These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Native Magic

In the middle of Barsoom lies an oasis, a cool, fresh, greensward known as Jules Verne Memorial Park.  It has a picture book woodland, a clear, bright stream, called the Sambation and a lush, verdant meadow called The Plains of Sharon.


Tiny creatures, brought from Earth, wriggle through the sylvan night. Flying squirrels glide through the shadows. Cunning, dowager spiders weave webs. And specially designed, nocturnal turtledoves sing of steadfast love.


Eleven strange sky-ponies circled o're this rarefied spot, carefully choosing the proper place to alight.  And after a time, each one came down to silently find purchase upon the ground. I do not know if mechanical devices (of which the Troopers have many) saw them as they flew. In all probability they are able to do so. But this night and the events therein, were very far from probable.


Bart slid off first. Then he and the ranch hands went 'round to help the others. Although never stated, each soul sensed the importance of discretion and no one spoke.  After perhaps ten score heartbeats they assembled in a small circle under the starry sky. 


The strange sky-ponies stood 'round for maybe three dozen heartbeats more, until one-by-one, they slowly dissolved and merged with the late-night mist. Little Davey waved good-bye, as the last one nickered softly.


India mouthed a prayer. Miss Sissie did too. The ranch hands and their women said countless 'amen's.' 


But Miss Monica knew who the sky-ponies were. She knew that and other things too. And she whispered the secret to her daughter - They were the 'elders,' the Tuva-Tuva elders. The same ones who welcomed us into the jadeite cave......... And then she told no one else. 


Now Bart was a spiritual cynic. But practical, none the less. A ride was a ride, no matter how fortuitous. And miracles in the dark, although unexplained, could still be welcome gifts. So he gathered the little band together and led them along a narrow path toward the sounds of traffic not so far away.


Upon reaching the Ring Road surrounding the park, they shunned the androids and their rickshaws and set off, on foot, for 'the secret hide-away' (a jewel-box townhouse unknown to the press), there to rejoin their kin.


Zebulon almost died when he saw them in the hall....


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SCREW THOSE MARTIAN COWBOYS! I AM TALKING NOW!

You know my name. I am Jonathon ben Macabi. And Although My story has not been smeared all over your after school television for seventh grade female children to shriek over, certain tit-bits of my 'life' have been illuminated via this blog. 


So you know of my 'family.' and you know of my predilection for fine, trim, black, leather bootkins. You know of my dark room deep beneath the cellars of the GlenGary house in Chestnut Hill,  plus assorted other jewel-box hide-aways scattered about the ancient districts of Philadelphia.


I know. I know. I know... Those cowboy, Martian bastards occupy the space right now. Yet what is Mars to one like me who's walked the moons of Saturn?...........Why am I doing this unseemly thing? Why am I speaking out of turn?..........Well, let me catch my breath and I will tell you.


Approximately fourteen hundred heartbeats ago, I witnessed a shameful burlesque of the Life-Eater existence upon my magic-calling-card........ I know. I know. I know. you call it by another name...An 'I-phone.' An 'I-Phone.' ....Two syllables. I know! I know! I have it. I got it. NOW SHUT UP!!


At times I awaken during my diurnal nap. In the past, I'd lay there contemplating ancient wrongs and visualizing exquisite forms of lethal retribution. But even enjoyable hobbies like that eventually grow boring. Edith, my 'familiar' recognizes this and brings me toys to wile away the hours. The latest is that I-Phone. ...... I use it to watch your idiotic spectacles and entertainments. ...My favorite is the one hosted by an immortal, aged, vampire woman.  'Barbra' I think the vampirina calls herself And she has a trained panel of human, barking seals who spout out ridiculous opinions on cue. 


But that's not why I am here. the Ellen woman ( I do not think her manic display even comes with a name) showed a 'clip' from an up-coming magic-lantern narrative, entitled DARK SHADOWS, ostensibly detailing the 'life' of a buffoonishly typical, penny dreadful blood-drinker called Barnabas Collins.... 'Barnabas Collins' indeed...No better than a threadbare clark from Dickens.


Do not be fooled by this simple and childish, facile rendering.....El Mundo Vampirismo is much more complex.  And I, who have faced the Fire Pits of Marseilles will teach you.


Yet I must endure the tortuous yodels coming from Mars. ....... Let the cowboys have their say. Let the 'troopers' speak.  Their tale will end. I SHALL RETURN and we will taste the warm, spring night together....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Alec's Two

And then it ended. The still, impassive Tuva-Tuva elders silently rose to their feet and filed out of that place. The old Poo-Poo woman nodded to each one, as they left. Moments later, the men, women and children of the Texaco party began to awaken. And Miss Monica came out of the smaller room, followed by the orange skinned prince. That was it. The deed was done. She carried within her the beginning of a line destined to make Mars a true human home. Please know, I speak of the more recent 'Earth' humans. She was the font and her offspring would inherit this world.


No one said much.  Mister Hobart helped Miss Sissie get up. Their daughter-in-law, India joined them. Little Davey went to stand by his pop-pop (Bart). Alec's two went to their mother. She embraced them both. And the ranch hands and their women got up too. 


One of the bob-cats purred, as she rubbed up against the guests. The Poo-Poo woman passed 'round a flask, made of finely worked, native Martian copper. Obviously a Tuva-Tuva antique. She motioned for them to drink. Bart went first. After he was satisfied it was safe, he passed it off to the others, even the children.  The Poo-Poo woman smiled, raised her hands and blessed them. Then she gave old, copper wristlets to Monica's children. There appeared to be some significance to the gesture. But no one knew what it meant. Though I can tell you. I'm the voice a the lonesome pines. I know everything... or almost everything.


Alec's two would be half siblings to the new one. Guardians and protectors to Monica's third child. It's odd. They all knew, on some level, what had happened. But no  one spoke about it. And the orange prince was gone. 


Bart turned to face the old Tuva-Tuva woman and said - Thank you for giving us shelter........ She nodded and smiled. The Earth humans nodded back...... Miss Sissie said - But, what happens now?..... The orange skinned woman from an older human line said - Please, follow me....... And she led them back through the smooth, jadeite chambers to the russet plains beyond.  A little way off stood 'bout a dozen sky-ponies, whether from La Polvarosa, or some other ranch was hard to say. Each wore a specially tooled harness made to accommodate the long, strong wings.  The orange skinned woman showed Zeke and Buster (the two ranch hands) how to lay low upon the horses' backs and hook their legs and arms into the straps, insuring a safe ride.  Bart helped the others do the same. Miss Sissie was scared, but he kissed her and told her she'd be all right. The kids took to it right away. Alec's two had been 'up' already. And Little Davey was more than eager for the adventure. 


They could see a small Chinese outpost a few miles off to the left. But that wouldn't matter. Chinese soldiers don't mess with sky-ponies. They're too professional for that. Since the Trooper-folk would be riding down real low, they'd be pretty much invisible anyway. 


'Bout two minutes later they were off. Zeke's horse flew 'point'. The rest fanned out to the sides... a big, ole 'V' cutting through the yellow Martian dawn, headin' straight for the city of Barsoom. Eleven frightened humans, strapped to the backs of pegasi reborn. Hearts poundin'. Hooves flashin'. Manes flyin'. Just another morn, high over the fabled plains  a Mars.


Wonder what Zeb gonna do when they touch down?....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... But not tonight

Tonight I must rest. If you are familiar with this site, you know I've only done that a handful of times. Few others post as much.


But this night is not like other nights. If you like, please leave a lengthy COMMENT. Tell us about yourself. Spin your own tale. Make it like a guest blog. PROMOTE your own sites. Step into the candlelight and speak that we might hear. Or wander through past arcs. GOOGLE THE LITTLE MATCH BOY by Billy Kravitz. That's a good one. 


And here's another site you'll enjoy..... http://www.caballoblue.com/ ....... Go ahead. Take a chance. Explore.


I'll be back..........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Fast Shots

Cannot forward much material tonight. Something wrong with the etherial passage connecting my parallel universe to yours. Think the phenomenon is primarily a localized event, due to all the atomic and sub-atomic discharges produced by ships and weapons maneuvering for position in the skies above the Martian capital city of Barsoom.


Citizens seek shelter in underground subway system. But unlike yours, ours rely on magna-lift technology. Mars based cannon-like projectile launchers provide cover for The Martian- America flagship, The Twenty First Century. Of course we know it's the twenty second century (here, at least), but the line began then, so they use the name.


And deep within a hidden laboratory Stinker Jones henchman study an embryo. It's a clone. But not just any clone. These cells come from Alec Texaco's nose. The only viable part of him to be recovered after a brutal 'hit.'......


So Miss Monica's husband 'survives.' Granted, if she gets him back it'll be as a wailin' little sucker. And she might not be so interested in takin' up wit' a romantic partner so much her junior. But his mama gonna want him. Miss Sissie miss that boy real bad. She do anything a have him back. She pay a whole lot a money.


Stinker not 'sactly sure how he gonna use what he got in that l'il pyrex dish, but he know he gonna use it. That is if they ever get rid a them Chinese goomers. Miz Stinker learnin' herself a eat wit' chopsticks. But it mighty hard pickin' up sauce-slathered barbecue wit' them delicate, little implements. So she just jab 'em in, like a big, ole toothpick and gnaw away. Only it purt near impossible a balance it that way. That why her pants is so dirty.


And then we got that ORANGE SKINNED BOY. Big sucker too. Got hisself a mighty handsome physicality, in an exotic kind a way. That who Miss Monica been holed up ('scuse my 'spresion) wit'. And I hear he the Tuva-Tuva pregnancy-makin' champeen a the world. You know, bein' 'the voice a the lonesome pines,' I hear lot a stuff. She seem a like him too. Big, ole Poo-Poo woman get herself out a her seat. She sneak over an' take a peek. She laugh. She giggle. False teeth fall out, but she scoop 'em up and put 'em back real fas'. Nobody see. She vane that way.


Hope that flagship get through. Hope them North American/Muscovite bastids do sumpin'.


I do not want a have to learn how to channel my thoughts in Chinese......


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Found Sheep

Miss Sissie was the first to awaken. She sat right up and saw a man with copper luster lead Monica through the door. The others all still slumbered upon the jadeite floor. But she looked to another and she said - Now, won't you tell me more. 


The woman cracked a smile. She pointed to the sky that stretched beyond the mountains and she said - It's time for us to fly. 


She offered Sissie her hand. The woman took it. They walked back through the rock and stood beneath the stars. The orange female spoke. Her words were clear and strong. --- It's time for us to write The Book of Mars. We share a special place. But then, you know that. Excuse the simple way I phrase these things. But words can often give a people wings. 


And Miss Sissie did not understand the way the woman spoke, but she was trying.  She whispered foreign words. They sound like crying. She told of long gone days when time was plenty. They danced upon the plains and drank from fresh clear springs, the children of an unknown race, set down upon a place beyond the sun-ward sky, out in the darkness.


Who knows why? Is that important? The thing is we won't die and you won't too . For I know all the Words of Poo (she was a Big Poo-Poo woman, after all). 


And the man with the copper luster, took the 'widow' for his bride, deep within the place Where Secrets Hide. 


The orange woman said - The sun will shine for you, through children he will give you with the magic to survive, so both of 'us' can keep this world alive.


While far above the russet land, bright pinpoints streaked across the sky. Some bee-bops. Some destroyers too. And drones that do what hornets do, persuading 'other' people how to die.


 Miss Sissie whispered - This will be the first Feast of Lord's Passover I have spent like this. She gestured toward the barren land about them. Then she added - And I know India won't like it. They always took Little Davey to see her people for Easter.


The Tuva-Tuva Big Poo-Poo Woman patiently waited for the old Trooper matron to stop weeping. 


Then she lead her to a place were they could gather manna.


When they got back, the others had all awakened.....


But Monica still 'slept' with the strange, new man.....


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These are the dats of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Aboard the Twenty First Century

We were going to run the blockade. The Empire of China could not stop us. This is the Twenty-First Century, flagship of the most venerable Martian-America Line. Let me describe this conveyance to you back there in your benighted age. We streak through the void like the solar wind, compliments of twenty-eight Jeroboam Class, Baser Drives. They could have used Nebacanezzers, but what we would gain  in speed would be lost in maneuverability. So it was thought best to double up on the traditional 'wolf pack' configuration (fourteen engines constitute a 'wolf pack') and achieve greater speed that way.


The body of the craft is a vast cylinder, comprised of an inner and outer hull. The interior surface spins via electro-magnetic forces, at a rate necessary to approximate lunar gravity. All twenty eight engines (each housed in silvery pods more than fifteen hundred meters long) are mounted together in a honey comb-like arrangement at the 'posterior' of the ship. Twenty thousand human (so far as we know) souls slice through the inky night amidst splendor unseen since the heydays of Dubai. 


Young people particularly enjoy the Icarus Chambers. Imagine, simple light weight wings afford the wearer the power to fly. Others achieve similar sensations in Aquatica - Huge, beautifully decorated and sea-scaped aquariums filled with hyper oxygenated fluid allowing humans freed from any form of encumberance (and we do mean ANY) to cavort through the depths like merfolk. 


Now the purpose of this crossing is not completely frivolous. A huge contingent of North American and Muscovite scientists go with us to offer their assistance to the brave 'Troopers' (nickname for native born, human Martians). Indeed, rousing choruses of the Martian anthem - She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, can be heard all over the ship. 


The Empire of  China would not dare attack. Fifteen destroyers go with us, in addition to a dense swarm of  Yellow Jackets (unmanned drones). Best of all, The Second Brazilian Empire notices. And things are quieter down in Mexico since this convoy took off, because they don't want a similar one showing up in the skies over Sugar Loaf.


Look at the North Americans and Muscovites sitting there, heads together hatching their plans. Perhaps the North Americans will repel the Chinese? Perhaps the Muscovites will 'liberate' Siberia?


But just maybe, a certain, old Tuva-Tuva woman  will be able to work miracles of her own?



Because the 'prince' has arrived... and he leads a still groggy Miss Monica into another room...


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