and legs windmilled till his skull exploded on the cold cobbles below..</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then I returned to the Earth and went on to my vampire meal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That tale comes later....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">please click <a href="https://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">HERE</a> to see more episodes of Vampire Wonderland and kindly hit SUBSCRIBE when you get there for access to it all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THIS</a> to join me on Twitter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">thank you very much... and listen to the music in that video. you'll probably recognize it when it starts, plus its worth it.... arguably one of the most beautiful pieces ever written.</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-32787775637953936382018-10-22T23:06:00.001-04:002018-10-22T23:06:11.934-04:00They were Both Children in the Tents of Abraham<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Before I forget, please allow me to share these dreamlike memories of my mortal life.... It is I, Jonathon ben Macabi. Some know me as Tomas de Macabea. I grew up in a storied place. They write tales about it to this day.... A land of sophisticated cities with fountain cooled air and souks filled with the treasures of far off lands. Domesticated elephants from distant Hind led every procession and the leader, the old matriarch, born in Mumbai, gave rides to the children in the outer courts of our esteemed ruler. Sages from the academies of Sura and Pumphidepha taught sons of the faithful under the loggia of Toledo. Honeyed dates were as peanuts. Sweet songbirds serenaded all from fanciful cages hung by doorways and balconies. The perfume of aromatic coffee was everywhere, a brand new novelty from The Yemen and a most welcome intoxicant in a culture that forbade alcohol.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">In a sense, this was a respite.... especially for Jews, who had less restrictions than resident Christians, for both we and the Muslims were children in the Tents of Abraham and both proclaimed 'The Unity.' Though perfect it was not. All 'infidels,' those with revealed nonconforming holy books where dhimmis, protected souls 'in error.' We paid extra taxes, could be rebuked and reviled in the streets and theoretically barred from certain exalted positions, or providing legal testimony. The thing was, most princes ignored those possibilities most of the time... or at least much of the time, for they recognised our talents and used Jews and Christians (who might not have theoretically shared the Tents of Abraham, but did share more than three quarters of The Bible) to relieve them of the more tedious chores of governance. An uncle was vizier to a Taifa lord up north. My father owned ships that made the run to Fostat twice a year and although he never let on, one secret trip out beyond the Pillars of Hercules to legendary islands filled with dogs in the endless Ocean-Sea, from whence came the spice chocolatl, brought to that place by shipwrecked mariners from the west. Perhaps they hailed from Atlantis?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">I think of those times.... I do... And please don't laugh, but I often dream of using my special abilities to help bring peace to the Middle East. A vampire can do many things behind the scenes.... Hidden things... and with a much lighter touch than those graceless fools sent out by the House of Saud (so they say)... My way doesn't even leave a body. Regular readers know why...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Oh, why, oh why did I oh,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Oh, why did I leave Toe-LAY-do?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Anyone get the musical reference???.... Living in Philadelphia for over three hundred and thirty years one sees ALL the shows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Forgive me this digression. But I'm sitting in the little library downstairs. The townhouse is quiet and rather dark. Edith (our housekeeper) occupies her perch by the the granite counter in the kitchen doing seek and find puzzles. Everyone else is out. It's just me and the little ghost of the boy who died in the cellar about sixty seven years ago. He likes this room too... Plays war games with the onyx chess set. I love that kid...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Now let me get out on the streets and 'cull' somebody....</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">click <a href="http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">HERE</a> to see all Vampire Wonderland posts and learn a lot of things...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">click on <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">THESE WORDS</a>... to join Billy on Twitter for even more...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Buenos noches.</span><br />
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-38486955979713324632018-10-17T00:57:00.003-04:002018-10-17T00:57:37.205-04:00the music of Tom Odell woke our vampires up 10/15/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No more lies. Not that's it all been lies, but for seven years I've sometimes pandered to what I imagined you'd want to hear. But that was a mistake. I am not a juvenile. I am not made for teen aged vampire angst. Jonathon (yo-na-TAHN) ben Macabi (ma-KAH-bi) is not fiction. Do you know that? Can you accept that?... 'Reality'... my friends, can be quite intoxicating...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For approximately one thousand years, I have sheltered in this 'eighteen' year old body, the pampered scion of an old Spanish family going back to The Caliphate of Cordoba. But those as yet unfamiliar with my 'nativity' can always click on <a href="http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com</a> ... scroll back to the beginning (August 9th, 2010... I think it was) when one of my esteemed 'familiars' started to transcribe this wandering account right here...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Autumn is a special season for 'life eaters.' Our humors quicken. The chill suits us, for it matches the extreme coolness of our skin... and the increased darkness... well, what's not to like about that?... Life, for those you call 'vampires' slows down. Can you imagine what high summer is like for us? Only eight hours of true darkness and the heat rising from the streets... from the buildings... from the cities... Granted, mortal odors entice us, but the unending, animal stink sickens all but the most feral of our breed. I can tell you what it was like in the past, but you wouldn't believe me. Fecal contamination was everywhere. Bathing, among certain faith communities was seen as a heretical conceit. Please know I speak of more remote (to you, anyway) eras, yet even the nineteenth century and a good bit of the twentieth, if we're going to be truthful. left a lot to be desired.... The twenty-first (stares into camera)... permit me to demure...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So I array myself in my 'uniform.' ... the black jeans, trim leather bootkins, black dress shirt and close fitting quilted leather jacket.... all available at MACY'S, by the way. I get a cut. Not that I need the money... not after centuries of quietly snatching rings and purses from my unsavory victims, along with collectible knick knacks and all... but I do crave the notoriety. Look, by this point I imagined at least an edgy cable series based on my life. But it's all who you know and who does a finely drawn, well put together, Spanish-Sephardic aristocrat with dramatic wavy hair know in L.A.?... If they only knew what they've ignored.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I retell much of this every two years, for new comers basically. There's supposed to be a 'page two' on this blog. I don't know what's on it... even Billy's forgotten.... Memo to self ---- Put a basic synopsis and Vampire Wonderland facts sheet on page two... Till then, if anyone has any questions, please contact Billy on Twitter. That's where he sits. Click <a href="http://twitter.com/wilkravitz" target="_blank">Questions For Billy</a> ... He'll be so pleased....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">With that, the vampire known as Jonathon ben Macabi finger combs his romantic locks, checks his image in the mirror above the long commode table in the townhouse's black and white marble floored entrance hall, steps out onto the Society Hill street and disappears into the night...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And check out Tom Odell's evocative music that got through to Jonathon in the first place on Youtube...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Thank you.</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-5356117700966366232018-09-18T04:40:00.004-04:002018-09-18T04:40:39.140-04:00A Vampire Under The Blood Lust ... 9/18/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Baylah sent people to look for me. Edith, my housekeeper, called her. She left her mortal 'boyfriend' and sublimated in from the seashore... That's how important she thought this was.... That one likes human comfort. A ride in the plush, leather womb of a Bentley is more her style. Indeed, we called her apartment atop that piano bar of hers 'the jewel box.'... Sarah, my oh so independent consort, loves that place. She goes there. They talk... But that was before. Now my heart races and I don't care what they talk about. Words mean nothing to me. Time means nothing... Present tense, past tense... It's all an illusion. Night-folk know that. Some pretend. They fit in. Some know they're pretending. Others don't. Now I know how 'Papa' feels. Age renders everything pointless. It's not as if we face death. There are no deadlines in our world. That is where I am now. I kill mortals because they are mortal. How short their lives are. What difference does it make when they die?... I pass an old 'trinity' row house on a narrow street. They're called 'trinities' since they have one room per floor... a kitchen of sorts... a sitting room and a bedroom. The good ones had a hand pump in the kitchen. The bad ones had a four handled community pump in the alley.... A family named Glaston lived there. This was after The War of 1812. I 'culled' the father. He was a rough sort. Part of a gang. A cutthroat. Used an old straight razor. All they had back then. Some used knives. He didn't. Those familiar with my life know I almost always 'culled' only the wicked. ... Not now. Believe me it's hard to control my passions and talk to you. The blood lust is unimaginable. Don't ask me how I get these words out. Just know young people with cunning little laptop-like tablets are plentiful, in coffee shops, I mean... I go in. I nod. Sit down. We talk. I beguile them. They follow me and I use them. My current 'typist' is a grad student who shall never graduate. His eyes are blank. His jaw hangs slack. We're in an old small, private mausoleum in Laurel Hill, the dark, leafy, mossy necropolis northwest of Center City. The elferinos and elferinas know I'm here. They give me wide berth. Opening the heavy bronze door is beyond what mortals can do. But a vampire applies constant steady pressure. Our bodies rarely tire. The effort never stops till the task is done. Thus the door gives way. We enter. He retches. I kick the moldering ancient coffins and the dried husks within off to the side. Moonlight through a mausoleum door can be so atmospheric. I have a small packet... a tiny envelope... some cheap street nostrum the cattle use to dull the pain of being cattle. I open it, lick two fingers and dip them inside. Then I grab the young man, force my fingers through his teeth and whisper 'swallow.'... He does. I say record my words. He sits down among the dust and dry brittle bone bits, opens his device and makes ready. I turn on a few battery powered candles. I keep them in my usual haunts. The stink of real flames in confined spaces offends me. I put two down by his small keyboard. The screen gives off its own ghostly light. I close the door. I speak. He begins to tap the tough sensitive keys.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What was I telling you?... Oh, yes... how I killed the senior Glaston bastard. He patrolled the border regions south of Chester. Not all the time, but perhaps five nights each month, around the new moon, when slaves tried to reach the north. Trussed them up like pigs, he did, when he caught them. He and his gang, I mean. Then he transported the sad cargo to the nearest southern town. Sheriff only too glad to lock them up. Slavers only too glad to buy them. Made no difference if the real master got them back. Somebody'd get them... and they'd go right on slaving. This was before telegraph lines and all that. Communication was difficult. How I relished his death... A generation later I took another Glaston, a son or nephew. Who cares? They were all shit. Human generations fly by so fast. Maybe not to you, but vampires think so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now I'm going to kill the typist..... (he stops momentarily... I chuckle and muss his hair.... he exhales and resumes tapping away... but I kill him, just the same...)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">thanks to all...</span><br />
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Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-49415834371631606552018-09-13T04:41:00.001-04:002018-09-13T04:41:39.973-04:00THE VAMPIRE JONATHON STUDIES HIS REFLECTION FOR HOURS 9/13/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">THE VAMPIRE JONATHON SPEAKS ---</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's like a drug. I have no control over things. Once, I was about to kill some nameless girl behind a dumpster on Sansom Street, a narrow, old street in Center City. She seemed cheap and flaccid and hopeless. Now I tell myself they're all cheap and flaccid and hopeless... the males... the females... What difference does it make. But she started to scream a lot and her teeth were so yellow and grungy, I just had to stop it... so I grabbed her skull between my hands, like Rhett did to Scarlet in that movie and crushed it. Three heartbeats and she was gone... just like a pinata. Her mouth looked like it was trying to chew. But everything above the upper teeth was destroyed.... I wiped the brains off my hands on her skirt.... Soon the vermin found her. I suppose she was better than what was in that dumpster. Then I sublimated into a first floor apartment to clean up. Somebody was sleeping in the bed, or pretending to sleep. I know they heard me running the water in the bathroom. I know they heard me moving around. The place was all dark. I don't need any light. Everything I've described so far happened in the dark... Well, dark to you... Whoever was in that bed was terrified. That, I could sense. They wanted to run, but couldn't. Trembling so hard the headboard vibrated against the wall.... I went into the bedroom, spread myself over them and drank. The blood was so hot, almost effervescent. God knows what they thought. I left before the body began to ignite.... It was odd. Usually I absorb so much about my victims, but that night nothing.... Just a fast, hot meal. I hate nights like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Then I walked through the predawn city to a little hidey hole I had in an old stone cellar beneath a shuttered loft building. I suppose the developers hadn't gotten around to it yet. Feral cats shared the space. They watched from a distance, as I locked myself into a World War One era toilet and curled up on the cold floor. I like cats. They understand the dark. Most dawns I drift off right away. But that time I just lay there, studying my reflection in the cracked, narrow full length mirror on the door.... A few of the more confident cats came close and sniffed the other side of the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That's how I hid from the sun. I never slept. Not anymore. Don't ask what changed me. I could tell you stories, but I don't really know. At first I wanted to go back to the townhouse. Life was civilized there. Then I didn't care about civilization... and the townhouse plus the souls in it drifted farther and farther away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Even the ghouls despised me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was numb, addicted to the blood... like an animal...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><more tomorrow></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">thanks to you all...</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-42023377237613704332018-09-12T01:27:00.002-04:002018-09-12T01:27:15.652-04:00Jonathon Goes Rogue ... exploration of a Netflix series #vampirewonderland 'episode' 9/11/18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">OK, here's the image... a long dark, narrow dormitory lined with cramped metal cots.... maybe six to a side.... What's left of the dingy crumpled blankets on each (and whoever was in them) burns with discrete blue flames..... Someone stands in the far doorway.... It's me, Jonathon... I just 'evicted' a dozen, old homeless bastards from the third floor room of The Arch Street Shelter, Philadelphia's oldest house of succor and refuge... After the third one, I really couldn't ingest all the blood, but I drained them anyway. The red elixir ran down my chin and lacquered the old wood floor.... But they were dead, thus the 'cold' blue fire..... I'm quiet. They slept right through it..... The staff will go berserk. Twelve cases of 'spontaneous human combustion' in one night has got to arouse suspicion.... What can I say?..... Whoops.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fallen vampires fall hard.... and I still haven't hit the ground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The others scattered. They want no parts of me. Our band was 'noble,' culling the wicked... preserving the worthy and all that... Eh... What can I say?... Things change... You know how it is.... One night I just snapped.... Some poor, hard working woman in a bus shelter eyed the emerald, art deco dinner ring I'd just slipped on her hand. She quietly asked - For me?... I nodded.... She stared at the glittering stone. as if hypnotised.... I said - You can sell it. It's worth a hundred and thirty five thousand... She gazed some more, then sighed and said - You couldn't have given me cash??? .... So I killed her, then carefully retrieved the Cartier bauble from the greasy residue ... Who the hell was she to lecture me?... That's how it started...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Edith, my Jersey Pines witchy-woman housekeeper, sensed something later that night when I returned.... She said - Where's my Seek and Find word puzzle book?... Still on the magazine display at CVS, you poxy cow! - I snapped... But she just gave me a strange, hurt look as I retreated up to my snug, dark, sleeping cabinet.... My consort, Sarah, sniffed as I settled into the umpteen thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and rose petals (specially sent out to us by 'familiars' in certain remote Balkan valleys).. Did she smell all the blood on me?.... O course.... But that one is a subtle vampirina and we'd talk later...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The indiscriminate slaughter continued. Local 'familiars' embedded in various civic bureaus and organizations (such as the police force), who ran interference for us, began to tentatively question me.... so I dismembered one and distributed his body parts to the others (via Fed X, I think). So much for the questions..... Financial familiars stopped embezzling too (most vampires let them get a little taste) but that was only an ancillary effect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Those in Philadelphia who knew the truth about our town's night-folk presence shored up their defenses. Many built lead lined sleeping chambers. Vampires can't sublimate through lead..... but we can sublimate through inlaid, walnut, hardwood floors... It's amazing how many influential burghers forgot about that..... Whoo! I'd spiral up at the foot of the bed, make Marley's Ghost noises and finish them off while they were still pissing the mattress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Lately, my favorite thing is plucking wee hour solitary subway riders from amongst the living, as that loud, rumbling and screeching conveyance rattles obliviously along... How threatening I look in the flickering, dead gray light.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Do I sleep 'home' most days?.... No.... I attend to security too and have 'dead boxes' in dark hidden corners.... Sarah, Conrad, little Annie, sometimes Baylah and even 'Papa' still gather in the townhouse inhaling the aroma of their much loved scented candles..... I don't molest them.... That's how I am.... After all, I still believe in God... And that makes it all so very painful......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But I can handle that.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">click <a href="http://feedreader.com/observe/vampirewonderland.blogspot.com" target="_blank">THE KEY TO IT ALL</a> ... to see all episodes posted... I intend to post quite regularly again and with about 2,000 posts up there, there are many undiscovered nooks and crannies.... go see... All will be appraised of the reason for our absence in due time....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">thanks to all our friends.</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4354650599869853066.post-71656620500618840802018-07-12T00:13:00.002-04:002018-07-12T00:20:09.207-04:00THE VAMPIRE JONATHON SPEAKS Renaissance Music in a Castle. Ancient Music in the Loire Valley.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I had a refuge in the north of Italy. Please ask me not its exact location, for the descendants of my familiars then still inhabit the place and shun such notoriety. It was actually a castillo, a house built in the waning years of the fourteenth century. The medieval mind set was beginning to lose hold among the higher levels of society, thus the structure was as much palazzo as fortress. We had glass in the windows and an interior room for bathing. There were marble hearths and polished, stone floors warmed by Persian carpets. Some such residences still used rushes... but not mine. And the dogs about the place where greyhounds or whippets, no gross mastiffs or rough coated wolfhounds. Indeed, we had four designated 'shit boys,' whose job it was to whisk away errant turds and mop up, or scrub out the pee. Don't ask me their names. No one ever bothered with names. We yelled - 'Shit boy!'... and one was there. Most times even that was unnecessary, for they hovered behind the dogs like acolytes and they did their job very well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I went abroad in daylight then too. Of course it was an illusion accomplished via a double. They found him among a group of mummers performing at a fair. Money changed hands and he was mine. We dressed him like me... exercised him till he had my form.. styled his hair like my long, dark wavy locks and that was it... Being a mummer, he learned my speech patterns very quickly. His cooperation was assured via tiny but regular infusions of my blood. Not enough to make him as I, but enough to keep him in a state of permanent enchantment. No one suspected a thing. Granted, attendants followed him everywhere, though considering the rough nature of the times, bodyguards were a regular accessory. All the best people had them. His carried small vials of my blood, lest he was killed, or struck dead before the eyes of others. They knew how to quickly revive him and carry him to safety. Thus I appeared to attend daylight masses and hunt with the other young bloods. Was I the first vampire to create a daylight double? No, of course not. Though I share more night-folk truths than most.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Do you know why I haven't communicated in anything like a regular basis recently? I am plagued by doubt. The current political atmosphere depresses me. I mean the things you mortals (or the less enlightened ones) grapple with! Look, let me ask you a question. What STOPS you from living as conservative a life as you please?... The government is in no way bound to force others along the same path. I can see demanding a fiscally careful regime. Fine, do that... But all the rest? Don't compel society to sanction your biases. Forget this reborn Bonfire of The Vanities so many lust after. These things never end well. So I sit in my chair every night silently absorbing vintage films and rehabbed lofts... when I'm not out patrolling the midnight streets, that is. I 'cull' my monthly blighted soul and play with Sylvia and Aura in their long forgotten realm under the city. A vampire abides.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But I meant to share my most favored years in Italy with you. Permit me to regain my composure. (bows his head and squeezes the bridge of his nose)..... (sniffs).... I kept a pleasure barge on the river... and when we were sufficiently downstream, beyond the town, my liveried oarsmen would dowse the torches so I might enjoy myself in total darkness. Please know that by the standards of the time, my 'subjects' were far from abused. Each went home with a polished opal or two, plus my sincerest compliments.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Vampire 'personalities' change over the years.... and that identity beckons me.... boy, does it ever.... (cue the recorders and lutes... as he grins mischievously and offers a curt, little salute toward the camera)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The naughty Jonathon is back.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">< more tomorrow... I promise></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">thank you...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">there was supposed to be an atmospheric video of Renaissance music at the top of all this but somehow it got dropped... sorry.</span></div>
Billy Kravitzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942870242145786512noreply@blogger.com2