LIKE A PRIMITIVE WINE PRESS MEANT FOR HUMANS.... The Elferina - Vampirina goes on...

Roland was still there hovering in the background and he went back into the kitchen to see what he could find. The skinny, raw boned housekeeper, perched on a stool at a huge granite island, that resembled nothing so much as an old, Elizabethan crypt cover, put down her pilfered copy of Coastal Living Magazine, looked up and said - You that magic, vampire bastid, ain't you?......... And the juvenile, elf lord quickly executed a half bow, struck a pose, disarmed her with his beauty and grinned. She almost feel off the stool. But then she laughed - Oh, you are one cute son-of-a-bitch, you are. But what'ch you want in here? You don't eat nothin'....... No, I seek not refreshment for myself - said Roland. And please don't mess with the collar of your blouse on my account. I am not going to taste you. I promise........... She looked almost disappointed. Roland opened the double door, stainless steel, tomb  for over-priced food and took inventory. Things were quieting down back in the salon. Marianne had regained her composure. Heartbeats were slowing. But the crowd still had a certain edge and nothing sedates humans like food. He saw a big, rather vintage, Pyrex bowl filled with a huge mound of  leftover Rigatoni Bolognese . At most, it could have been two days old. It was still good. He took it out and put in on the counter....... What d'you want me  to do with that? - said the housekeeper....... You, my tobacco breathed beauty need not do a thing. Just tell me where the salad plates are. How many do you have?........... We got a whole lot a white ones. She uses them for garden parties. Why?...........Get 'em. Get 'em. Get 'em. I'm gonna serve something. You'll see. This will do the trick............So she bent down, grunted and laboriously wrestled out two stacks of classic, white, bistro plates....... I could a told you......... What did you expect?..............Roland quickly proceeded to deposit hefty dollops of savory, meat sauce covered pasta onto each. Refrigeration dried up all the runny stuff. That was good. Luncheon forks weren't hard to find. You know how many sets rich folks have. Seven minutes later he had a late night supper for twenty all ready to go....... I'm not gonna serve that. Don't look at me - said Miss Raw-Boney-Moroni. But he did much more than that. He stared into her eyes. She swallowed. He took her in his arms. She went limp. And then he kissed her. He more than kissed her. He nibbled her garlicky, generic cigarette scented neck.... A forty seven year old kitchen drudge held in the tight embrace of a well formed (and rather large for  his 'age') 'fourteen' year old elferino - vampirino. After a few moments of pleasure, she went right to work.  And within two hundred and ten heartbeats the twenty or so always hungry humans in the salon were happily slurping up the leftover bolognese. 


Roland edged over to Marianne and whispered in her ear - You want to continue?........... She gave him a look, sighed and said - I suppose............ After all, they did pay thousands for the experience. Charitable donations are easy to get, if they buy a bit of social cache. And this group needed all the cache they could buy................ So a few minutes later Roland stepped into the center of the space, clapped his hands, struck yet another theatrical pose (he was quite good at that) and said - Dear sirs, dear ladies, if we creatures have offended, permit us now to make amends. Attende vous, s'il vous plait. (excuse his French, for it is not really French, but a Frankish dialect of Walloonish Vahmpeerigo <vampire speak>) The Lady Marianne will continue........ He gestured toward her, gracefully levitated up over their heads and sailed back into the kitchen. Had to give them a good show, after all. Most broke into applause.


Marianne assumed a rather noble posture, acknowledged the crowd and began....... Have you ever seen a 'pressing'? And I speak not of olives or grapes but of bodies, living bodies. You can't even begin to imagine how much 'juice' they contain. I have not seen the like in over three hundred and forty years, but I remember. The Inquisition drew close and I remember. The Low Countries formed part of the Hapsburg patrimony then. Their fires were hungry and human kindling was everywhere. But occasionally they'd change it up a bit. Freshen up the material, so to speak. And one night, they had a 'pressing.'  I saw it all, perched upon the shoulders of the 'dominee.' No one noticed him. Please, do you think he was the only vampire present? Come on now. There were others of our band, not to mention unrelated life-eaters scattered about the crowd. But most of them were wayfarers, so we did not care. And me? Well, I was still human.


It was midnight. The town was dark. They brought him in, riding on the back of a flea-bitten ass. He was old. Was he a Jew? Was he a Protestant? I don't know. The crowd cackled and jeered so. Who could hear? Now I understand many of you go traveling and not always to islands in the West Indies, of that I am sure. Some have no doubt been to towns like this... cobbled square... stepped-roof, what you might call 'dutch' style buildings... a cathedral...a guild hall... quite picturesque now, but no more than the Levittown of its day. And he fought back tears. The condemned one, I mean. Men-at-arms (you know, breast plates, crested helmets) took up positions, lit torches, brought in the 'bed' and waited. A parchment was produced. Some supercilious official came forth to read it and the old soul, dressed in a lose, coarse knee-length tunic was man handled onto the stone. It did look rather like a bed. They bound his arms to his sides with ropes and did the same to his ankles. Then they ripped off the tunic and exposed his withered form to the shameful cat-calls of the crowd. Someone piled pillows under his head, for it hung, unsupported over the edge of the cold, hard stone. A functionary signaled. Ten brawny men, stripped to the waist and obviously part of the show, heaved a huge slab, equal in size  to the 'bed,' over to the quietly praying victim and set it down upon him. I could hear his ribs begin to crack. He gagged. He gurgled. He screamed, but nothing came out. Old ones died so soon. The audience wanted more. One of the men-at-arms held a torch to the grandfather's dry, cracked feet. He shrieked. He screamed (almost like a song). The people cheered. They danced and capered about, happy, greasy faces bathed in hellish firelight. Even the children clapped. And when they slammed down the second stone the blood began to flow. It dripped  onto the cobbles, quickly lapped up by hungry cats.. It welled up into his eyes, til they ruptured and sank back into his skull. Was he dead? I suppose. His tongue lolled about a bit. But that could have been the work of a demon puppet master. They threw  down a third stone (BOOM). After all, it was quarried. Why waste it? Then an old crone, known as 'the gray lady,' hobbled over, grabbed the martyr by his hair and lifted his head right up from the bloody pillows, for it was pinched off at the neck. And the multitude went delirious. Those who had them, fired off pistols (picture pirate guns). The rest made do with crude fireworks. The noise was deafening...... Reverent, humanity at play. Then they shuffled off to choke the pubs with their disgusting, unwashed presence......


Many have asked me...... did I mind surrendering my humanity?....... No, I did not mind. For when the same Inquisition came to martyr me, I viewed it as a deliverance........


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Ask Alexios: Paul Ryan Wipes His Nose With a Sandwich and Other Bad Behavior

Ask Alexios: Paul Ryan Wipes His Nose With a Sandwich and Other Bad Behavior

A Babe Among the Life-Eaters....more of Marianne's tale...

Every band of vampires is unique. Each keeps to their own ways. And my 'daddies and mommies' were no different. We traveled like Gypsies and slept in caves...deep caves...winding caves. No mortals ventured in. Human children were talisman...good luck charms, if you will. The 'hair of the dog,' so to speak. Did they believe in God? Was there a Higher authority? I suppose. The 'dominee' (for, oddly, that is what they truly called him) occasionally led services of a sort. They'd gather by moonlight in deep, forest glades, strip naked, join hands and dance. 'Fairy Circles,' the peasants called them. At  first, I was known by my mortal name. They called me Tilda. But then, a certain female clanswoman, possessed of an old, battered, leather Christian holy book, decided I was 'Marianne,' after the mother and Grandmother of the Son-God, Jesus. And do not hold me to specifics. I have never been trained in any faith. If my terms are not your terms, so be it. 


A self-satisfied bastard seated 'neath an extremely rare  Pizarro lithograph snorted. Marianne saw that and it angered her. Rapidly pulsating, blue-white tendrils of electricity vibrated all over her body. Smoke rose from her scalp. Her eyes burned red, boring into the self-satisfied bastard's gut. And two heartbeats later, he belched and spit up a gooey mass of wriggling maggots, dripping down from his chin, onto his chest. Women covered their eyes. Men clenched their jaws. She snapped her fingers. Well, maybe she did not snap them, but there was some sort of rapid hand gesture there and quick as a fleeting thought, the maggots disappeared. Marianne said - Judge me not, lowly cretin. Do you understand? ............ And the lowly cretin just nodded. One heartbeat later, his not quite so cretin wife passed him some Tic-Tacs for which he was sincerely grateful.


The Elferina - Vampirina continued, regaling those assembled with tales of  Breton  fire pits filled with shrieking, naked witches. Oh, the authorities were strict in those days. Fines? Please, don't make me laugh. All they knew was fire. Light 'em up and watch the fun. Can you even begin to imagine the hellish torment wrought by orange flames upon every part of a pitch soaked body? And I'm talking about scrotums and labia and nipples and all the rest. Did they die fast? Not always. Seven minutes was average. A few of the 'winners' made it to fifteen. And this little girl saw it all. You see, vampires can hide. They can blend in. Nosferatu? That's just a name, but they don't look that way, especially in the dark.


Oh, do not think that Marianne was already 'burdened' then. She was not. The 'change' did not come till her fifteenth year.....two months after her fourteenth birthday, to be exact. No one planned it. The dominee actually cried at the thought. But the Inquisitional noose was beginning to tighten....and they did it to save her 'life.'


Join us twenty four hours hence. The wee hours are so inviting. Have you ever witnessed a human 'pressing?' ........"I'll break every bone in your body!"....... You've heard that expression, have you not?........Well, at one time, it was real.


Good night..... Cover your head....Say a prayer.....Be safe.


A chill wind whips the streets tonight and spirits rattle doors.


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Marianne, the Elfin Demon-Saint of Philadelphia Loses It.......

And then she just lost it. She looked into their empty, grasping, insincere eyes and she screamed. The people froze. No one made a sound. And two pampered King Charles Cavalier Spaniels, cocooned beneath a fine, tufted, velvet settee peed on the museum quality Aubusson carpet........Eight heartbeats passed. Someone took a shot from a pale, orange, plastic rescue inhaler. A thin, stylish couple of indeterminate gender giggled. Ice settled in a glass, as the exotic creature continued............ Please excuse that thoughtless act of youthful self indulgence. But you must understand that although I possess more than three hundred and fifty years, I inhabit the form of an adolescent female - she said. So... do you forgive me?............ Some of the humans reflexively nodded. She found the gesture quite amusing and smiled....... And then, she went on....


The year of my birth was cursed. Plague was everywhere. You've seen the woodcuts..... so-called 'doctors' roamed the streets in long, leather cassocks and crow-faced helmets. They waved censors of incense and charged exorbitant fees for blood-letting, cupping and other masochistic semi-tortures. But the rats were everywhere and so were the fleas. Every feather bed infested. Every garment harbored death. People scratched till they bled and laughed til they choked. Circles of Death Dancers frolicked in the streets. Ring around the Rosy. Pocket full of Posey. Ashes, ashes. We all fall down..... You've heard that song. Mother Goose? Hardly, but the crazed ramblings of doomed children. A burlesque of the rash. A prayer for salvation. Play-acting the roles of worse-than-lepers collapsing onto the greasy, black cobbles...... Such fun......Such insanity. 


A man came to our house one night. He was tall and spare, resembling a dominee (preacher) of the Dutch Reformed Church. And perhaps he was, once. Yet now he was something different. The  sickness had already touched us. My mother lay pinched in a narrow lead box. The two girls thrashed among sweat-soaked sheets. And even the boy (they were protecting him) showed signs of impending, respiratory distress. A grandmother sat whispering to he who was my father. The tall dominee just listened. And then it was settled and I was sold. The churchman who was not a churchman told them to bathe me and they did. He produced the necessary  garments (thankfully clean) and I was dressed. Then he wrapped me in his cloak, placed the treasure on the table and left, bearing me off into a world of  twisted magic and dark conceit, among the alchemists and necromancers of the low country...... 


And what was that treasure? How high my price? Five vials...five small, glass vials, filled with the rich, red fluid of a vampire's blood.....You know the healing, protective powers that has?... I know you do. You've been well versed. So they took it and drank it.... The plague left them whole. They did not die. And my human line was preserved.


For fourteen years I was their pet, dancing by moonlight and tickled by ghosts. We talked to the roosters and slept with the bears. 'Where the Wild Things Are'? Ask me that.For I know.


But, please, please, finish your drinks. Have some more. Eat a cookie. The marzipan look nice. I need but a moment. So let me think twice. There's more that I'll tell you. It floats in the air. And hides in the vapors surrounding my hair.


So that's what the people did. They munched and they drank and they whispered and stared, as the 'young' elfin princess collected her dreams. And arranged them like stitches in mourning-wear seams.


After fifteen score heartbeats she started to speak. But come back tomorrow. I must take a leak. For I channel this story. The words are not mine. And the ice-tea runs through me like homemade, spring wine....


                 enscribed by - Billy Kravitz


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The Elverina - Vampirina, MARIANNE wishes to Make Herself Heard

Things happened very quickly. She sublimated through the exterior wall and into the well decorated salon with a SNAP. Some say it's related to a sonic boom. I do not know, but occasionally, when life-eaters suddenly combust into a restricted volume of space that occurs. 


A few of the wealthy, self described dilettantes seated about the room gasped. One or two brushed sparks from their clothing. That sometimes happens too. Most responded with wide eyed stares of amazement. For here in their midst was what looked like a fourteen year old girl (waif would be a better term) with delicately pointed ears and a decidedly Gallic fashion sense. She smiled, acknowledged the crowd, then gracefully brushed back her tawny hair......... Roland, her 'best friend,' broke the silence. He said - Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present the Lady Marianne......... Some people actually applauded, but that was completely inappropriate and totally unnecessary........ Uniformed 'servers,' bearing small silver trays laden with cunning, little cordial glasses quickly circulated through the crowd, assuring each 'guest' the proper fortification. 


The man with the well trimmed van dyke went first, as always - Let me welcome the beautiful, young lady. We are truly grateful you decided to come........... A woman said - Tell me, darling, what are you?.......... Others whispered for a few heartbeats, as the fine boned invitee took their measure. And then it happened. There,in a cozy salon, cossetted from the world, deep within the privileged warrens of Philadelphia's old, pre-Revolutionary, Society Hill district, the mythological being answered.


I am many things. (her accent, vaguely Flemish, or perhaps Walloon) Some call me demon, others nosferatu. But I am not defined by my enemies. Such is not my way. Please call me Marianne. My mortal father held a Barony, but we will dispense with formalities and forego the 'lady.' Am I a life-eater, what you would call a blood drinker? Yes..... but that is just the beginning. Real life, especially one as long and varied as my own, has many layers. Perhaps, if the ether is right, we'll be able to peel some away........


A well fed, bejeweled glossy skinned she-cat of a certain age said - How old are you....if you don't mind my asking?...


Marianne shifted her position, leaned in toward the woman and said - I believe I am more than three hundred and fifty years old. For the  iron cask they sealed me in washed up before the Quakers........And I do not count the twenty, or so years spent drifting along the bottom of the sea...... Yet even that tortuous passage would have been longer, had not the sea-prince found me.........


The dim, fire-lit chamber grew silent. Some people shifted in their seats. A few discreetly adjusted articles of clothing. This was starting to be good...


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A 'Question and Answer' Session with Miraculous Beings

Roland studied the humans seated about him. How simple and facile they all were. How bovine. How easy to lead. Their clothes were all of a 'type.' The males sported  regulation dress-down-Friday regalia. The females secure in their variations on a Banana Republic theme. And their expressions.....that was the worst part. How practiced they were. So superficially secure. Males feigned indulgent boredom. The females did appear slightly eager, but in a polite, artificially, non-judgmental way, like they were ready to go 'tsk, tsk, tsk' and roll their eyes behind your back. 


But one face looked different. It belonged to a man seated in the inglenook. That alone advertised his distance from the rest. Perhaps it was the goatee? Well, not quite a goatee. More like a van dyke. He seemed at ease and not in the least bit embarrassed to be there. So Roland picked him first........ You, there - he said, What would you like to know?............... The man took a breath, collected his thoughts and said - Are you happy?.........Roland was surprised. People never ask that. They want blood. They want magic. They want sex........ He answered. He said - In what way, as a child on a swing, or a saint before his death?........... The man reconsidered. He changed his question. He said - Well. maybe 'happy' is the wrong term. Let me put it this way..... are you satisfied?.............. The confines of the warm, dim, salon seemed to retreat and freeze as time forgot to pass...... Roland contemplated the small orange fire dancing in the hearth, but his mind saw other things, torturous things, ancient things, buried things.....and he quietly said - I do not know.


A woman with an artificial tan said - Oh, Jesus Christ! What are you doing? Do you have to get so heavy? What do you want to do, make the pixie cry!? Shut up, already.


Roland thought - 'Pixie' she calls me......... And he leapt up onto the wall, splayed like a leopard, as his body reverberated with a deep, throbbing, guttural growl. The fragile humans pressed back into their seats, prey before the hunter, as his eyes tore through their flesh....... Five heartbeats later it was over. He laughed, blinked, deftly bounded to the floor ( not a knick-knack so much as trembled) , executed a rather theatrical bow and said - Now, I am........


The wealthy ticket holders grinned and clapped. How dramatic. How appropriate. How 'right' for a dashing, well-formed, juvenile vampirino. For that is what Elves truly are, vampires harvested from the living on the cusp of sexual maturation. Raging hormones cause certain bodily appendages to grow, even after 'death,' thus the pointed ears, vulpine features...and other things.


Please, your questions will be addressed- he said. Permit me to introduce a soul mate...... And he gestured toward an exterior wall, as the Lady Marianne sublimated into the room......


Boy, were those tickets ever worth it........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... This is the end?

Tachyons produce minute bursts of illumination. It was as if the people stepped through a warm, rich, glowing fog. And from Misses Buster to Mister Buster to Zebulon to India, they all went into the light. At first India wanted Little Davey to go with her. She is his mother, after all. But Bart is a more than devoted pop-pop and he loves the boy to no end. So it was decided that the parents would go first and the children would follow.


After a while, six people remained, Bart, his grandson, Monica, his daughter-in-law, her two children and Zeke, the ranch hand. They sat on the polished concrete floor, deep down in the bunker, listening to the upper levels fall. The acid works quite well. Monica thought she heard the muffled screams of M.I.R. minions out in the street, or maybe from even closer. 


Bart sat whispering to the little boy, telling him of the digital world to come. His other offspring, Monica's two, drew close,  for he was their pop-pop too. But they still had their mother (at least in this world) and Davey did not.


Big Daddy (Bart's father) roused himself from the Web-Without-End. He hopped through the electro-magnetic portal, jumped down onto the black leather ottoman, leaped to the floor and squeezed through the slightly opened door.  Determined holograms apparently can do that. Those in the passageway were  startled by his presence. Bart looked over and simply said - Daddy?.....................Johnny waved his tiny (but strong) arms in the air and yelled - Yeah, 'Daddy,' 'Daddy.' Come on, you dumb, son-of-a-bitch! What the hell you waitin' for? Send 'em in. Send 'em in! (manically pointing upward) Commies is comin! Commies is comin! How the hell can you not know that!?.......... But then he remembered they lacked the obesity of knowledge available to those in the digital universe. How could they know that M.I.R. forces and their Empire of China advisers were only three houses away? Loot the treasures. Tear the women. Burn the men, then burn the women too. Tearing, in itself, was obviously not enough.


So in a numb and desperate daze, Bart surrendered his grandson to the tiny hologram and Little Davey went in through the door. When it was over, his pop-pop stumbled in to bring him out. He carefully carried the little boy and laid him down between his mother and father, 'safe' in a nearby storage room. Then he covered them all with blankets and said a prayer. The four remaining souls watched as he silently walked passed them and entered the tiny room. 


When it was over, when it was done, Zeke got up to get him. Bart's body belonged with the rest of them. But before the loyal ranch hand  could provide that service, a small, but powerful explosion shattered the reinforced ceiling and a squadron of Red Guards (dressed in what we would call 'haz-mat' suits) rained down on them. Guns were drawn. Some form of 'red hots,' I suppose. Hands went  up and off they went. Yet Zeke is cagey. He thinks fast. And in the last moments, just as they were being pushed and shoved toward a huge bonfire, he spoke up and yelled - No! No! No! We're not Texacos! We're not Texacos! I worked there! I worked there! Here, here, here's my bar-code! Here's my bar-code!.......And he showed them the tattoo-like symbol on the inside of his forearm.  A sargent, or  perhaps a junior officer believed him, so the 'liberated' peon, plus his woman and their pups were led away and made to wait along with a few other trembling souls, standing by the rubble of a rich man's ruined home. They stared, wide eyed, as well-connected 'Trooper' families were clubbed (not quite to unconsciousness) and thrown up into the flames. Some fought. Some scratched. Some screamed. Some begged. Some ran. But it did not help. They were clubbed on the spot, doused in gasoline (what else was it good for these days?) and lit up right where they lay. The air was thick with grease. 


But Monica and her two children survived. Zeke survived too. And when they were led off, the half Tuva-Tuva fetus, secure in her womb went with them.


Mars is a rough place. What can I tell you? But if you've been with us from the beginning, you already know.


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And on the other side, in that digital realm, the family sat on the porch of their beloved Polvarosa, watching the fine-winged horses glide across a clear, blue, sunset sky.


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