LAILAH IS IN THIS....ERIC CLAPTON IS NOT.......JIM MORRISON (temporarily dead) STILL WANTS TO BE....SAM COOK MAY BE

Why did Roland do it? Why did he share the 'night kiss' with Lailah? To what purpose? He had never done the like before. Did Papa send him? Could it have been Renate? No...not her. She was more like a benevolent observer. She rarely plays around with humans. So whay's she doing running around with three iconic singer songwriters from the 1960's, one of whome was temporarily dead? I do not know. This one (an unmaned spirit) only shares those bits of the akoshic record made known to me.....They (whoever 'they' are) do not show me much. That's why we're compelled to deal this out soap opera style.......Ooooh! A clue! why did I say soap opera? I do not know. Could it be that this one was once a player in a company of soap opera performers? I do remember a certain recurring Dreft commercial. And this one seems to remember being spoken to on the radio by some human organism called Cindy Adams.......I wonder if she could be related to Morticia?....No....'they' spell it with two d's.

Lailah's been dispatching victims on a regular basis. Claims she has the visions. Who am I to judge.......Oooh! There's another word......'judge.'........I think I served on a panel  with a bunch of desperately insecure, lesser known actors and political hopefuls. I think we were responsible for chosing a new Miss America.....Such a heavy burden. I hope and pray the nation prospered under her moral direction.

She hunts in a diverse manner. One time it's the marketplace. Another time, a hotel lobby. It's hard for her to gain entry to the bars they usually have there, since she's chained inside the body (her own) of a fifteen year old girl. Soon, with more experience, she'll develope the ability. She'll be able to make 'vampire eyes' at them. Then our little Lailah will be able to go anywhere she wants, Her modus operendi is still the light, almost painfree kiss. True, there might be a slight pinching, or tugging of the flesh, as she breaks the skin, but so what? Didn't you ever apply pressure to an especially stubborn pimple?....Well, then you know what I mean. The 'pop' that comes after makes it all worth while. I'm told the guilty organisms she (and other 'noble' vampires, as well) dines on experience a certain karmic release when they die. No more guilt. No more responsibilities. Lay it all in the Lap of The Lord and let Him deal with it....Does he ever burn them in an eternal Lake of Fire?......Well, I've never detected it.....From what I can piece together, it's all a matter of tit for tat.....Reap what you sow and all that. Eat all the pain you've caused in the world. Die with each of your victims. Experience the torment till you've paid it all back.....Then, I don't know what they do with you. Maybe send you back into the flesh, or if not that, a spiritual muse to inspire the living. My cousin wanted to be the tooth fairy, but they just laughed and told him he was crazy. So now he's a muse. Whispers in the ears of butt sculpting 'doctors' and permanent boobie vendors. You see his work in New York and Philly mostly. Somebody else does it in L.A., but I do not know who that is.

Jerusalem, especially the Old City and the immediately surrounding districts, is a small place. Lailah often spots people from her old congregation. Some of them even approach her. Her distraught father hasn't told everybody. Most of them probably think she's still alive. Girls don't wander the streets much in their culture, especially at night, so how many times could they have seen her anyway? A few after dinner visits, maybe? Yet they'll come over to her. They address her by name. They speak to her. Usually, she just turns away and walks off, leaving them to wonder if they've made a mistake. Sometimes she feigns ignorance. Her dress is still modest and dark. What worked for the daughter of an Armenian Orthodox cleric, works for a vampire too. Maybe it's good she still remembers all those prayers, because she cries and shakes a lot after every kill. Mouthing the old liturgy over and over seems to comfort her....Who knows? Maybe she's just hypnotized?

She sleeps in a lot of different places now. Dark cellars mostly.  And yes, the insects and rodents still scare her. Jean-Michel wants to do something. You know how he has some type of subliminal relationship with her father (go back and wander the tale). He feels responsible. But give her time. I'm sure she'll construct a more comfortable 'life' for herself. She's smart. She'll learn the ropes. Maybe then, they'll get together. After all...she must have been created for a reason?.....Right?

Maybe Jonathon will find out.......

A VAMPIRE APPROACHING HEAVEN MEETS AN OLD TEACHER.....zsa-zsa gabor and eddie fisher make quick, cameo appearances too

Oh, so he was stoned when he was only thirteen years old! So what!? I died in a fire at the hands of barbarian Crusaders. And it did not happen quickly. Not that I like to brag, but I endured that ultimate torment for what latter generations would call fortyfive minutes. True, there were periods of numbness (more or less), but only  till a fresh new layer of nerve cells could be accessed . Then the danse macabre started anew. And it all went on till my skull exploded. The mingled screams of eight score innocent souls, many just children,  still echoes through the firmamment, though their blessed spirits swirl  'round the Throne of God.

Come on. You must recall my name. I am Johannan, guardian servant to the young Jonathon at the time of his ordeal. And I stand close behind him as he climbs the Heavenly Stairs. How is he Here? I do not really know. Why is he Here? The complete truth of it eludes me. I think it has something to do with 'The Dream,' a Message sown by the one you all call Papa, though The Seeds belong to Someone Greater still.

It is spreading. Fibers of understanding weave through Creation, binding tight the whole. Some hear clearly. Others detect only muffled bits. They gather in the squares and meeting places, hungering for something better. You saw it in Fostat...no, ecuse me...Cairo...and in the American Empire, as concerned individuals came together for 'tea.' We (those of us Up Here, I mean) can smell it everywhere. The World that is Earth approaches a New Age...... Call it Aquarius......Call it the Post 2012 Improved Edition.......or maybe One of  The Comings.....First or Second.....take  your pick...................For it is true that The Great Carver is vain, but not that way.

A man comes down to greet my young charge. He is dressed in the clerical garb of a Great Teacher. And Jonathon encounters the Esteemed Rashi, as he was meant to do all those many lifetimes ago...

While down among mortals the dance still goes on. Twelve nights and days till the Scriptural New Year. A like period of time  till the Leader of the Near At Hand Ishmaelites speaks to The Peoplehood of Nations.
So much opportunity. So much work to do. Cut the pattern. Stitch it tight.....Just be sure you get it right.

Johannon waxes poetic. For before the fire, I had a bit of  'the bard' in me too.

Oooh1 Look! There by the star-gilt balustrade! Zsa-Zsa Gabor...and Eddie Fisher!!  Quick, let me get their autographs!

Come back on the morrow, to learn of Lailah and her sorrow.....

There now...Wasn't it nicer visiting with me, instead of that troublesome, little, false-prince, Zebulon?

SHALOM YELEDIM

DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S SCIENCE WAS AHEAD OF ITS TIME....the arcane mysteries of an old city

We sublimated through this material almost a year ago, but people still ask about these things, so here's a quick review. Benjamin Franklin did, in fact, construct an armonica. The original is not a huge contraption, like the Grand Armonica in out narrative. It's about three feet high and four feet long. Finely polished crystal discs, each with a hole drilled in the middle, are carefully mounted on a horizontal, bronze bar resting on a sawhorse-like  support. The discs, arranged in size order, can freely spin when 'played' by human (or maybe our killer monkey could do it too, I suppose) hands.

The instrment, an early tool in the study of harmonics, produces ethereal sounds akin to choirs of angels singing in Heaven. I said 'produces' instead of produced, because it still works. You can see it in the subterranean remnants of Franklin's Market Street  home. The great inventor suspected that the 'vibrations' produced (what later generations would call frequencies) could tap into other 'planes of existence.'  Indeed, urban legend claims that the accomplished nation builder never really 'died,' in the true sense, but was instead  'sublimated' into one of these parallel realities with the help of his intricate, glistening creation.

True, there is an old style 'slab' grave in an iron fenced, Society Hill church yard, but who knows what lies within. However, each dawn, when the light returns, early risers report seeing bright, copper pennies sprinkled on the site. How do they get there? The security camera shows nothing. Another old Philadelphia story, or something else?

And if you ever go wandering through our venerable municipality, know this, the large, busy and rather Norman French, castle-like City Hall Courtyard, rests upon the old hanging field. The granite and bronze compass rose inlaid into the pavers marks the 'drop.'  X marks the actual spot where n'er do wells and pie thieves met their Maker. I wonder if the capuccino laden  masses hurrying into work even know that? Thar be ghosties here.

The vampires and their other unusual friends will shimmer back into our realm tomorrow. Please take this opportunity to pierce the veil and wander through our 346 testimonies.. A pixilated magic awaits.

SHOT-UP STARS GET EARTH-SIDE PASSES in the pixilated universe of the VAMPIRES

Edith is real mad. Some bitchie-poo knocked a clean, white bakery box sheltering a rich and satisfying, butter cream birthday cake right out of her hands. It went boom, splat, futz, all over the catefully swept brick pavers of Germantown Avenue. She hardly ever shops there. Can't stand the posturing phonies pretending to be boarderline 'society.' Them girdled in Mrs. Drysdales make her sick. And this one just  kept right on going. Rubbin' her thighs together like Eskimo blubber sand paper. Hope she prickly heated herself to death.

Our well meaning, rather demure and motherly, Piney Woman considerately scooped up the debris and dumped it down behind a bush (they got lots a mini-parks 'rounnd here) for some bums, starlings and rabbits. It was not anyone's birthday. And Papa doesn't eat cake. Neither do the elves. Only she thought it would look nice as a centerpiece, right there in the middle of their never used diningroom table. All that fine Henredon veneer must be good for something. You know, make 'em feel like a normal family.  She gets that way sometimes. Papa feels bad for her. He actually talks to her more often than Bob (I think that's his name), her husband, who is off right now fishing and crabbin' in some New Jersey, tidal estuary.

Papa could taste the sadness in her. Made him feel bad too. So he splashed a tiny bit a magic on that ersatz Miz Drysdale. Gave her a hot case a the Volga Shitskies.....right in the middle of the first row at the Kimmel Center...right in the middle of the Grand, Triumphal March, from Aida. Yep, she went marchin' all right. Trottin' would be more like it. Gave her pink domed, slack-jawed, mumblin' bastid of a husband a good excuse to crab his way out of the jammed,  rarified splendor of the main auditorium, knock on the portal to the bastion of the ladies, collect his wilted (and slightly stained) big-boned flower and haul ass home just in time to watch the market report. Lucky he had a copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer in the back seat, 'cause he made her sit on that. The Nicaraguan, whoever she was, could clean it all  up in the morning.

Later, after doing his good deed, Papa settled back in his favorite leather club chair (thank God for central air-conditioning.....although vampires hardly ever really sweat) and  got that far away look on his face, as he sublimated into Jonathon. Now, of course you know I am speaking about his soul. The rest of him stayed right where it was, off to the side of our 'family room.' nestled deep in the wilds of old and semi-old money Chestnut Hill. I think he had on the market report too, since the 'Phightin's' (that means the Phillies) were unbelievably allowing the Houston Astros to win a game. I guess they must have been bored.

The vampire 'father' (looking out through his 'son's' eyes) saw everything. And he rose up with him, climbing the alabaster and moonbeam staircase we call Jacob's Ladder. Stars danced all about them. They passed through nebulas and long, empty voids. Acapella choirs produced breathy resonances in the distance. Chubby toddlers (another species of 'cherub') gave forth with that warm, chocolatey laughter known only to the very young.

Pious, reverent Hindu women, not to mmention truly spiritual aliens of all sorts traveled with them, for the righteous of all groups shall share in the World To Come. even the fifty-six eyed, bouncing, ice-cream head goonies from that place with the giant, fire breathing Yorkshire Terriers. They do make a good pizza on that world, though, I must say. But don't ask me what's in the pepperoni, because you would not want to know.

I'll desribe more of the sights in transit next time. Just know that Jonathon was soon to enncounter a very disgruntled Elvis and a pouting, heavy breathin' Jim Morrison. Seems they wanted to be resurrected along with Lennon. But God works in mysterious ways. That's why they had to stay behind up here, teaching three-legged shimmy-faced, hairy people how to do the hula......Ellvis remembered a little from Blue Hawaii ....Morrison just improvised some moves based on his 'obscene' gyrations in Miami, or someplace like that.  But Sam Cook was happy, 'cause he was the next one goin' down.......

JONATHON, the 'eightteen' year old vampire of a thousand suns, GOES KNOCKING ON HEAVEN'S DOOR

Jonathon felt the pull, like a tide rushing through his body. He was walking along an outlying lane beyond the city walls. It was an attractive district of old villas. Most were built by wealthy German vintners who made 'aliyah' during the mid to late nineteenth century. They helped raise synagogues and schools, contributing greatly toward the rebiirth of spoken Hebrew.

He heard their voices. He heard whispers moving through the atmosphere. Innvisible fingers pulled at his clothing and tugged his hair. And then the sublimation happened. His body crackled with a clean, white charge, tickling his molecules and freeing his essence. The soul that is Jonathon's moved through solid walls and leafy gardens. He saw lovers embracing deep within cool, dark shadows. He drank in the perfum of roses and orange blossoms.

And then he was back within the sacred walls, rising up to the Temple Mount and finding rest upon it. A man came forth to meet him, his face hidded by a cloak wrapped 'round his head. No words were spoken. None were needed. The identity of his guide was unimportant. His mortal or immortal state even less so. For are we not all immortal? And is not the flesh and bone supporting your true self little more that the trappings of a coach, useful for a time, but eventually breaking down and wearing away.

So they walked, if you'd like to visualize it as walking. They passed stalwart guards, upright in the moonlight and noble sanctuaries constructed by men. Then they flowed down through the rock, into a huge cavern known to exist beneath the anciennt foundation. Smooth and deep. Rather like the interior of a rough hewn egg. Soul-like wraiths swirled all about them. Some called out their names. Some said prayers. Others just laughed. A caretaker, attired in the robes of a desert sheik, trembled as they approached, quickly disappearing through a secret door.

Then the man with the hidden face stopped. He pionted at Jonathon and he stopped too. All forms of artificial illunimation trickling down from the shrine above evaporated. And the moon shone down through the miraculously transparent layers of human toil.

Then he knew. Then Jonathon knew. This is the Well of Souls. Hark unto my words! Think not that we are discussing that ficticious charade constructed on the gloaming shore of the New World's northern isle. For we are not in Tanis. This is not a nurse's tale. We speak not to the innocent, but to the profane. For they need it most. So open your ears, as well as  your soul. Bind yourself to our traveller and progress with him toward this midnight rondevous.

Our bodies pass through stone. Our ' hearts' as well. Look about and see. We are there, assembled at the foot of God's Great Skyway.... Take a breath. Move forward. Hold on. Have faith. Look up. Look up and see! Hold fast to Jonathon , as he ascends Jacob's Ladder..........

Fear not.........for it is written that.........

THE RIGHTEOUS OF ALL NATIONS SHALL SHARE IN THE WORLD TO COME..................

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A vampire stripling, originally meant for the earthly court of the great Rashi, rises up to knock on Heaven's Door.....................................................And boy, was Dylan jealous (read the episodes...you'll know), but Lennon just laughed and Islam just prayed.........
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please leave a comment...please tell others.....the vampires sincerely welcome you.

#ENTOURAGE AND THE #VAMPIRES.....the world needs them both

Even el mundo vampirismo is in shock. #ENTOURAGE is gone! You can't realize what Ari Gold meant to these life-eaters. They got Israeli and Ishmaeli vampirissi cryin' around the same tv's over here in Jerusalem. People are flooding out into the streets hugging each other and blubbering (I'm talking about the ones with U.S. video feeds). It's worse than when the North Koreans shot Fonzie. Yoko, who as you know is over here trying to arrange an advantageous recording deal for her resurrected husband, says it reminds her of what happened in Strawberry Fields. Yusef Islam is disgusted by it. He understands, but is never the less disgusted. Dylan doesn't watch much television, so he don't care one way or the other. He would be disgusted but Stevens (I mean Islam) commandeered that emotion first. Sarah says it was one of the best series 'finales' (remember, they got movies in the pipeline) she ever saw. Actually almost squished a full grown royal Saluki (traditional breed around here) as she was watching it. Poor dog shit all over the rug. The L.A. types in town to oversee the arrangement of the new milleniuum (did I spell it right?) say that the 'Making It In America' show will slip right into the sweet little slit left vacant by Vinnie and the boys. A new 'entourage.' A new glamour biz (fashion). Neurotic environs (Manhattan). Great score. Just hope it's not a Jane Mansfield take on Marilyn Monroe, like Friends (charming as it may have been) was to Seinfeld.

Let's see. what was I going to tell you? Oh, yes. Jean-Michel is attempting to arrange a meeting between the newborn Lailah and her father, the Armenian Orthodox priest. I know most vampires frown on such 'after death' reunions, but our gallant, gallic night stalker wants to try. The girl isn't so sure. She has the mind of a fifteen year old. She wants more time. While her father blames himself for all this. He spends hours each night (after his priestly duties are through) pouring over arcane church texts searching for the proper exorcism ritual to flush the blood of Lilith from his daughter's nubile flesh. So far, all he's been able to do is kill a few innocent water bugs and sour a container of Lactaid.

Jonathon was mobbed when he went out on the street. You know about his resemblence to Adrian Garnier, so what else would you expect, tonight of all nights? He enjoys it though. Sure he wants to improve humanity, but our finely drawn, tight-bodied, little Andalucian has a vain side. I mean we know how he feels about a good Dolce & Gabana, not to mention all his cunning, snug-fitting, black leather bootkins.

And speaking of #ENTOURAGE and @jeremypiven and #VAMPIRES and all.....did you know that a few well known movie actors actually ARE VAMPIRES? Think about it. You'll figure out who they are. Listen for the vampire cadence to their speech. Look for the carefully crafted features and the exceptionally well fitting garments. Give us a lot of hits. Get me in a good mood some night and I'll tell you who they are. Although one's face isn't so carefully crafted. And I don't know who let him in the 'club,' but just consider him the exception that proves the rule.

More on who has experienced 'the dream' tomorrow night. And Doctor Franklin appears to have stumbled on some significant piece of esoterica. More on that as well.

The Red Paint People? I truly believe we covered this already, but I'll condense.....A stone-age European strain of humanity subscribing to a culture believed to be more than twenty thousand years old. Relics belonging to this group were uncovered in Maritime Canada and the northern U.S.. Most pieces bore faint remnants of an ocher coloring agent, hence the name 'Red Paint People.' A small, surviving band of such individuals resides deep in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, living side by side and sharing 'magic' and secrets with the general 'Piney' population. Many American Indian groups are believed to bear admixtures of Red Paint DNA, since these people were entering the continent from the east at the same time as their people were migrating in from the west. Red Paints are known for a stoic all knowing gaze and tall, sinewy, angular bodies. Some experts believe them to be highly telepathic and possessed of an extremely fine tuned sense of intuition. That 'scotosh beedosh' phraseology seen in our posts is thought to stem from an old Red Paint dialect.

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Leave a comment. tell us your twitter link so we can give you a s/o and some retweets. promote yourself. why not? tell your friends. any support you'd give us would be very appreciated.........thank you from a disembodied spirit that isn't zebulon.

VAMPIRE MAGIC IMPROVES THE SANDWICHES AT A LOCAL DELI

This post is from the house in Chestnut Hill (Philadelphia). The vampires are very dissappointed. We did not get many hits yesterday. Today too. I know that happens over weekends, but THEY don't know that. Indeed, Papa still doesn't recognise the seven day week. Remember, he comes from a time far prior to any culture we're familiar with. Our contemporary faiths and beliefs seem as temporary fads to him. Five thousand years ago is like last Wednesday is to us.

And he is in contact with the others. He thinks...they know. Not exactly mind reading. More like a biologically based Surius radio station for liefe-eaters. Renate can do it to. They all can, the older ones, that is, up to a point.

I hope you googled that stuff we told you yesterday about Glen Beck in Jerusalem, so  you know it wasn't a fictional fabrication. None of this is. We've told you a million times. Do you just not believe us, or are you afraid to believe us? Scotosh beedosh, beedosh baposht, bapost sketosht.....In other words....Don 't be afraid to see what you see. Donm't be afraid to know what you know. The world is changing, hopefully for the better. All I can tell you is the vampires (the noble ones) are certainly doing their part.

Over in the Holy City, Lailah's been 'cullin' people left and right. A nip here. A cut there. Just trim off some of the fanatics. She has a way about her. Gentle...everything's very gentle. A soft kiss (well, not too soft). Eyes flutter. A quick swoon. The cold, blue flame...and hello eternity. That old French vampire, le chevalier, Jean-Michel saw her do it. He tried to speak with her, but she flew off. Roland's still here. He hovers 'round her. Papa wants him to come home, but he fights it. Look, we all know Papa could transport him right back to the house on Glen Gary Road in a second, if he wanted to. But this seems to be imprtant to the soft hearted 'elf.' So Papa hasn't forced him.

Edith is back. she brought us some of this really good Italian style bread they bake in Atlantic City. Well, she brought it back for me, mostly. Except for her and a Red Paint or two, I'm the only genuine human here. But we gave some to the woman next door...the one who feeds her kid shitty pizza. Maybe this will make up for it.

September is a dull month. Everybody pretends that it's not summer, but we still sweat like it's summer (not the vampires, naturally). It's like Limbo...It's not fall...It's not anything......I walk by a school. The kids just sit there, listening to the teacher with sad empty eyes. Their plastic 'swimming pools' are still up, for God's sake. All they want to do is go home.

I think the guy who owns this luncheonette I go to had 'the dream.' I heard him mumbling. I heard him mumbling. He said, 'I am the Unity,'.....over and over and over and over. Then, when I ordered, he told me not to get the tuna. First time he ever did that. So I got the turkey wrap. Sandwich was a little heavier than usual too...lotsa meat. It was the dream. I'm sure he had the dream.......I'm positive...........

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