YUM YUM EAT 'EM UP

So there was two of 'em. Ugly noxious life-eaters. Them what got buried with the .night kiss. and had to dig their way out. That's what does it to 'em. Scrambles the brains a bit. Makes 'em all looney. One used to be a woman. The other kind a favors a man, only now you'd never taken 'em for such. Wild animals is what they is. Look at the eyes, all glassy and hot. It's the fresh blood, the drink they got from them two bald headed Jehovah's Witnesses what does it. Disgustin'. Got hair like unrepentant hags. Grandmama Addams had better. Oh, and you can tell a noxious, even when they quiet, even when they sit still and give you that slimy toothy grin. Dried blood caked in the corners of their mouths. Look at the tongues scraping it up. Must be like bacon bites to them.

I think the almost female bitch is winnin'. She wavin' those cards 'round like a drugged up swami or something. He gonna kill her one a these nights, or do whatever it is they do instead a killin'. Take a peek at the crud they got under those nails... and jammed in them wrinkly knuckles too. No noble vampire would ever go 'round like that. Probably sleeps in coffins, they does, or did when they had 'em.She got a taste for the kiddies. He likes a good, hot rum-pot, don't care snot what the plumbing's like.Been foulin' up Creation for two hundred years, they are. Dripped down from somewhere's up north when the trouble started.. Don't know what names they was born with. She goes by Petunia. He answers to Johnny. Bet they was planted in them rags. I sees bugs dancin' up and down them creases...little brown, shiny ones, politely scroungin' for snacks. Maybe they keeps 'em for pets?

Gave the pin head boy a coloring book, plus a little four-pack a crayons they filched from the pocket a their last entree. Used to be a waitress in an Applebee's, she was. Back before the dark time. Brought 'em home for her little boy, a sweet, chubby tot with warm brown curls. Kind you could just eat right up....which they  did, with gusto and relish.

That's why the cherubs hates 'em so much. Ain't been flying 'round lately. Mostly stays close to the cabin. Pathetic lot they are. Remembers the cradle. Remembers the soft, warm swaddling. The devoted mama. The pleased as punch papa. And the red eyed night fiends what did it to them. So they flies out, tastin' the air like sad spaniel puppies.

One a them sees the opening. Picks up a bit a grave stench too. Gurgles something to the other. Three heartbeats later they tumble down (cherubs can be sloppy fliers at times) and silently toddle into the old mine. Then they get down on all fours and begin to crawl.....two vampire cuties bundled up in them cute, little outfits Edith and Baylah knit for 'em.

Petunia pulls her flabby self up off the stool and waddles over to the pin head. Oh, he's real scared. You can see it. But he pretends not to notice. Acts like he's concentrating on what color Astro should be. She smacks her ass down next to him and shifts it around tryin' to find a comfy spot on all them bones. He inches over toward a lumpy wall. She does too. He exhales and shudders. Might a peed a little too, but just a little. She smiles and strokes his pin head hair. Must a learned her act from a spider, 'cause she does it so good. Then she lifts up his leg and hefts it, like she's tryin' to estimate how many pounds it is. He just lowers his head the way little boys do,  resting his chin upon his chest. The virago vampire woman hums a little ditty, as she rolls up the corduroy pant leg, exposing the helpless, white flesh. Then she leans down and kisses it.

Pin Head Mel begins to cry...not a lot....not so you could hear ....but a few salty tears run down his cheeks, dripping onto his carefully laundered, long sleeved cotton tee-shirt. His mama loves him and even in these trying times, she wants him to look nice.

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please hit the SHARE button down below. help our story live. kindly leave a comment. I'd appreciate it very much. an opportunity to slap your link up somewheres is a terrible thing to waste. and scroll down. visit the fishies. give 'em a few 'clicks' (feeds 'em). watch 'em swim around. they'd be so grateful.

SPACE COWBOYS SITTIN' ON NEW FANGLED PEGASUS'

No warning. I know that the wilkravitz sometimes tells you to wait for a post in say 90 minutes or seventy five minutes, but not tonight. Zebulon has been flickering through the Akoshic Records and he has found , or remembered things you should know. Many of the vampires are privy to this information due to their long lives and other such advantages.Now... you will be too.

What I will tell you this time comes from a place where our story and curiosities of the future intersect.You' re already seeing bits and pieces of this eternal fandango every night. Some have said those events transpire in another place, another universe. Well... are you so sure of YOUR location? How  do you really know where you are?. Individuals drift, you know. There, I said it. Now you heard it. Look around at the people snortin' and belchin' near you. True, they may have been there last night. But are the details the same? Maybe the flavor of the ice cream in the freezer is a bit unusual, or the dog has a different collar. Do you detect a slightly more exotic variety of B.O. wafting through the family room?  Perhaps you've drifted. Maybe you'e slipped through the space-time continuim. Could be you popped up in another universe. Odds are it's gonna be essentially just like the one you left.But maybe in this one you DO become a successful businessman, or who knows, an eight hundred foot tsunami rearing up off the Outer Banks one summer day might slap you like a gnat.  Quantum theorists believe in such things.. We're  like static in the atmosphere. sometimes God tunes us in. And sometimes He don't.

Now, I'm gonna learn you about stuff on Mars. They already got a town going up there. You regular people know that. What's it called? Wait a minute. I know. Circus Towne 1. That's it. They call it Circus Towne1. But that stellar community mostly occupies one building. Sure it's a big building. A basketball/hockey arena, I think it was. Only some folks are making it out.  They are sayin' sy-o-nara sucker off that locked in a Faberge egg world you call home. A few ships broke though the Sky Sea.. They had the speed. They doused the engines and just barreled through. I don't know how deep it is. A lot of people figure it goes on for maybe a few thousand feet.. A top of the line ion-turbo-drive ship like they use now could zip through that in no  time. I can't say who organized it. Of course all the government fat asses got golden tickets. But so did a lot a rich folks. Now look, I'm not talkin' 'bout a Lexus and a condo in Lauderdale rich. I'm talking about people who hold the leash on jumped-up creeps like that.... Billionaires, I mean. Guys who share urologists with Warren Buffet. And not just them, but their Chatsworth Osbourne Junior bastard offspring  too.

So according to what it says here, they're out on Mars, living like high-tone cattle barons in old Virginia City. They got all the supplies. They got all the juiciest commodities. You need insulin? You wanna live? Or better yet, do you want your kid to live? Then pay up in goods, or currency, or services. Even the government plays ball with 'em. Remember them old movies? Remember Silverado? Remember that one with Sharon Stone and that Crazy Harry guy? Well, Ponderosa times is back again. Hell, they even raisin' horses. Now geneticists do think it's possible to put wings on 'em ( the horses, not them Chatsworth Osbourne Junior bastids), but that's just in the planning stage. Right now, them what can afford to are cruisin' 'round in fiberglass kit versions of 1964 Pomtiac GTO's. Pressure suits  kind a defeat the whole convertible vibe. But they workin' on terraforming the place. That's when I figure they'll be ready with them flyin' horses and all. Got some spiffy subterranean houses gone up on Scaparelli Drive. Palm trees ain't real, but they sure do look nice.

Shit, I gotta go. That hatchet faced, giant, all-most-a-goddess fat lady they got at the front desk says my time is up. Some other son-of-a-bitch disembodied spirit is waiting for a turn to browse through  Records. I am sick of it! When them Akoshic sons-a-bitches gonna get some more research stations 'round here!?  Look at that bastid... reading all about Natalie Wood.. Like  to flush his head down a real bad black hole and give his mouth a shit bath. That's where we do our business up here (when we want to, 'cause with passed-away-folks deficatin' is not mandatory). In black holes, I mean. And I  find the black holes at Stucky's for Dead Folks to be the best.

So now you know. Soylent Green is people and black holes is toilets. Don't ask me about no pulsars, 'cause that is just gonna make you  sick.

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CHUBBY LITTLE BOYS GO 'WHEEEE!' ALL THE WAY DOWN MINE SHAFTS ALL THE TIME

Used to be a lot a iron foundries scattered through the Jersey Pines. I'm talkin' 'bout a hundred and fifty years ago. In them days folks'd grab chunks a metal outta the streams, or dig 'em up like wicked, hard taters or something. Kinda like the California Gold Rush, 'cept nobody invented Levi's, or did anything real glamorous like that. And when they all left (guess they hopped a train to Atlantic City, maybe), the forest got up off its big fat ass and just came back. Now, ain't nobody can see any iron foundries. Yeah, they got a ghost town or two all done up for day trippers, but most day trippers got other priorities now that we all locked into a watery shell. But you still gotta be careful . Dead, old mines like to hide out there. Chubby, little careless boys go WHEEEE, all the way down  bone crushin' mine shafts all the time. Local paper used to list 'em. Kept records and everything.. Gave a prize to the lucky subscriber who came closest to prognasticatin' how many chubby boys'd go WHEEEE, all the way down to a reasonable facsimile of hell. One year my grandma won two fresh-killed turkeys. 'Cept one was only mostly dead when she got it and it shit all over the rug 'fore she could kill it a little better. She asked the paper for money so she could buy a new rug. Sears had  nice oval ones for two dollars and ninety eight cents. But the wife a the man who ran the paper told her to go to hell and drop dead, which she subsequently did, although not necessarily in that order. So we just made do and learned to live with the stains. Reminded us a how lucky she was that week.

Well, anyway, that's where Pin Head Mel is. That boy got hisself flushed down to the bottom of a cold, damp mine shaft. Not that it was completely his fault. He was just runnin' 'round, bouncin' off tree trunks, gettin' pine needles in his eyes (which is a common occurrence, now that it's never light or nothing.) when two, nasty, slobberin' vampires ketched him. Not the good ones. Not the 'nobles.' These are the bad ones, the 'noxious' ones. Kinda like zombies, only they don't stagger 'round like drunks so much and they pants ain't all peed in, 'cause like vampires, you know, don't piss or nothing. Guy up in Ocean County says they have been known to fart once in a while,  but I don't know...

So now that sweet, little, weird, old Piney boy is sittin' on a mess a molderin' hoomin bones (lotsa folks done fell down that one), whimperin' for his mama and singin' Happy Birthday over and over and over again. (it's the only song he knowed all the way from beginning to end.). And them 'noxious' bastids just sit there playin' canasta by the light of a Dora The Explorer battery powered campin' lamp.(it got a real pretty shade. makes them bones look all pink and homey-like). Oh, they do mean to drink him all up, 'cept they just finished vampiring two bald headed Jehovah's Witnesses, so they savin' him for later. You know, the way real people would do like with Velveeta cheese or Ritz crackers?

It's pathetic watchin' that jug-headed, l'il honey-bunch sittin' there rockin' and singin' and all. Genuine hoomins woulda gone crazy by now, but vampires seem to have the ability to ignore such things. Wish I'd a been like that, 'stead a lettin' my husband's bonafide f#*kface grandmother shove one too many heart-attacks down my throat. That little bedbug, Popeye the Sailor woman kept pickin' and pickin' and pickin'....... Why I ain't got no fancy titties?... Her granbaby like fancy titties, don't you know....  Why I make cornflakes like a real dope?... Don't even know how to pour out cornflakes... Why I ain't got purdy hair like Judge Judy?......Why my left arm pit smell like Doritos?.... How the hell am I supposed to know scientific shit like that!? I ain't never graduated from no Girl Scouts!......... I am just a jittery, newly dead, disembodied spirit what got buried in a old house dress, without no cigarettes. And if you  all want a find out what them scabby-teethed suckers gonna do to that poor, little singin'-boy, you better zip it and go hide your lumpy heads up vacant asses, where they belong!!

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good links is two posts back. please press down on that SHARE button they got runnin' 'round down there. thank you....signed, the management.

PIN HEAD MEL STILL MISSIN' and more NEWS FROM THE JERSEY PINES

Pin Head Mel is missing. People are out looking for him now. The elves are flying around trying to pick up his scent. That shouldn't be too difficult, since he's been living on old tubes of Hickory Farms beef-liver pate and store brand peanut butter. We're all on stuff like that. Food is scarce in the dark. But I already told you that.

It's me, wilkravitz. No... wait, wait, wait...that's my twitter name. My flesh and blood one is Billy Kravitz. And I'm still stuck here in this parallel universe. You know nine percent of the male population in  North America is named 'Billy.' And Gladys Kravitz' husband, Abner, was a retired cantor. Now, why did I say that? I think the fever is making me delirious. I'm sweating and shivering too. Edith says it'll pass. But her husband, Mr. Edith ain't so sure. Says I may not be used to all the 'bugs' they got in this place, like Tijuana Poo Poo, or Ga-Ga-Fritzie disease. Can't even get shots, 'cause lotsa docs grabbed what they could outta hospital pharmacies before running away to hide with their families. The Red Paint people have some herbal remedies. I'm on one now. Tastes like rancid garlic and Fluffer-Nutter. Could use a little more rancid garlic, if you ask me.

A lot a folks are scared Pin Head Mel got caught by a band a 'noxious' vampires. The cherubs been crying lately... too scared to fly around. They sense something. It's pathetic. They're so scared. Edith and the other women hold 'em and rock 'em and sing to 'em.We all got itchy,little bites from 'em. The elves and cherubs, I mean. Nobody minds, 'cause they don't take much blood... just little nips. You should hear 'em gurgle with delight when they get some.. It makes me feel good. The only adult vampire, a 'noble' one, I mean, we got with us is Baylah. She slinks off into the dark once in a while, hunting for 'food.' But the noble ones are all right. They just go after weird perverts and evil shitheads and stuff.. So far she ain't complaining. I guess the Jersey Pine Barrens got an adequate supply.

Baylah picks up like little mental tweets from Blackie and Minnie back in Philadelphia. It's worse in the cities. People got guns. People got pepper spray. Gangs roam the inky blackness armed with big, super-sized cans a Aqua Net and Bic lighters. All you gotta do is ignite a spritz and you got a cheap, but serviceable flame thrower. Who knew they carried such cutting edge military equipment at the dollar store?

Mr. Edith picked up a story on the radio. Government's gonna send a few a the gung-ho vampires they been keeping in the Pentagon on a mission. Look, that ain't no secret anymore. Everybody knows about vampires now. At least in THIS dimension they do. I don't know how it is in my real dimension, 'cause I can't tell when we branched off. Happy-the-Clown could be running for President of the United States  there right now, for all I know. But the  guy on the radio says they want to send some a the vampires with good 'sublimation' skills on a mission. Want 'em to fly up outta the atmosphere and explore the Great Sky Sea we got surrounding us. I don't know what the hell they can do about it.

The people they got out on Mars, the ones in Circus Towne1 sent back pictures. They got 'em just before the sky lakes expanded and merged into the Great Sky Sea. But nobody likes to look at them, 'cause it's too scary.

Them what knows says it's gonna get even colder. Earth's givin' up its last little bit a solar radiation. It rises up into space, warming the waters of our briny shell. Then it goes wanderin' off into the cosmos. But we can't get no more warmth from the sun. Oh, the sun sends it, alright, but it just bounces off them shining sky waves and goes poof.  Might as well just flush it down a giant toilet.

Earth must look real pretty from somewhere's else right now. Must look like a real big, glittery mirror. Bet it even outshines Venus. You will have to excuse me, but I gotta stop typing this. Them elves is pesterin' me to play Yatzee with 'em. No sign a Pin Head Mel, so they called off the search til 'morning.'...... God knows when that'll be....

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please look at the links we put up after last night's post. if you want us to put your link up here (when our browser will let us) just leave a a comment. but I think THEN it sort of goes up automatically anyway.. kindly click on the SHARE BUTTON down below, if it is not too much trouble. thank you.

ZEBULON'S SLEEPY POEM.....

This is the state of humanity in the realm of which I speak. Untold legions of them crawl about on the orb known as Earth. Thousands congregate on the world known as Dagan. Excuse me. I use the ancient Semetic name for the God of War. You probably call him Ares, or Mars. Mars, yes...Mars....That's it. And a similar number hovers about the big honey colored one with the round, flat diadem. Cronos? Chronos? No, not chronus...Saturn...Yes, Saturn... Saturn-Saturn-Saturn... I have to remember that name. It's just that we who have incarnated in past ages are so intrigued by the vast, glittering arc they call home. How did you construct such a dazzling conveyance? Which jinn did you bribe? Is it true that your imperial necromancers brought forth such a thing on their own? Ah, such wonders. But you must remember that I am Zebulon, none but the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old Judean boy. Your 'creation' is much bigger than ours. The Pillars of Samson (known to  you by that pagan stand-in, Hercules) marked the end of my world. True, the Phonecian fleet, under ageis of The Great Steward of God's Throne (King Solomon to you) touched the Tin Isles (Britian) and kissed lands far to the south of Punt (Sheba), but they were just exceptions to the rule. And now you like in a cosmos devoid of rules.

But know that I have seen realms aplenty. Ten to your 'north' and six to your 'south.' The one with all the problems spoons close to you. It is the first one to the 'north.' Your cauldron stirrers call them parallel universes. Yet the pox afflicting them is contagious. Beware. Protect yourself. Light fires. Burn incense. Sacrifice virgins, if such is still your custom. Zebulon knows so little of unbelievers.

Yet these people from 'first to the north' show promise. Perhaps they can best this pestilence. Or perhaps it is not truly a pestilence at all. Permitt me to share what I know about that other Holy City...that other Jerusalem..... a mirror image to yours in oh, so many ways.....

Lailah came back from the Sky Princes. Her father found her asleep in her bed. The shock almost killed him. But he is used to miracles, or the possibility of miracles, so he managed to survive. Three hundred heartbeats later, after replacing his pissed up garments with clean ones, he knelt by her pallet, listening to her tell of the sojourn in the sky.

Now he is a man of what you term the Twenty First Century. He's seen copies of The National Geographic. He has tasted the gastronomic wonders of limitless buffets. Fried calamari is as naught to him. Jiggling cubes of 'Jello' are but toys. Yet this recollection astounded him. And he ran his fingers in amongst her teeth, searching for the lethal fangs. For he knew that his daughter was a life-eater, though he'd hoped the affliction might have passed.

The cat-like eye teeth were still there. He slumped down onto the cold, tile floor in disappointment.

And outside the night that was not night, or the day that never dawned, went on, as the spiritual navel of Creation endured under a dull, dead, green-black sky. Food was hard to get. Theives scooped up every crumb. All the lambs were slaughtered. Now the kids were next. (please do not be confused. I speak of little goatkins and not the rude, young, humans you so readily breed). Corn and millet and rye had long since been baked into cakes and devoured. Most lived on cans of soup...Dinty Moore Beef Stew.... and cellophane wrapped tendons of Beef Jerky. Those fellow Proclaimers of God's Unity, whether Jew or Muslim were sorely afflicted, for a 'Righteous, Clean' diet proved almost non-existent. But good shoots sometimes spring from moldy seeds. And the two 'brothers,' the two Son's of Abraham (whether figuratively or literally... humans are such whores {Ooh! I said it!}who can possibly know such a thing?) helped each other. Foodstuffs were shared. Prayers said in common. And help went both ways. At first few noticed. But after a time...they did......

And the luminous relic, resting down in the cellar, began to resonate. Maybe there would be a worthy 'final act' before the end? But the play is not yet done. The 'noxious' life-eaters have yet to speak. Pray their scenes are short.

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maybe a few prayers might help these links? you know the problems we've been having with them.
http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com/  (gadzooks! it worked!) http://www.getfanged.com/  .. http://caballoblue.com/  .. http://theworldwideweber.com/  .. http://generationwhynot-stupidgirl.blogspot.com/  ..  http://billoberst.com/  .. http://www.tearsofcrimson.com/ ..... I KNOW there are many more, but I cannot recall them. Please understand. tweet me. Remind me. I will put them up tomorrow.

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A STRANGER IN A STRANGELY FAMILIAR PLACE

Estoy un poco enferma. Me duele la cabeza. Perdona me pero a veces no recuerdo ingles, solomente espanol y yo no se porque. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. It's coming back. My mind is beginning to clear. I am not typing this from my usual place in OUR universe. Something has happened. I am OVER THERE now. The information I have been channeling is absolutely real. It comes from a parallel universe almost exactly like ours, except for the part about the soulless, frequency-entities out to destroy it (Earth, I mean.

The Pine Barrens here are exactly the same as the Pine Barrens at home. In fact, I AM HOME. This Jersey is our Jersey. Sure, some of the details are a teensy bit different. Over here, the planet is encased in a storm-tossed, concentric salt water shell hovering two hundred miles over head. We still have clouds. We still have air. Planes take off and fly to exotic destinations, all within a dark, green, liquid wrapping.

I mean I would channel this and type it up for world-wide consumption, but I never actually visualized it before. I want to go back. I do. I really do. But I'm scared. Doctor Franklin is the only one who can help me. Some of the other Anti-Enchantment-Bureau guys (female guys too) might be able to do something, only none of them are here. They took off for Mars in one of the new ion-turbo-drive ships they've recently developed.

The REAL Edith seems pretty nice though. That's who I'm staying with. And the cabin in the pines is not like I imagined. It's much nicer, like a scaled down Pocono retreat. We got a fire going. There's always a fire going. 'A' because it's the primary source of heat and 'B' because it's always dark now. Sunlight doesn't penetrate down through the watery shell. Scientists 'here' say that means the 'sky-sea' is at least six hundred feet deep. A few think it might be more than two thousand. Trees are still OK, at least in our part of the world. That's because it's almost winter here. The leaves are gone. Photosynthesis has stopped for the year. But other vital forms of plant life are dying. Sea plankton (from the real sea) is disappearing, so say good bye to the food chain. And the Southern Hemisphere can't grow anything at all. The news says some small scale cultivation is being attempted in large green houses equipped with row after row of ultra-violet 'grow' lights. Some people are doing the same thing here. The only problem is a tomato will cost more than a new brassiere.

It's scary out in the woods too. Bobcats are all around, big ones. Mr. Edith (her husband) says some of them might be lynx's. And the Jersey Devil population is getting a little berserk too. They run through the pines screamin' and screamin' . None of the 'elves and cherubs' like it. They're afraid to go out. Not that the equine monsters could do anything to them, what with their being vampires and all. But they're juvenile vampires and some of them are prone to bad dreams.

Let me tell you, it is PITCH BLACK outside. People burn wood for heat AND light. Candles are getting scarce too. Baylah, the Beyonce look-a-like vampire (I'm glad I was able to actually meet her), roams the pines searching for abandoned bee hives. She brings back the wax. Edith and the other Piney women know how to make it into candles. The Red Paint guys been trading root vegetables (they're big on preserving root vegetables) for batteries and stuff with people at the Fort Dix PX. I guess pickled carrots and turnips must  taste good, or something.

Nobody can make it out to Mars anymore. The ships can't pass through the sky-sea. It drowns the engines. They say one or two of the big ones got through. Radio guy said they cut power prior to 'submerging' and floored it once they got out. Inertia's what did it. A few want to try it again, but people are scared. They have to orbit just below the sky-sea line a couple dozen times to build up enough speed to bust out. And it's not like the fumes can just drift out into space. We are locked in a giant basement down here. Roaches seem to like it. They must be having permanent orgies, or something, 'cause you see 'em (well actually crunch or touch 'em) everywhere. They tell me the worst part is when they tickle your legs just as you're trying to fall asleep. A biologist on the internet (and for some reason, we only get that maybe an hour or two a 'day.') says we'll be eating them soon. Hey, they buy fried grasshoppers on the street in Mexico, so?

I guess Blackie and Minnie are still prowling 'round across the river, over in Philly. God, it's hard to believe they're real. Channeling is one thing. Feeling and seeing is something else.

I asked about my parallel universe duplicate over here. The Red Paint guys laughed. They know everything. One of their women (who looks just like famed alpine skier Peekaboo Street) told me that will never happen, 'cause I'm 'occupying his reality.'  I wonder if that means he's over there safe in my world?

Tonight we ate crayfish from this little stream they got, so I guess maybe next week it'll be time to move on to  roaches. I mean how different can they taste?

I like Pin Head Mel though. He's nice. He's a good soul. All this darkness doesn't bother him. He likes running through the inky woods. But before, when we were playing Yatzee, he told me he smells things, crazy things. I asked him what it smelled like. He said like the elves, but 'dirty... real dirty.' Baylah says we should be on the look out for 'noxious' vampires. She's a 'noble' like Jonathon and Sarah and all the others. But she knows....... she knows. Edith says they're already in the Poconos. I mean, she got the pow-wow in her and she just feels things like that..

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gonna try making a new link collection. hope it works. I figure maybe things'll be different in this universe. I know I'll forget somebody, but consider this an experiment. if you want your link here, just leave a comment. imagine...commenting in a parallel universe. sure it's a close-by one, but still. please click on the SHARE button.

http://vampirewonderland.blogspot.com (that's me) http://CaballoBlue.com .....I don't think it's working. the magic must be too strong. but you just comment. that should still work.....

LAILAH HAS AN ENCOUNTER

Now Lailah, the fifteen year old daughter of the pious Armenian cleric had been in the presence of the sound beings for a certain period of time. Don't ask me how long. Things are not finite in the universe. Existence itself depends on fluctuation and change. But she felt things and she saw things. Were the sights she viewed really there? I told you. What difference does that make. It was her reality. It was her truth. And in no way less valid than any other.

She saw a radiance, a nebulous globe, spinning first one way and then another, it's axis constantly changing. Tiny points of light swarmed 'round the luminous orb. And she knew that she was one of them. Upon approaching, she felt a heat that was not heat, but rather an all encompassing peace. Music eminated out from an indistinct surface. At least it was music to her. Now the orb was like a mountain and she but a little goat. Moments later, it enveloped her and the music stopped. She floated in the midst of utter emptiness. No light. No sound. No air. The space seemed infinite. Lailah wanted to scream, but she was to. Quiet, she must be quiet, like a mouse in the midst of a cavernous house. And she existed like that for thirty five human heartbeats.

Then a needle, an unbelievably thin needle came down from a region  far above her head. Another approached from an unspeakable distance away, tracing a line right toward her navel. Four heartbeats later, they intersected deep within the core of her being. And she felt nothing, as both were wrought from light. An instant later, identical shafts pierced her from every possible angle, till the interior of the void was ablaze in omni-colored prismatic illumination. Then she heard a sound, like the thick, felt warmth of an old, victrola turntable, spinning and spining forever. It lulled her, or the 'her' that existed within that space,  to sleep. And she knew when she awoke, she'd be safe.

Her father went into a small cellar chamber. The Old City had many of those. He quietly locked the thick cedar door, with a rough, black, iron key dating back to the time of Saladin. Then he approached a table, more a solid stone platform, and kneeled before it, fighting the arthritis all the way. An object occupied the center of the platform, it's contours hidden by an old velvet cloth. He reached out, intent on removing the covering, but reconsidered. Then he leaned forward, hugged it in his arms and laid his head  down upon it. A moment later he began to hum...just some old Armenian folk songs from the mountains near Lake Van. Tears ran down from his eyes. And when they hit the fabric, they smoked and sizzled for an instant, before solidifying into tiny puddles of gold.

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thank you for reading this. please click on the SHARE button, so others might know our tale. scroll down to the bottom of these postings and relax at our beautiful koi pond. 'click' in some pellets. feed the fish and watch them swim about...... some useful links rest at the bottom of  out 11/17/11 post.














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