FOREVER YOUNG......SAD THING IS VAMPIRES NEVER FORGET

The two well fed vampires walked down through the mostly empty parking garage. Neither said a word. Jonathon palmed the bald guy's watch. It's a Breitling. Costs maybe twenty thousand dollars. The wife's ear studs were real too. Weigh like a carat each. Sell for like ten, twelve thousand dollars. The guy had cash too, fifteen hundred , but it was something. So now  you know how vampires accummulate so much wealth over the centuries. It's unbelievable what they got.

The Puerto Rican kid in the little booth didn't even pick his head up when they went by. He knows the drill. He gets paid. They pay off kids in garages all over town. These two like to hunt in garages. No reason. Just their pattern. Jonathon took Sarah's hand. They squared back their shoulders and set off for a tiny, jewel-box apartment. Clothes looked all funny. But who gonna stop 'em? They use that place as a pit stop. The girl living there is another familiar. She gets a call (from Jonathon's cell phone), goes down to the little well set up lobby and buzzes them in. They got a few  buildings like this around town. Not everybody wants a doorman. Some people need their privacy. Who has to know their business?

Let's see. I'd guess this piece a baggage for about forty seven or fifty years old. What, you're upset 'cause I called her a girl? Just being polite. She gets her hair styled. She stays thin. Does throat and jaw exercises. Wears the right make-up. Keeps her teeth all nice and clean. You'd be surprised how many people do not do that. So what am I supposed to call her? When she gets  fixed up with toupee-wearin', pinkie ringed, old daddies, they say - I got a nice girl for you. Don't nobody say no 'woman.' Callin' some single ladies a woman like callin' her a 'man' or something. You know what I mean?

So they go upstairs. She lives on the third floor. One room is all set up with extra clothes and all. Nice place too. The ruined stuff gets wadded up and burnt in the fireplace. Yeah, it's a pre-War building. Why? Then they shower off in a glass enclosed, designer tiled, big-enough-for-two stall. Ever stay in a fine hotel? You know what it's like. Little bit later they sit in the living room. Maybe sip a few drops a absinthe, if they feel like. He gives the forty seven year or fifty year old a few different kind a drops if he wants to. Sarah thumbs through a couple lady stuff magazines. The girl calls their regular cab driver (also a familiar). Jonathon leaves her all the bald guy's cash. And they go home. ........ But nobody says anything on the ride back. They just sit real quiet and think.

He imagines what the kids'll feel. Maybe they had some old parents. Maybe some nice lady sitting in a bed, locked away in some pissed up nursing home. She cherishes each and every visit. Who's gonna run to see her now? Who's gonna bring her small orders of rigatoni and meat balls ?(can't eat no big order) It's sad. When vampires get all hepped up, they do not think about those things. Yes, they DO kill evil people sometimes. They DO (on occasion) 'cull' people sent to them in visions. You remember hearing all that stuff. That's what they want you to think. Especially Jonathon. It's like a weakness with him. Whoops. Have I been calling him 'Jonathon'? Sigh...... Oh......Why am I doing this?........Look, when he feels real guilty. When things don't go right.  When they got little kids. Or they had really good hearts. Or maybe just did not deserve it, he gets that way. Pretends he is really somebody else. It's the guilt. That boy is still a major believer. Shit, faith never dies. Not real faith anyway. Edith and the others back at the house know how he is. They call him 'Jonathon' when he's all right and 'nuthin' when he's not. Maybe that wilkravitz don't know yet. He's only been there about a year. But the elves know. Even the cherubs feel something. Sarah's new too. but she's starting to understand. Hell, if I had to bet, I'd say she don't want a be called 'Sarah' right now either.

Nobody talks to them. Everybody keeps away. They can read it on their faces. They know. He takes her down to the special, little built-in sleeping cabinets they got tucked into the basement. Don't even stop to mess with the slave girls or nothing. I can't tell you how they reconcile that 'slave girl' business.. Who knows what a vampire sees? But sometimes I catch him lookin' at his hands, or payin' close attention to his jaw line in a mirror. So young. He looks so young. They all do. You hardly ever see an old one. And he starts thinkin' things. That I can sorta feel. Pictures his flesh and you should pardon the expression 'blood' family. Hell, they ain't even little chips a bone by now. That's what he thinks. That's what they all think. A few get numb to it. One's like Papa and Renate, I mean. But even numbness gives way to a little 'pins and needle' tingle every now and then.........I am telling you, vampires are some major complicated shit.

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WANNA SEE WHAT VAMPIRES REALLY ARE? HOW YOU LIKE BEIN' SLIPPERY WET WIFF BLOOD?

Remember Jonathon and Sarah up above the grand, ornate ceiling of the Academy of Music, peering down at their tentative 'dinners' through the intricate, gilt, filagreed scroll-work surrounding the magnificent, over-sized, crystal chandelier? Well, we're back there. That's where we are now. Who am I? Who's narrating this? You know me. I'm Mister Never You Mind. Some a them other  disembodied spirits don't like to get involved with the bloody stuff. Reminds them of their own 'final curtains,' if you get my drift. But I don't care. Shit, they burnt me up. And that didn't make me crazy... just dead. Still, let me tell you, it rips you up something fierce, 'specially when that fire decides it wants to go see what's doin' down your throat and in your malf. Do you understand how sensative the insides of your lips and tongue are? Can you imagine what a corn-dog goes through when they lower it into the one thousand degree oil? Damn, them pig assholes is probably happy they already dead at that point. To bad my scrotum warn't dead when they lit me up. Pain? Torture? Regular pain and torture would a been a treat. Ever touch a hot clothes iron by mistake, or like because you craved a little hot tickle or something? Multiply that by zippity-million. My finger nails and toe nails melted right off my body. And even though my seared lungs couldn't work no more, that didn't mean my heart stopped. That don't mean I blacked out. No siree. Takes two or three minutes for that to happen. I can make people I hate dream what I went through when I really want to. What happens  to 'em? They die, mostly, from a stroke or a heart attack. Ax me some other night. I'll tell you who they were. But we gotta get back up there in that fancy ceiling..........

The fat lady sang, only the show warn't over yet. Not till a bunch a big bellied white guys all dressed up like the Burger King, jabbed each other in the gut wit deez retractable, fake Halloween swords and shit. Then it was over. I guess over in Europe, fat white guys wiff devil-looking, painted-on goatees yodel a lot before they die. Who knows? What do I know?

Jonathon motions down toward the bald guy sitting toward the front. Sarah nods her head. He got a juicy wife too, so there gonna be enuff for both a them. Then they wait a few minutes for all the people to squeeze they wide loads outta there. You know how the people sittin' up the front wind up havin' to wait for all the other God damn shits to wake up and shuffle out 'fore they can leave? Well, that's just  how it is. The two vampires shimmy back outta that crawl space and run down the stairs. They can weave in and out a slow, crippled up white people real fast. You know, vampires got that ability. Like some crazy-leg football player. Like dancers, skippin' here and skippin' there. Didn't even knock anybody over too, or smash into any trussed-up tittie. Boom! Twenty seconds later they was at the bottom (eight full levels down), standin' there behind the orchestra seats, just as they supper goes by. The vampires fall in behind  and follow 'em out onto the street. And it's a madhouse out there. People fighting for taxi-cabs, yellin' at them valet kids they got. Some race across the street so they can likker themselves up in a hotel bar, or maybe shove a big piece a cheese cake and a cup a coffee down they throat.Everybody know eatin' and drinkin' after a show the best part.

Only the bald  guy and his missus don't head for any a those places. They clip-clop (you know how rich people shoes sound on cement?) 'round the corner onto Sansom Street. Are  you by any chance familiar with Diagon Alley in them Harry Potter books? Well, this is it. Little below street level taverns, book shops, fortune tellers, mystery places. Oh, they got some nice establishments too. Only we're talkin' 'bout late on a Saturday night. And how many people you think wanna eat fresh oysters (good ones too) at six minutes after midnight? So they come to some grimy, damp, multi-level parking garage. He cheap. that bald guy cheap. Wife hardly talks to him. She knows. Got her rings all turned around so the diamonds don't face the outside. Heh, heh, heh, they just what they call...cubic zirconiums? But she don't know that. Only one sleepy, Porta-Reeka kid on duty, but they don't gotta pay him till they come back down. So he push a real loose metal button, hangin' off a oilly aluminum plate. They wait a couple minute till the rickety elevator with the paid-off-under-the-table inspection sticker comes down. She sighs and gets in. He gets in and jabs his pudgy finger at level six. Doors squeak close and the depart.

Now there is a reason why so many movies and TV shows have these big scenes in deserted parking garages. They like waitin' rooms for hell. All grease stained. Little bitty weak, yellow lights. Damp, wet cinder-block walls, wide rectangular pillars. If you look real fast, you  can even see a few champion size, crunchy water bugs runnin' 'round.  Only three or four cars left up there, two big , old SUV's (I think some Chinese joint uses them for catering or somethin' , a seven year old silver Jaguar (the cheap version) and theirs. Don't need no key to open the door, 'cause he got this little oblong pea-pod wit buttons on it. I tink his chariot called a Nissan Maxima. Me, I like Packards myself. Wife give him a dirty look (she standin' on the other side, waitin' for him to click her in). He chokes on a little bit a neck-snot (you know how it can get ya?) and drops his little pea-pod . But before he can crack his joints and squat down to get it, Jonathon steps out from behind a pillar (never park next to them pillars) and crunches it into the dirty asphalt wiff one a his trim, neat, well shod feet. Bald guy looks all surprized. Not shocked yet. It's too fast for that. The wife sees whats happening an starts runnin'.  Sarah leaps down from somewhere up above and flattens her. Woman starts shakin', tries to screw off all the fake rings and give 'em to her. Sarah just grins, as she shoves 'em into the bitches malf and jams it shut. The woman cries and trembles, as a runny, little stream a blood comes outta her lips. Sarah just leans in close and kisses her. Licks up most a the blood too. The husband starts yellin'. Jonathon cold cocks him square in the face. Smashes his nose. Blood all over the place. Man in shock. Vampire moves in real fast and bites it off. The nose, I mean. Then he balls up boaf his fists and pounds the guy  right on boaf his ears. You would have to see it to believe it, but one eyeball actually flew out the socket, hangin' down there on his quivverin' cheek like somethin' outta Mad Magazine. Guy falls down on his knees. Ever hear knee-caps crunch? Won't forget that sound. But that bastid never heard it, cause his wind pipe ripped out 'fore his pants touch the ground. Jonathon all manic by then, like a pit bull tearin' 'part a Chihuahua. Sarah havin' fun wif the wife too, rippin' off ears. Hell, that vampire gal sank her teeth into one a the cheeks and tore the whole think off. You know the noise when they rip open a big, thick, corregated cardboard box? Thats what is sounded like. Made her look just like a Zombie. Not Sarah, the other one.  Took 'em boaf about seventy two heartbeats to suck up all the blood. I never seed vampires gnaw marrow out dah backbone, but I seed it then. That was some show, better than the opera, lemme tell yuh.

Tink they killed some other couple too. But that was just like a quick dessert. They were mostly bored and stuffed by then.

I know they gonna be sorry you all know 'bout this, but what the hell do I care? Can't disembody my spirit outta me no second time.

They gonna feel guilty though.........But them hoomins back at the house gonna have to deal wiff that......
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BITTEN OFF HAMMER TOES AND STOLEN FLINTSTONES COLORING BOOKS

Edith is sitting in the kitchen playing solitare. I'm sitting on the floor by the cocktail table in the family room typing this out. Please don't pick apart my clerical skills. I'm having a hard time finding the right keys tonight, because I feel a little queasy. Sarah wanted to give me a few drops (vampire blood) before she left. Funny, I kept to myself. I tried to avoid them. You know they can be dangerous at times. Not usually, but you never know. Still, she sensed it. She took a vial out of her purse and left it on the island in the kitchen. When I went in there, Edith said - That's for you. Take it. You'll feel better.........But I didn't take it. Maybe if they weren't so deep into their 'We're dangerous predators. Be careful' mode I would have. But I'm a human bean, thank you. And for the forseeable future, I'd like to mostly remain one. Besides, Tums work almost as good. Well, maybe fifteen percent as good.

The TV is on. Some women are fixing up a house. Edith likes those shows. Actually, they all do, the vampires most of all. Very anal, that race is. Neatly squared off rooms mean a lot. The fastidiousness of  Dracula. I guess it comes from commiting so many gruesome, bloody murders. Order at home. Chaos out on the streets. But I have to say...this place looks great. The floors have a rich, woddy gleam. The upholstered pieces have carefully stiitched welting in all the right places. Thick, fringed wool rugs anchor seating areas. The library looks just like a library should look. I'm telling you, a United States Senator, or like a cabinet secretary could live here. More slabs a granite in the kitchen and bathrooms than in a small church yard. And if something breaks, the Red Paint guys just whip out their tools and make it all better. We think one of them is about ninety two. The other one maybe three years younger. They got a rough 'I ain't young, but I'm still strong' look...like old farmers. And they're good in the garden too. We got pumpkins, gourds and dried cornstalks comin' out the wazoo. Looks like Martha Stewart went tastefully berserk all over the front of this  house. You should see it. They even put these little painted pumpkins with fall color plaid ribbons on their stalks 'round the edge of the sub-terranean pit. I don't know if the naked slave girls can appreciate it from their vantage point, but the rest of us think it looks real nice.

Annie's still out bitinng off toes somewhere. The elves and cherubs are off getting into mischief. I don't know if they're gonna actually drain anybody to the point of death tonight. They RARELY do that, but seeing how the bigger life-eaters been acting, who the hell knows. Juveniles are extreemly impressionable. Lemme go ask Edith if she can key in on out two sweetie-pies, Jonathon and Sarah, I mean. We KNOW where Papa is. He's playing hide the salami with a couple Mole girls. That's his favorite game. Loves being immortal. cause it give him more time to hide more salamis.

Edith puts down the cards, some deck that Baylah got her from the Borgata's Poker room. Then she clicks off the TV, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. The house is quiet. I can hear the tick, tick, tick of the tall case clock (grandfather clock) in the living room. The lights are low (we got these really easy to modulate pot lights in the kitchen--- got the idea from Candace Olson on HGTV --- the Red Paint guys put 'em in). She breathing like a fortune teller....... I say - Well?.......She just keeps on breathing and ignores me......Then she makes this little fart (squirms around, so I'd think it was the chair, but I know it wasn't no chair) and starts to talk. (I guess releaseing small poofs of methane is part of the ritual). She says --- Two will die, a man and wife. The second quite deserved her life. (Then a few heartbeats of silence) The killers then ran out to play. Two more will die before the day......... Where is this all happening? - I ask............And she continues - A hall where fat girls go to sing. And near a statue of a king.......................So I go back into the family room and google halls, fat girls, singing, Philadelphia. A few seconds later the screen lights up with a list of Center City opera venues. Then I google statues of kings in Philadelphia and get a list with everything from a life sized Elvis somewhere on South Street (where all the hippies meet) to a bust of M.L.K. up in North Philly. ........... What else is new? Then they'll come home all guilt ridden (like they always do when they don't stick to people sent to them in visions.... true evil doers, I mean), start slamming doors, giving everybody dirty looks, torturing the naked slave girls and making a holy mess. Lucky we got Edith and the Red Paint guys. Thank God foor them. shit, my stomach's starting to hurt again. Where's that vial? Edith reads my brain and takes it out of her sweater pocket. Then she slides it across the polished granite surface. I grab it, pull out the tight, little stopper and chug it down. Then I go all bleary eyed. She starts laughing like the crazy, back woods Piney woman that she is. I give out a little burp and everything's all right. Even my eyesight gets a little better. And I don't know why, but I can remember Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. Oughta sell this crap to S.A.T. kids. Can you imagine what a whole gut full a this stuff is like? Soldiers should take it. They are trying to come up with an artificial version at that secret installation outside Jerusalem. If  you've been with us for a while, you know that.

Then I hear something. Two seconds later Annie comes sublimating in through the kitchen window (we got this real big architectural one), throws a few grungy, bitten off , old people's hammer toes, along with a Flintstones Halloween Coloring Book she boosted, onto the counter, where she proceeds to do a fake tap dance, while she pulls her skirt up over her head.

Such is life in our enchanted universe. I know you wanted to see the vampires kill somebody, especially after what you read last night, but you gotta remember. You gotta understand. We do not control this. And if  you go back to the first lines of the first episode that ever channeled through, you know that.......'cause right there it says ------- FIRST OF ALL WE MUST AGREE THAT WHAT COMES NEXT IS FICTION.........only the right word wasn't agree. It was pretend. So don't blame this on me. OK?

Fantasy is one thing. Reality is something else.
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NITEY-NITE

OVERTURE OF THE DEAD...

Jonathon and Sarah walked out onto the front lawn. It was already dark, naturally, and they habitually dressed in dark colors, so they were quite invisible. True, he can tolerate a bit of deep purple dusk, only it offends his vampiric nature. Darkness is the proper element. Sarah is still too new. She has no feelings one way or the other. But since any type of solar illumination has the potential to kill her, she goes along with her creator.

There's a small stand of evergreens out on the grass, three trees, each approximately twelve to eightteen feet tall. The side closest to the house throws an inky black shadow. Jonathon calls it 'the launch pad.' He steps into the darkness and motions for Sarah to join him. She does and they embrace. Close body contact is pivotal. Yes, she can sublimate on her own, though young vampires often encounter problems. And considering her recent, grievous injury in Jerusalem, who wants to take chances. So they held each other tight. She breathed in the scent of his cologne. What was it? Can't remember. I think it's that stuff Queen Victoria popularized. His 'familiars' pick it up for him at Saks in Center City. Eight hundred  dollars a bottle for that musky, sugary, piss water. But don't go by me. Disembodied spirits  (Zebulon, here) retain such a poor sense of smell. Perhaps it's pure ambrosia, rich with the oils of Shangri-La, or maybe just your grandmother's Jean Nate? What do I know?

Then he screwed up his concentration...held his breath...  squeezed his ass-cheeks together, just like a professional flamenco dancer (well, he MIGHT be Andalucian, after all) and they were off. Those magical, sub-atomic particles peculiar to the vampire race, called Prometheus Sparks (or quarks) began to vibrate. Strong pulses of energy coursed out from his body, engulfing his partner and exciting her fancy particles too. Sarah rather enjoyed that part of it. In less than a heartbeat they were sheathed in a misty invisibility. In two heartbeats they were gone, tearinng off through creation toward the urbane hunting grounds of Philadelphia's Center City. Nine ghost moans later, they were there.

The crowds down on the Avenue of the Arts were thick. Restaurants were full and the air positively crackled with the crisp, weekend charge of well-heeled suburban couples desperate to see and be seen. Our immortal twosome fit right in. Maybe ten or twenty years ago they would have stood out. She does appear to be a little older than him. But society has caught up and now they look just right. So hand in hand they strolled past The Kimmel Center, nodding and smiling to comely faces in the crowd. No rolling, brass oyster cart in any of the over-the-top dining establishments 'round here held such heady treats. What will it be? A cheating gold digger? Maybe an insincere, double-billing, attitude ridden physician? Jonathon loved them. Perhaps an ever so slightly respectable racketeer? That one over there, laughing with the couple exiting the Lexus , killed two people in his youth. Well, tits for tats. (is that how the mortals say it?) Tonight may be his night. Or, this could turn into an all-you-can-eat buffet. Evil doers, innocent, old maid school teachers, rabbis and circus clowns. Depends on their mood. You know the truth about these vampires now. So don't act surprized.

Jonathon knows someone. He has a familiar on staff at The Academy of Music. So they skip up the granite steps, past the still functioning gas street lights, waltz through the heavy glass and bronze doors and dissappear into the bright, crowded lobby. The man sees them. He quickly snakes through the human swamp and comes over. The handsome, stylish, young vampire leans close and whispers something his his ear. They smile and nod. Jonathon squeezes the man's shoulder in approval, as he and Sarah follow the loyal functionary deep into the hidden heart of this  gilt and velvet, one hundred and sixty year old house of mummery. Martin Scorsese used the place when he filmed The Age of Innocence. It is the most complete nineteenth century theatre in the country, with crystal chandeliers rivaling those in the Paris Opera House. But tonight the premises would be haunted by phantoms of another kind.

Fine, ornate, gold-leafed grill work circles each illuninated, glittering fixture. Workers can service these discreetly electrified confections via a tight crawl space running just above the ceiling. Jonathon and his mate occupied a snug, little perch up against the thick, iron hoist anchoring the main chandelier.What a perfect spot. How well suited to the task. They could gaze down at the slightly over heated audience, peering through the roccoco scroll work and make their decision. Who would it be? Who would die, victim to a romance glipsed only in their dreams. The bald man up front? What about Madam Face-Lift three rows back? Such choices. All I can say to these humans is don't go pee by yourself. Forget about exploring this dear old place. Hurry back to your seats and stay out of shadowy passageways, or you just might pee again......And then you'll die.....And then you'll disappear......A victim to The Music of the Night......

Douse the lights! Cue the overture. Let the opera begin..

And to all of you out there in lap-top-land, play something appropriate. Torandot would be nice......Yes, yes, yes, I know Nessun Dorma is a cliche. But it is that for a reason. Sink into its magic. And please come back tomorrow. For then the fun begins......

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LOOKS LIKE 'TOESIE FEVER' COMING BACK..........RSS feed link - http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

The whole atmosphere in the house changed. The juveniles felt it. The elves and cherubs pick up on things like that. They knew. It was like anything can happen now. Not that there weren't episodes similar to this before. But this one felt different. This time the hunger was deeper and even more viceral. I don't know? Maybe it's like those werewolf myths, where they change and go on berserk killing sprees at the time of the full moon? Vampires have lunar cycles too. That, we know. Perhaps the need just builds and builds till it explodes? Maybe Jonathon is just bitter and disillusioned about what transpired in the Holy Land? Yet that doesn't explain Sarah. Let's see what she does tonight. Papa, their twenty eight thousand year old patriarch, in a thirty two or three year old body, had experience with all this. He knows. But he just sits there in his leather club chair staring at the fire and inhaling those aroma candles. Or he goes out and runs to his 'hootchies.' That's what Edith calls them. OK, maybe they ain't hootchies. Maybe they got just a little more class than that, even the ones livinng down in the tunnels. It's just that he has so many. And he loves them. And he bites them. And he strokes them. And he pleasures them. Then he comes home. The Red Paint guys want to ask  him what he knows. I can see it in their eyes. They're not always stoic and quiet. Sometimes they whisper to each other, or to Edith. Sometimes they go out in the back garden after a rain, especially at night. And I see them saying things to the air and the trees and the grass, or a vole maybe. They'll smile and grin. It's like they know each other. And from what I've seen, I think the birch trees are friendlier than the oaks, but that's just my opinion.

Annie's real quiet too. She's planning something. Edith says it's the toe hunger coming back. That's when she silently walks up to the foot of the bed of a sleeping human and cracks through the bones of their feet, biting off a toe or two before she kills them. Then she spits out the little toesies, wraps 'em up in a kleenex, or maybe a lot a kleenexes and takkes 'em home for her collection. It's funny, but those nipped off toes never spontaneously combust like the rest of the body. 'Magic'.....it's just crazy.

The cherubs are dartin' about like flies in a smokehouse. They're gonna do some nasty stuff too. And they hardly ever do. Years go buy, decades they tell me, without a cherub 'kill.' They usually just zip by so fast you can't even see 'em. But then you feel this deep, stinging cut on the side of your neck, or on your face, or on your butt cheek and what do you know. Damn, it's really bleeding. They take a few drops here a wet kiss there and that's how they fill up. Except for the nasty times. Then they get like piranhas. Three or four manic, little cherubs can zip 'round a fat human so fast, whipping out those little tongues. In thirty five seconds (or twenty eight heartbeats, as the vampires say) he's ashes. No blood. Blue flame. Greasy residue. Nothing.

I keep to myself. They know I blog all this. They want me to. There's no real explanation for how they feel, or what they want. They're vampires. Look, we try our best to put a good spin on it, but they kill people. Sure, a lot of the victims deserve it.......but not all of 'em.

Wait till they all get out of here. Wait till it gets quiet. Won't be long. I can hear Jonathon and Sarah getting dressed now. He's slipping on those close fitting pants. She's adjusting the cups of some lacy, expensive, form-fitting brassiere. Fifteen more minutes and it'll be real still around here. Papa will be off playing cowboys and bar girls with his doxies. The other two will go catting 'round Center City. And the 'young ones' will just fly out into the night sky and raise hell. Edith'll sit down in the kitchen, eatting some cookies. Maybe she'll watch the little television over on the counter, do some word-search puzzles, or something. The Red Paint People will disappear. They're humans, but they give me worse creeps that the so called 'dead' ones. Then we can go down to the pit again. Then we can play games with the slave girls.........

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Nitey-Nite.....Don't let the Annie-Gal bite.....

TWO VAMPIRES SNUGGLING INTO EACH OTHER LIKE PUPPIES..........psst! check out the easy to use links down at the end of tonight's episode

Ah, the children of the night are all home once more. Zebulon is happy. My disembodied heart goes pippity pat. I float in and out of their sleeping chambers. Jonathon and Sarah settle into each other like puppies. Two naked golden retrievers. Personally, we prefered whipcord thin Royal Salukis when I was in the flesh. Two of them, we had, Bokar (morning) and Malika (queen). My father and uncles used to take them out into the desert to run down antelopes. Yes...antelopes are clean and pure. We were allowed to eat them. Nothing special, actually. Rather like goat meat. But since I was stoned to death by the time I was thirteen years old, my antelope suppers were few.

I think Jonathon is beginning to relax. It took a few hours, but his dreams are peaceful now. The girl, Sarah, always seems cool and collected to me. But what do I know. Jonathon's true identity eludes me. Is his story true? Is it a lie? Does it matter? I enjoy the flavor of his life, the elves lives too. And that is all that matters.  Work of his homecoming trickles out to the world. The nubile daughters of the Mole People know. So do certain other unusual individuals. The witch, that Edith, spews it out. She works her 'pow-wow' magic. She sings her silent songs. Perhaps you've heard them and never even knew it? How fortuitous that I should condense in a dear old place like Philadelphia., where magic floats like fish fry in the sea. Ah, I know! I'll visit the bear dens! The vampires sometimes sleep with them in the winter. Jonathon loves it. He holes up with the furry giants, snuggling in like an errant cub. And while his foster liter mates take suck the natural way, he draws nourishment through sharp, little bites and nips. Bear blood is so rich. Not as magical as human, yet delightful and earthy in it's own way. The huge, brown, cave bears are the best. Papa taught him that. Or am I wrong? It could be that he always knew it. Papa's only been here for less than a year. In the flesh, I mean. Before that we knew him as the 'spirit' of the 'Shaky Hand Man,' Annie's evil, night time friend.

How will they spend their second night? Killing? Walking? Observing? Torturing? Oh, the parameters of life-eater existence. Sometimes good...Sometimes bad.... Always naughty. Let me dart down into the pit. Zebulon wants  to tickle the bare, frightened slave girls. Do they know me? No. Can they see me? No..... But that does not mean they cannot feel my breath..... You've felt it, especially if you live in Philadelphia.....Come on. You know.....Tickle, tickle in the dark. Like a tiny, itchy spark...... I wander sometimes. I get curious...And I explore....... Call out to me.... I'll hear you.... I'll be there.......What would you expect? Zebulon has the heart  (and other organs) of a thirteen year old after all..... Any attempt at self control is pointless....... Disembodied, yes....... But oh how I remember!

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MIRACLES AND MADNESS...DISAPPOINTMENT AMONG THE NOT QUITE DEAD

I inhabit a world floating within a tiny bubble rising up through the fermanted liquid in a clear, crystal flute of champagne. An isolated moment to you is our ten billion years. But I heard. And I know the truth. So I answered. We too wear shapes such as yours. Our eyes see like yours. Our fingers touch like yours. And our souls feel just as deeply. Listen and allow me to share what I know.

Humans do not evolve. Humanity does. The whole is composed of many parts, each with a God given mandate to fulfill. Some are as sand grains strewn across the shore, meant to hold back the sea and preserve the rest. Others dance like moonbeams, decorating the darkness with wonder and light. While a few are like raindrops, sent from the sky to wash away corruption.

Those among you called vampires, those metamorphic beings, those spiritual changelings are like that rain, erooding creation and transforming it. I know your tale. I know what has transpired. Disembodied spirits fill the void. Souls incarnate everywhere. A lifetime here. A lifetime there. Your saints have cried here too. So I understand.

Jonathon feels lost. The Pilgrimage to Jerusalem did not work. The world (as you know it) is not changed. So he retreats into indulgence. He works his sins and laps up vile food. Look at him remembering other life-threads. Who is he now? Was his story just a lie? wilkravitz thinks so. Yet he is but a tiny grain holding back the sea. Jonathon ben Macabi.......Tomas de Macabe, in medieval Spain. Harry the dustman, or Lucy McGoosey. What does it matter?

Papa knows this. So does the Lady Renate. Though they keep close counsel, disturbing not the others. And Crazy Annie laughs. Our 'eightteen' year old changeling of a thousand years lays restless on his pallet, rejecting the pleasures of his consort, Sarah. And she remembers his actions down in the pit those heartbeats ago and forgives him. For she feels his despair. Jerusalem is lost. Or is it? Lailah is still there. The Chevalier Jean-Michel keeps faithful  guard, as do many other minor functionaries. The three musicians, Dylan, Islam and the ressurrected Lennon, continue spinning songs of peace. And the Dream still goes on. It may take a bit more time and time is an extreemly elastic substance. When you finish reading this, my world will be long gone, consumed by our swollen, microscopic sun, though the words left my brain long before.

The vampires exist to help you grow. Humanity, I mean . The phrase, Not the Shepherd, but the Sheepdog, is true. They are merely a component of the race (I see that your wilkravitz' communicating device is chuckling again. Perhaps he will teach it a lesson and crush it? Perhaps he will replace it with a new cooperative one two months from now when your gift-giving season arrives?) Does the smaller script confound you? I sincerely hope not.

Those you call life-eaters have absorbed a special essence. Some among you know it as the Prometheus Spark. Is it easy to bear? No? Is it necessary? Yes. Look, you could catch it too. Think of it as a social disease. Fatal, but not deadly. For those so burdened hasten not to die.

Ah, the world is so filled with spectacular things

I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
Who wrote that? Certainly not I.

Jonathon will get back on course. You have seen his evil face.....and not just his. Forgive them these transgressions. Wait for them to learn. And then wait again. For it will happen and happen and happen and happen. But so will the miracles. And now please excuse me. I am but a humble coachman. The stable beckons and my horses need their rest....

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