A MIRACULOUS ARRIVAL IN A SMALL ROOM IN JERUSALEM

They stayed right where they were. Jonathon and Sarah never moved, nor did their strange companions. Renate simply smiled and the omniverse, or rather Earth's little part of it, was transformed. The nighttime disappeared, so did the forest. And they sliced through creation like jinns on a flying carpet. Rivers of color swirled all around them. Snatches of songs sung in tongues yet unheard echoed through the void. John Lennon said - I think I have to take a piss.....Renate said - Do as you must.......So he stood up on a sliver of nothingness and followed her directions. Yet what exited his body was not the usual concoction of ammonia, salt and waste water, but minute, little solar systems, each as large as fine grained Bazmati rice. He laughed and cleaned his glasses, the better to observe them as they spun off to fill their assigned positions in the sky.

And then, after what could have been heartbeats or multiple infinities, the endless pin-points of possibility surrounding them began to solidify, drawing our foursome down into a very real place. It was Jerusalem, or more precisely a small room above an eating establishment for biblical scholars in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. Two men sat at a table, quietly discussing God's intentions with the perfect faith of childlike, true believers.

Believer Number 1, a visiting rabbi from London, pondered the purpose of Revealed Religion. He drank a bit of tea, served in a small glass, Ukrainian style, and then said - God shows us these things so that we will become better people.......His friend, a highly spiritual screenplay writer from Los Angeles, gestured with his half eaten Pop Tart (yes, they have them in Israel too) as he spoke.......Then why are all these 'better' people heaped together in warring groups, constantly hurling insults and missles at each other? - said the two-time Academy Award nominated scribe.........The British clergyman carefully put down his glass, smiled his best pedigogical smile and said - Because the patient is not quite 'better' yet, I'm afraid. And that is all the more reason to continue with the prescribed course of treatment............. Or get a second opinion - said the writer.

That's when they noticed our four travelers. That's when Jonathon and Sarah and Renate and John Lennon ran out from behind an old, leather bound tome (the Shulan Aruch, [the 'Set Table,' a revered book of Biblical commentary] I believe) and addressed them from the center of a round stain left by a wet glass.......Gentlemen, - said the Lady Renate, I bring visitors. Come, let us converse and share our inner-most thoughts........But the two gentlemen in question stared wide-eyed at the pawn sized individuals before them.  Sarah burst out in a fit of laughter. The former Beatle did a little, spontaneous dance, while Jonathon responded with his best, most courtly, Andalucian bow.....The Lady Renate, much too dignified for all that, just stood there like a tiny queen, waiting for the two humans to respond................

ZEBULON HAS SEEN IT ALL, BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW EVERYTHING

It is I, the disembodied spirit of the West. It is Zebulon. Oh, the wonders I have seen, from the giant fungi living far beneath the surface of the earth, to Cleopatra's corpse (I'll dwell on that some other time). The world is changing, both physically annd spiritually. Some blame it on secret societies. But did they ever stop to ponder that if such suspicious congregations were in fact secret, we'd never hear of them in the first place? Do I doubt the existence of such troublesome councils? No, I do not. It is only that the names bandied about by selfstyled finger-pointers only serve to misdirect the living and send them screaming in the wrong direction.

'
Illuminati.' how they love to say that word. Yet clandestine oligarchies do manifest from time to time. Follow the money trail. Look to the enduring dynasties and you shall see them. But does that mean all the wealthy take part and am I saying every long-lived entity is involved? No, I am not. Reality is far more complex than best selling fiction.

Those known to you as vampires realise this. And if you want me to be truthful, they and their most high-ranking familiars comprise a secret society if ever there was one. It's funny, but the eldest among them usually fail to take part. Oh, they know of such shennanigans, much like a teacher knows who's passing notes in the fourth row. Still, they seek not to join in, but rather to guide and direct from above. I suppose the layers of intrigue never end. One man's elite secret society is another's naughty boys' club.  And a powerful Queen to some is just a meddlesome society matron to others.

Renate (in truth, she who you call Renate) knows this. She plays with all the many shadow groups like  a toddler playing with blocks. It amuses her. Yet occasionally she steers them toward positive ends. Jonathon's pilgrimage is one example. She sees it as a means for greater peace and understanding in the lands of the Fertile Crescent. I believe, if I am not mistaken, that other speakers of this wondrous tale echo similar sentiments, but....where do you think they get them?

Here's her plan for the Holy Land (and remember, she was reverent and righteous at least thirty thousand years before the place ever had a name). Let there be two kingdoms. Yes, I said 'kingdoms.' May the western realm be called Israel and the eastern  realm be known as Ishmael. May each be free and master of their own fate, though hopefully wise enough to work together in matters beneficial to both, such as water, trade and the like. The Israelis and the Ishmaelis, Scriptural brothers reunited once more. And do not laugh. Do not mock the Lady Renate. For as that sage wit, Judy Tenuta was wont to say - Hey, it can happen.

So a miraculous figure named Jonathon (the name means 'gift of God') and his equally worthy consort, Sarah (meaning 'princess') will appear in the hidden places of The Land of Abraham. And they shall share their dreams with others, so that the seed  may grow and bear fruit.

I wonder how Renate plans to dress them? Perhaps she's already whispering into the ears of creative types, filmmakers, poets, writers and the like. She's been known to do that. Who do you thing dictated Uncle Tom's Cabin? Who do you think tickled the eardrums of John Locke?

They say a mysterious Cher-like woman dripped out of the ether and into the midst of a Skull and Bones Society metting not so long ago. I wonder what she told those high-ranking, vampiric 'familiars'? Oh, don't be so surprised. What did you think they were? I know she's whispering the 'Scotosh Beedosh' story to Jonathon and Sarah right now. But don't ask me what John Lennon is doing there. He always turns up when things like this start to happen. I'll have to make small talk with some of the Librarians I know in the Halls of The Akoshic Records and see what I can dig up.

I'll bet something's going to 'happen' on The Pentacost (either  the unitarian or trinitarian version). If not then, perhaps on June twentyfirst, the Day of Big Light. Maybe I should seep into the brain of that Howard, or Harold Camping?  Perhaps he knows?..................

BY THE LIGHT OF THE VAMPIRE MOON

wilkravitz is typing this. I don't know what is happening. There has been no artificial light for almost two nights. It is not that the electricity went out. That did not happen. Refrigerators still hummed along. Equipment in hospitals still put on their pricy show. Cars still ran...but with no headlights. Guys would pay homeless dudes to sit on their hoods waving lit cans of sterno. Even ambulances rolled like that.But planes could not fly. And elevators could not operate. Televisions were no good. Radio never had such a big audience since the late nineteen forties. The president went on a special airing of Howard Stern (they figured he'd reach more people that way). The Secret Service tried to sweep the place for naked girls and bed bugs. They didn't want the president to bring anything back with him. He told the nation (and the world) to stay calm and take advantage of natural moonlight. So a lot of young people got high, sat outside and put on hand-puppet shows for all the bad, little kiddies who refused to stay inside under the covers.

The elves and cherubs loved the darkness. They went flying all through the city, darting about like dragonflies buzzin' a pond on a hot day. A little bite there. A tiny nip here. People screamed. They slapped at their necks. But it was always too late. The 'donation' was already made. Annie did not go though. They wanted to take her. They wanted to spray her with solidified bloood crystals (you should see. they sparkle like fiery rubies). Papa said it would be all right. He wanted her to go. But she just screwed herself up into the usual neurotic knot and said - NO!......So Edith took her outback to the koi pond and rocked her in the moonlight. They made a game of throwing little pieces of bread to the fish, pretending that the moon's silvery-white reflection was a bull's eye. When she got tired of that, they went back in the house and sacrificed Barbies to the garbage disposal. I told you, the power was still on, just not the lights. Luna just sat by the fireplce (natural light) listening to Lady Gaga on her I-Pod.

Baylah was in Atlantic City when it hit (she still is). The casino where she was tried to switch to back-up, but that didn't work. So they literally had their goons use cattle prods (supposedly switched to 'low') so they could herd all the idiots together and sweep 'em out onto the Boardwalk. People were yelling and jumping. Old ladies were cursing. The goons kept repeating - Free all day buffets. No passes needed, when this is all over. Sorry folks. Hate to have to jolt your heinnies like this, but you understand. It's a city ordinance.......But once they cleared the floor and got everybody out on the broards, employees with bic lighters and food vouchers did circulate through the crowd, so people's asses stopped hurtin' real quick. The promise of free, organic, consumible materials will do that, especially if some of those materials happen to resemble fried shrimp or cheese cake.

But the strangest thing of all was the phones, cell phones, hard wired, all of 'em. Whenever they rang, if  you picked one up, all you'd hear was  some little girl's voice whispering - Scotosh beedosh, Beedosh Boposht, Boposht Skeedosht..........Whatever that means............And if you tried to tune in the twentyfour hour news station, you heard the same thing, over and over and over and over. Some people said it was a prank. Some people said it was something else............

Shit....I can't type anymore.......I think the lights are going out again.....................

I AM MY OWN CREATION

They sat there and communicated. Renate 'spoke,' but her lips did not move. Oh, she smiled from time to time. She sighed. But she never shaped words, not physically. Her mind did that. And it all seemed so natural. Large moths with soft, earth-toned fur, danced about her head like a crown, as the Resurrected John Lennon absentmindedly hummed tunes. Small, thin, cherub-like creatures scampered out of the underbrush to listen. Sarah said - Excuse me, Lady Renate, but what are they? We have cherubs at home, yet these are different..........Only a bit - 'said' Renate. They too were asleep in the wombs of new born vampirinas. And when the mothers crossed over, these little ones made the journey as well. But they craved freedom and tore their way out of she who carried them, seeking independence among the cool, mossy darkness of the wild places. Wise Women in these part called them 'imps, ' or 'fairies.'.............Can they fly? - asked Sarah.......Of course - smiled Renate........And she clapped her well-formed hands, sending them leaping up into the air. Our Philadelphia vampires watched, as this miniature ballet  filled the ether with grace and whimsy.........What function do they perform? Who do they eat?/ - questioned Jonathon.................They dine on innocent children burdened with disease. Their little drinks hasten the passing from this world to the next - said Renate..........Sarah asked if such children could not be saved. And Renate told her these young ones had drifted too close to the heavenly frontier, breathing in the perfumes of paradise. A return to fleshly mortality would be cruel, so the 'fairies' appeared to sever the ties and send them sailing free. ...........What do the children say when this happens? - asked Jonathon.............They say 'thank you' - said Renate.

Then they spoke of the John Lennon person with them. Was he a vampire? No. Well then what is he? Renate laughed and said - He is his own creation............The former Beatle nodded, thenn rocked back and forth in delight, as the 'fairies' dashed off to play tag with the fireflies.........Sarah turned to him and said - Please tell me. What do you 'do' sir?..........The creative musician answered - I 'do' very well.............And he fished a silver harmonica from a pocket, breaking into a tune. I believe it was Muddy Waters with maybe a small peppering of early Bob Dylan.

Jonathon wanted to know if the Lady Renate was, in fact, still a vampire. She complimented him on his powers of detection and said - What you know as the vampiric state is but a stop on a journey. Moths were once plump caterpillars. Every soul changes. Every life grows. Some follow one path, some another. I wandered down a different lane long ago, soon after creating your father. He could have changed by now too, but stubborn, that one is. Who knows? Perhaps you'll be able to show him.

Then she told them of events yet to come, when they passed through to the spiritual navel that mankind knoows as Jerusalem........ And the one known as John Lennon sang 'Imagine'.......

CELEBRITY IMPERSONATORS ON GRASS

Jonathon and Sarah fellt the power. Was it threatrening? No. Could it be resisted? No. It filled the space beyond the entrance to the cave. It occupied the sky and the land. And it was Renate. Now, if you follow this truth-telling, you know who she is. Renate is the eldest one. Was she the first one? Don't be silly. Who can know such things. But she is the oldest one alive on Earth today. Human shaped, I mean. Some tell stories of surviving Neanderthal life-eaters. And yes, they are human too, after a fashion. But fashions change. What you call 'modern humans' are different. You, yourselves are different. And Renate comes from  the time of your inception. Where she was born, I do not know. Who gave her the 'night bite,' I cannot tell.

She caused a flickering of the ether. That's why it was possible for the naive Vienese hiker to stumble upon our spiritual travelers. Could mortals feel her. No. To them, she was as nothing. But when Jonathon stepped out of the cave to taste the newborn evening, he sensed her. How could he not? His vampiric father was her son and consort. The female, Sarah, saw his apprehension. She whispered - What's wrong? What is it?.......She's here - he said. Renate, we're, we're...within her.........He drew in a great breath, held it, then slowly let it out, while whispering her name 'Renate.' (Brick, from IN THE MIDDLE, could not have done it any better)

The twilit sky looked different, more violet and infinitely deeper, as evening  birds traced ornate loops and twirls through the firmament, calling to each other in exotic, unknown languages. And then, one heartbeat later, all was normal. His eyes cut through the newborn darkness, detecting every detail. A cunning, little vixen and her bright eyed cubs. The dried, dessicated hand of a murder victim.  Repulsive insects eating dung.

But one thing was not  so normal. One event stemmed from a  differennt reality. On the surface, it did not seem that out of the ordinary. A man walked toward them, average height (perhaps a little more). He wore glasses, not so different from the ones Doctor Franklin prefered. His hair was long (brown, streaked with a little gray)  annd his voice was low and mild.....Hello, my name is John - he said...........And our 'John,' or rather 'Jonathon' shook his hand......Sarah stared transfixed. She knew him. She knew this man. Not personally. But she knew him.....Are you John Lennon? - she said..........The man smiled and told her that he was. At first she didn't believe him. But then he took her hand and let her feel the bullet holes. She gasped. He smiled and said - Come, there's someone I want you to meet. So they followed him into a shadow thicket and into the presence of Renate.

At first they saw nothing. They felt nothing and heard nothing. Sarah put out her hand, attempting to explore this  void. And for the tiniest fraction of a heartbeat, she detected something. But then it  was gone, as a female voice said - It's not nice to fool Mother Nature (then she laughed).......Moonlight and her weaker, distant, star-born cousins tricled down into a small clearing, gillding the four beings seated there. One was Jonathon. Another his 'bride.' The third, a former Beatle. And the forth one was more than thirty thousand years old. Some claimed she was almost forty thousand. Yet if I had to describe her to you, I'd say she looked like another somewhat 'rock' star. I'd say she looked like Cher (from her post Moon Struck days), though anything even remotely resembling fishnet stockings was nowhere in sight.

I've come to talk about your Quest - she said, as the musical member of the group began to hum a little tune... And even the crickets joined in.............

LUNA ISN'T DEAD?

I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you this morning. It's 5am edt in Philadelphia right now. Papa has to settle in for the morning. He hates these short summer nights. They all do. Little Annie complains about having to go to bed so early. She really doesn't understand yet. Papa wants to take her outback some day just as the first hint of the nuclear-hydrogen blaze, which is the sun zaps over the horizon and shoots into Chestnut Hill. You know, let it sinnge her a little. Just  a tiny bit. Just so she learns. Because right now, we don't think she really understands. There's a recording. It's somewhere on the web. I don't know exactly where it is. But it shows this skinny male vampire peel off all his clothes, walk out some, little cabin door and stand on the porch, waiting for the sun to find him. I think it's from Finlannd or Sweden or someplace like that. First, it's still dark. Then we hear a few birds start to sing. A light breeze picks up. It plays with his ginger colored hair. And the vampire guy doesn't do a thing. He continues to stand there. Then he shakes a few kinks out of his arms and legs, stares off into the distance and smiles, Somebody from inside cracks open the door and tries to talk him back in. He ignores them. The door slams shut. The guy holding the camera starts talking to him. It's not in English. But it's obvious he's asking him if he really wantns to go through with this. The skinny vampire guy nods. Baylah says he looks a lot like Ashton Kutcher, only with lighter colored hair. Then he swallows. You can see a little shadow near his adam's apple. The light's changing. The sun's coming. He remarks about the 'royal blue' colors of the dawn sky. Then he tenses. His eyes shut tight. He starts to tremble, his fists clenched by his sides. Tiny, dancing fingers of weak, blue flames begin to tickle his ears, his hair and his shoulders. The cameraman starts saying 'Oh, my God . Oh, my God. Oh, my God,' over and over and over. The vampire guy looks like he's being buffeted by hurricaine force winds. He opens his mouth. He screams, as all the skin on the sun-side of his body ignites, as if touched by a blow torch. We see the flames flatten  around his form , until every naked inch  is  consumed. A pillar of fire stands there. The 'human' form within barely discernible. The cameraman begins to cry. He sobs, sniffs and says - I have to move back. The heat's melting the lens. Then the fire weakens. The blue flames shrink down and disappear. We see thin tendrils of sooty smoke snaking up into the brightening, morning sky. We focus on a small residue of greasy ashes on the porch. The camera pans around. Nothing else was burned. The vampire guy is gone. Then, in the last seconds, some kind of weasel zig-zags out of the trees, bounces up onto the porch and laps up the grease. The screen goes black. Papa wants to show it to Annie. But all the others say she's too new. They say it'll give her bad dreams. Jeez, what couild have happened to Luna? She is so selfish and irresponsible. I don't know how much we really 'like' her, but we're all nervous, just the same. Papa says he can tell that she's not dead. He knows she's still alive. Big deal. What does that prove? You think death is the worst thing?.........Please excuse my typing. Just cut me a break today. Okay?

NOW DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WANTS HIS TURN TO TALK

I suppose the title of this installment provided the necessary clue. So now you know it's me. I come to you from deep under the former naval shipyard, well hidden within the bowels of The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau. What a name that is. Look, call us whatever you want. Say we're 'Sally's Dirty Knickers.' of The Rancid Peach Pie Society. Do you wretched masses really think that I care? My Intelligence Quotient is to yours as yours is to the bedbugs who torment you.

But I do understand that some of you are waiting for this opus to ooze  down certain pathways, so I will tell you this much, that 'force' out in the woods (and I mean the South Tyrolian Woods Jonathon and Sarah are currently frolicing about in) is none other than the legendary RENATE. I know she's been wandering around these pages for a while, threatening to make an appearance, waiting in the etherial wings, coolin' her heels in the Great Astral Green Room, but worthy demi-goddess that she is, she just (and I quote) 'can't take this chicken shit crap no more.'........Remember, she was born long before the laws of syntax, decorum, or grammar were even thought of. People said 'chicken shit' a lot back then. I'm told some still use the term today.  And It seems that Little Annie is planning a major career change too. What it is, I do not know. But the mermaid-hag we keep here picks up things. She keeps chanting 'children's crusade...children's crusade...'  Yet it's hard  to understand her, what with all the Wagner playing in the background. She's convinced she was one of the original Lorelei immortalized in the Great Jew Haters famous score. I've tried to explain the futility of that poosition. We got her off a whaling ship cruising the Azores. The Rhineland was nowhere in sight, but she doesn't want to know that. Milton, one of my closest associates, tells her we got her off a label from Chicken of the Sea. Can you imagine if people had to look at her shrivled form smiling down from a grocery shelf? Albacore the world over would rejoice.

So Renate is about to sing her first aria. I think she means to tell our two Philadelphia based love birds something pertaining to their quest. My own forays into the universal ether (via the Great Armonica) provide me with a certain measure of knowledge. It seems a former boyfriend of hers was a guy, or heavenly personage, I should say, who flunked out of Michael the Archangel's Officer Candidate School. Not quite a fallen angel, just a dumb one who tried to crib a few answers hastily scribbled onto the inside of his left wing. One encounters types like that all over.

Why didn't any of the usual characters, or their attendant disembodied spirits come through to you tonight? They didn't because they're hurt and angry. After ten months of nightly truth-tellings, coupled with sincere expectations of imminent fame (even the D-List would have sufficed), they've only managed to drum up just under twelve thousand hits, a goodly sum, when compared to the rest of the universal blogisphere. But they're not spitting out macaroni recipes and half-assed investment tips here. These personages...ARE PERSONAGES. They take you behind the very vault of heaven, into the tick-tock workings of the cosmos, while you lust after vampires of a lesser god.  And that especially hurts some of the hot ones. Why do you think Baylah squanders so much time in Atlantic city poker rooms. How come Jonathon spends so much money on his cunning, little, black leather bootkins? Jeez, open your eyes. Sure, Papa remains stoic and above it all, but he plays and plays and plays his DVD's of old Richard Gere movies and thinks--- 'why not me?'

So be a little 'human' (I assume that's what most of you are). Visit more often. And bring some of your little friends along with you. All right? That's all I'm going to say now. I gotta go oversee the bathing of the Sasquatch.

And if any of you snide, little pieces of baggage ridicule me for my typing skills, may hades down you whole. I'm a 'doctor,' God damn it, not a secretary.....