vampire wonderland: THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. And...

vampire wonderland: THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. And...: It was quiet in the tram car. The air was still. Tiny pellets of sleet peppered the roof. The new boy ran to the back and struggled to force...

These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Homo Sapien Martianus

They been in the bunker 'bout three days now. Ev'rybody all settled it.  Miss Sissie actually like it. This her place. This her home, or part of it. She got a kitchen. And it not full a all them 'foody-food-food' machines what do the job automatically. Y'all gotta stir the batter if you want any pancakes 'round here. Right now she practicin'. She practicin' makin' her Pascal bread..... Sort a like a little, dried up crepe. It not hard. She gonna do it for The Feast a The Lord's Passover...... 'This is the bread of haste'.....That what He said. That what God said. Means you all gone go 'gook' soon. 'Gook' mean that l'il, 'lectric sound 'puters make when you shut 'em down. It what them 'Troopers' say for 'die.' Nobody kicks no bucket 'round here. They just 'go gook.' Rhymes with 'cook,' if you tryin' a figure it out. 


What God want 'em a know is ----- Y'all better do lots a real, good, lovin' stuff now, if you wanna move in with Me later........ That's what He sayin', if you payin' 'tention........ An' Miss Sissie sure do pay attention. Sometime, when she got The Lord hinky-dink real bad she go 'round tellin' folk - He save your soul for a reason! He take you outta Egypt for a reason! Now what you gone do about it!?....... Then she stand there lookin' at you, like she God's sec'etary or somethin'. An' all this interplanetary fuedin' gone on startin' a get to her. 


Sometime she talk 'bout Earth. Say she wanna  go there. She wanna live there. Not jus' her. She wanna take all of 'em back wit her.  Bart say what they gone do 'bout they Martian hearts? 'Cause, you know, they all born here. They got the bones too. Got them Martian bones. That why they all a few inches taller (than Earth folk, I mean). Sure, some folks does it. Take a lot a therapy. Gotta put stem cells in the heart muscle. Gotta mortar up them bones wit a lot a calcium. Gotta get used to pullin' 'round three times the load. Earth got that heavy pull. It not like the gravity we got 'round here.


Them soldiers from The Empire a China startin' a feel that now. Bones gettin' all jellyfied. Muscles goin' all stringy. Oh, they do got remedies. But the whole experience still tend to be real disorientin'. It like plantin' a cactus in swamp water, then yellin' that it ain't growed right. Space do got it's rules. 


I can't 'magine them goomers out on Europa, livin' in them 'pods' out on the ice. They do not penetrate under that frigid crust. They do not go down to where them manta ray people live. Robot/android goomers does that. All them science goomers does is keep ev'rything runnin' right...wind the clocks, if you know what I mean. And then, when they look out into the sky-what-ain't-no-sky, they sees Jupiter, loomin' up there like a big, ole monster beach ball. That gotta sour  your grits. 


But hoomin beans funny that way. Some pay good money a tote theyselves out here on honeymoons . Bart and Miss Sissie did, back in the day. Shacked up in one a them bubble towns over on the other side. Took a submarine ride down under a see them manta ray goomers. Folks does that. Scientists too. They takes submarine rides. Just ain't no gettin' out and rubbin' noses, if  you know what I mean. Them germy-germs we all got jus' too damn different. An' nobody wanna chance no new type a 'mushy fever.'


Sure hope that sucker Miss Monica got in her belly grow up right. Sure hope they finds a way to make this place work. 


I like Mars. Can't rightly see myself bein' 'voice a the lonesome pines' nowhere's else.....


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Of course you know VULCAN was basically Ancient Hebrew, don't you?

This is not a conventional post, but a sharing of the TRUTH. The OLAM (the world) will not end on December 21, 2012, though another momentous event will transpire. 


Upon that date, our star system will pass through the Equitorial Plane of NEHAR-DI-NUR, The Stream of Fire, or The Stream of Light. You may know it as The Milky Way. It is our galactic home.


And each time we make such a transept (by certain reckonings once every two thousand years.....by others, once every twenty four or twenty six thousand years) a new Star Era dawns upon the world.


That date (12/21/12) will see the dawning of the age of D'ili. You may know it as the age of Aquarius. A time when Heaven pours forth upon the Earth like water from an eternally bountiful pitcher.


HUMANITY COMES OF AGE...........


Before The World of Truth appears, The World of Lies must vanish. ------ old Central European rabbinic proverb.....


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... BUNKER BOUND

Now this not like a little back yard cold war bomb shelter. What they got here more like a big, ole, pretentious, suburban ranch house. Contractor put in in years ago when they built the place. That why it got a early 22nd century look.  Lemme see. How am I gone describe that to you?...... Picture The Jetsons if they was first cousins with Caligula. Lots a gold gilt, cream colored cushions, fancy control panels fill a colorful screens that flash on and off. Got these metallic veined, marble floors and bidets what shoot the water out so fast you could permanently castrate a horse. But it safe in there. Them communiss goomers from the M.I.R. ain't gettin' in. Done stripped all the upstairs rooms. Communiss' all stompin' 'round in hand-tooled, chupicabra-skin, rodeo boots. Funny, but Karl Marx never predicted such a predilection for fine footwear and premium time pieces. Sweetie-Pie gettin' tired cookin' up all that challah-bread french toast, but that seem to be her job in 'the new regime' and she don't wanna make waves. 


Meanwhile, down below, they sleepin two to a room (place got six). So we got Mister Bart and Miss Sissie...Miss Monica and her daughter..... Little Davey and his cousin (Monica's son).....Zeb and his legal wife, India.....an' them two ranch hands and they gum-chewin' wimmen folk. Kind a like a pixilated, crazy version a The Waltons, 'cept with more 'go to hell's' than 'good nights.' Zeb and India's room 'specially rich in them go-to-hells. They echoin' off the walls.


Bart sit up in the little holadome watchin' the news. Empire a China movin' in. Tuva-Tuva folk gone crazy. Communiss goomers eatin' up all the french toast... But, as you know, The Twenty First Century (state of the art Space Train) did get through. So somewhere deep in another subterranean Barsoom bunker that Russian/North American consortium busy spittin' out pulse bombs. Only thing is, they gotta conjure up a good way a deliverin' 'em to the enemy. Right now they fixin' on a plan. Gonna feed little ones to whole mess a big blues (large, sometimes man-eating, locusts). Then they gonna do some kind a hinky-dink and remote control 'em so's they swarm all over them God damn evil folk. You remember what happen to them chupicabra settin' all over that tank? This all work right, we gonna have a big, ole mess a General Sao's Chicken and Texas Pulled Beef in no time. 


News say other rich folk got throwed out too. They highlighting all the families....the Gillespies... the Ginsbergs..... the Watkins.... the DiBrunos ... all of 'em. Bart like when they say 'the Texaco's.' He love to hear his name on 'TV.' Shame it gotta be part of a dispossessed oligarchy. But name recognition all that matter...and they gone be back.


Funny thing though.......'TV' goomer never did say the Jonses....... Wonder how 'Stinker' pull that off?


Five heartbeat later, Bart 'sawin' wood.' He snorin' away. Miss Sissie layin' in bed lookin' at some ole, classic, flat-screen movie (I think it Bob & Carol and Ted & Alice). Ranch hands all hootchyin' up they wimmen. This like a vacation for them. Davey and his cousin doin' head transplants on 'genuine-live-miniature-animals. (they got a kit). MonkeyHead-Cobra they favorite.


But Miss Monica ain't doin' nothin'. She jus' lay there, singin' to her daughter and feelin' that baby growin' up inside her.......


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Urban Warfare

It came from out in the street. Most folks did not know 'bout this place. That why they call in 'The Hideout, or The Hide-away.' Texacos  got 'nother official townhouse little ways off. Lot a rich folks do it like that. Dumb kitchen gal come runnin' out. But when she sees nobody bleedin' they guts all over the floor she seem a little bit relieved. Guess she 'spectin' a clean it up.


Zeke pull a gun. He go over and peek through them fancy lace panels they got blockin' out them 'sidelights' by the door. Then he say - Trucks! They got  trucks all up and down the street!


Bart run over to see too. Bunch a raggedy goomers jump out. Most of 'em totin' them cheap, Mars made 'hot shots.' You know, them energy shooters. Sort a like a ray gun, 'cept it come out in a line a hot, little spit bubbles.


Then Bart say - It the M.I.R.! It the M.I.R.! Communiss'! Communiss!............... Women folk start screamin' an' twistin' they diamond rings 'round, as if communiss' ain't never learned how to rotate no finger ring. 'Sides they prob'ly all gone go 'gook' down that basement after M.I.R. goomers shoot 'em up anyway.


Zeb yell - Safe Room, downstairs NOW! ........ Them what knows the place start runnin'. Them what don't know pick up the rear. Soon ev'rybody 'hunker in the bunker.' as Bart used to say. But back then it was only a game. Zeb and Alec were partial to playin' war. They 'tend this place is headquarters. Kind a what Hitler would a had if he didn't 'gook' off off all them Jewish scientists and they chillun'. Bunker got nuclear fussion, electro-pulse power, all kind a lazer gadgets, fancy communication devices, freezers (nuclear powered) fill up with frozen pizza (not the shitty kind) and gourmet, genuine Mrs. Paul's fish stick, made from genuine stick-shape fish. Not to mention all the bestest, scented, pastel ass wipes this side a the ass-teroid belt. Miss Sissie kind a fussy on certain thing. That why the hardwood floors so nice.


So there they be. Sixty five feet under ground, sealed behind sixteen feet a titanium, with fool-proof water and ventilation system. Kitchen all fill up wit' genuine twenty first century 'food court' delicacies. Bedrooms filled with clean underwear and brassieres....... When Zeb say - Sweetie-Pie! Where my Sweetie-Pie!? .........'Cause she kinda got partially trampled in the stampede, 'specially when she crouch down a pick up her new, special-made head-crown. So she ain't never made it to the 'safe place.'


Miz India jus' throw back her head and start laughin' and laughin'. Then she go - Sweetie-Pie! Sweetie-Pie...just like some screechy-voice, old witch would say it. 


But nobody pay her any mind. They already pickin' out bedrooms.


An' when that Mars Is Red brigade smash down the townhouse door, Sweetie-Pie right there to greet 'em.  Pimple face bastid go - Which one are you, bitch!?...... Sweetie-Pie think fas'. She go - I the maid. Come on. I show you where they keep all the good stuff.


So they run upstairs to loot all them Rolex watches and satin jockey shorts. Then she take 'em in the kitchen for challah-bread french toast (hootchie gals all know how to make that) and big, ole glasses a TANG. 


You know, war is sloppy bidniss. An' now we got 'nother contingent a deal wit'.


Funny how Stinker Jones steer 'em all right over to the doorsteps a his bestest 'frienemies.'


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Honey, I'm Home!

Now Zeb happened to be dining alone that evening. His new pregnant sweetie-pie was attending yet another fashion show to benefit the brave troops. It should be mentioned that she sailed through society under her own name. Insiders knew the truth, but nobody talked. Why muddy up somebody else's bloomers when they all got bloomers a their own?


Ole Effie was gone. She stayed 'round for  a while, a lot longer than most a them other kit-kat 'retainers.' Government wanted a put her out, just pick her up and dump her old, scraggly ass out somewhere's in them badlands. Zeb intervened. He knew who to call. So she had time to pack up her stuff  and wait  for a tank to transport her out to a Chinese base in the borderlands. Some folks say she went on to join her sister in one a them nice little oasis settlements. But I also heared certain un-publicized accounts that claim she 'workin'' as a lab rat for a big Chinese (and not just Chinese...big Earth-side American interests are in on it too) drug - beneficial prion, research and development hinky-dink. She did have a good way a makin' sweet potato pie. Hope they give her a nice cage.


The new gal, some jumped up shop girl from one them boutiques just off a Neil DeGrasse Tyson Avenue, open the door and jus' look at 'em. She don't know who they are. She jus' wanna  go back in the kitchen an' read her sexy-trampy holazine. So she say - Yes? And wit' all due respect, who the hell do we got here?................... Miss India (who rarely talk that way) say - You ain't got nothin', you buck-teeth, big ass, hootchie gal. This My house (Bart clear his throat), this our house and we jus' catchin' our breaths is all. Now where my 'huzzzbind'?


Zeb, who almost choke on little bit a gristle say - Sugar-babe! What the hell has Jesus done to me!? (as he run out into the hall) You here! You all here! ....... An' he do hug her, but not like he really mean it. Then he pick up Little Davey too. Kiss him on the cheek and all that...... Davey say - Howdy, pa......... But if you look real fast, you see he rollin' his eyes over to Bart. 


Miss Sissie squeeze him 'round his neck. He is her firstest baby, after all. Even Bart slap him on a shoulder. Them other folks, the ranch hands and they women doan say nothin'. They just stand 'round takin' it all in.


Bart lead 'em all in a the 'quiet talkin' room' (that what they call a livin' room in these parts. He set hisself down in his big chair, just off the side a the fireplace. Then he yell - Effie! where my drink?....... Zeb say - We  ain't got no Effie no more. Government goomers done toted her away........ Bart shoot him a look and say - What this 'Gov'ment' shit you tellin' me, boy? Ain't you part a that too!? Why you let it happen!? .................. Zeb doan say nothin'. He jus' look down at his lap. Miz India grab his hand. Oh, she do smell some kind strange toilet water on him. But this ain't no time for no scratch fight. She can pencil that in for later.


Dumb kitchen gal figure she better fill 'em up wit' somethin'. She better keep 'em busy. So she whip up a big, ole crystal pitcher  fill a Tang. You know, fancy Earth shit like that hard  to get up here. 


Bart commence a detailed account a their sojourn wit' the Tuva-Tuva folk. Kids start playin' wit' an antique porcelain Flintstones-Bedrock chess set originally won by some ancestor almost one hundred and sixtyfive years ago on the boardwalk in Wildwood, New Jersey. Nobody been stabbed or killed yet. So for the Texacos things is goin' all right.


But then it happen. Somebody push they little finger 'gainst that door bell. One second later chimes start playin 'She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.' Zeb freeze. He look just like alabaster (or alabastid, as we say in these parts)... Miz India say - Honey-pot, why your han' so cold?


Two heartbeat later door slam open and new sweetie-pie bellow - Nevah mine. I foun' my key. Zeb! Puppy-dog! Come look what all I bought!


An' kids is kids. They jus' rush over like she a reg'lar Miz Santy Claus. But then Miss Monica's youngest say - Hey, lady, who are you?


That when Miz India start squeezin' his han' real hard. And you know she got them real pointy, sharp, lacquer nails. I think a little bit a blood come out too.


I mean if she not call him Puppy-dog, they might a made up somethin'. They could a say she like an Avon lady, or maybe an over friendly disoriented stranger. But she call him 'Puppy-dog,' an' she call him 'Zeb'. Not too many disoriented stranger ladies gonna do that.


An' ev'rythin' stan' still for like four heartbeat, till new sweetie-pie look down at them little Texaco heirs and heiresses an say  - Who the hell am I? Who the hell am I?.... Who the hell are you?


That when somebody start shootin'.........


oooooooOOOOOOO(TEXACO)OOOOOOOooooooo


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... But Tonight Belongs to Celtic Magic

There is much magic in the world. And when it flows free it is a wondrous thing, bearing prophecies and knowledge to chieftain and milk maid alike. But when it weaves itself into the flesh and bones of a mortal soul noxious cysts begin to grow and the beneficial nature of the thing festers into something else.

Such is the way with Life-Eaters. Those wide-eyed innocents beguiled into never ending union with the night. You may know them by other names. Your people may call them Nefalim, or Windego, or Vampires. 

In rare cases a few have been domesticated, living in darkness and spitting out lies which simple souls took to be divine. But most survive as outlaws, racing with the moon. They hide from the sun, for their silver, orbed mother is at war with him and she knows he'll kill her babies.

And they bed down to rest in alien earth each morn, for they are forever on the run.

You have seen these lucid wanderers. You know you have. You know that. A silent walker spied through the draperies of an upstairs window on a frost-tinged winter's night. How did it know you were there in the darkness? How did it know to look up? But look up in  did, as you jumped from the glass, burrowing deep into the covers and shivering with fear and delight.

How fortunate you were to have witnessed such a miraculous thing. How lucky to survive.

And early spring nights are a special time. Young ones are drawn to the chill, moist vapors swirling through trees and cold, parked cars. Be careful. Go not out alone, for the night has a thousand eyes. Just be sure not to close your own if you should sneeze.

God bless you. God bless you all.

And may the Children of the Moon dance with other partners, for all that I have  told you here is true .

Piper, piper, in the night. Skin so pale and eyes so bright. Play your tune for other ears. Tarry not with me......

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