HOW VAMPIRES PREPARE FOR NATURAL DISASTERS, SUCH AS HURRICANE SANDY

Tomas shares no ancient secrets with Sarah tonight. Nor do the vampires prepare for The Revels. A storm approaches. A tempest born amidst the soul crushing heat of the Sahel and nursed upon tropical seas. The hurricane bears down. Earths own version of Jupiter's Red Spot threatens to drown the dry land. 

Humans scurry about collecting necessities. They buy bread and eggs and milk and batteries. They buy big rigid bladders of certified 'clean' water. They buy mustard, nachos and ham. Then they hunker down in their homes and eat by the weak, yellow glow of a flashlight. If forced to evacuate, they refugee farther inland and squeeze in with blood relations.

Vampires, on the other hand, face a different set of problems. They can't be rescued, especially not during the day. No canoe rides from roof-top islands for them. Imagine orange-vested stalwarts chopping through debris to free a life-eater family. Here it comes. The wall crumbles. Daylight pours in and the 'family' sizzles. Whoa! Who's gonna get a commendation from the mayor for that?

No, vampires must flee before disaster strikes, burrowing deep down into the very bowels of the city. And the nocturnal band dwelling within the townhouse is doing just that. Doctor Franklin awaits. The sprawling subterranean laboratories, libraries, specimen collections (both living and non) and hideaways (some quite luxurious) comprising the all-knowing organization called The Anti-Enchantment Bureau has room enough for them. Vampires often shelter there. The old reprobate... the old patriot loves to study them. 

Regulars have met 'the man who created Philadelphia' before. Look, William Penn may have laid out the bones, but Ben Franklin gave them flesh. And America's Da Vinci still lives, not due to any vampire chicanery, but thanks to his own study of frequencies and harmonics. 

So they rendezvous at a special place, the large, bronze, compass rose embossed into the very center of 'the wedding cake' or 'the cake' for short, since the huge Second Empire edifice of City Hall  truly does resemble a nuptual confection.

The sprawling granite plaza is empty... like a ghostly 'close' in an old Norman castle. Tomas and the rest silently enter. The 'doctor' nods to greet them. They approach the compass rose, form a circle and grasp hands. Annie puts up a fight. She 'don't wanna hold nobody's God damned dirty hands.' But Tomas shuts her up real fast. And I think the hovering presence of 'Papa' had something to do with it too. Probably threatened to banish her to the Solar Corona again, 'cause, boy, did she hate that. Odd, how once in space, starlight (even sunlight) has little effect on vampires. It's only on Earth that daylight kills them. Who knows? Perhaps it's the same on other worlds too?

Then they stand there and wait. Doctor Franklin sports his usual green, Eagles sweat suit and the wispy tendrils hanging from his pate blow softly in the late night breeze. 

Finally, over five hundred feet above, the huge, old, illuminated clock begins to toll the hour. Two heartbeats later, the resonating echos reach them on the ground. And slowly, but surely, they begin to fade from this place, only to coalesce in safer surroundings. 

My, but the Grand Armonica can do strange things.....

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THE LITTLE VAMPIRE GIRL, ANNIE, SEES GHOSTS IN THE STREET

All the other vampires prepared for The Revels, assembling specially ordered clothing and costly accessories. Tomas had his bootkins. Sarah her cashmere what-nots and Conrad bought three new packages of all cotton, Hanes briefs. Leo picked up some edgy tight pants on South Street, because he did have a naughty side, after all.

But Annie could not be bothered. She had her corduroy jeans from KID'S GAP  (Edith bought them on Walnut Street) and some sweaters and 'tops' from the girls' department at Macy's. A few were black, so she could affect a classic vampirina look too. Besides, Bahlay promised to take her shopping in Europe at L'Grand Maison du Nuit, THEE  emporium extradordinaire for discerning night-folk everywhere. They say the shop girls are real witches. And the harpist in the tea room is the Emperor Nero, or Harpo Marx, or some talented, though expired soul like that.

Exciting as that exceptional trip was, Annie had other things on her mind. October is Ghost Season. And in a New World city old as Philadelphia, they're positively everywhere. It's not that the month is anything special to them. But humans just expect to see them now. The vibrations are right. Passageways are open and encounters occur at a fast and furious clip.

So far, on just this night alone, the little vampirina saw six. The fire-eyes lady on a subway platform was first. She just sat there, wrapped in a great-coat, staring straight ahead  and mumbling to herself. Few living souls could see her. A roly-poly fourteen year old girl with intricate braiding and a mouth filled with bubble gum thought she could. And she carefully reached out a finger to see if that 'orange shit' shining from her eyeball sockets was, in fact, fire, or just a really bad case of conjunctivitis...... Annie walked over and said - Yo, fat girl (ever the gracious diplomat) you gonna burn youself. The 'fat girl' called her a stringy-haired, little white bitch. She didn't say it, but she thought it. So Annie let her do it. And five seconds later, accompanied by a high-volume litany of 'shits, damns, plus a liberal sprinkling of what Annie called 'the king a the words,' the fourteen year old dashed off the platform and bounced up to the street.

Then the train screeched to a halt. Some late night pre-Halloween celebrants shuffled in, a few bedraggled Marilyn Monroes, two Spidermen, one puny, the other more or less OK, and a Mario Lanza who may or may not have been the real thing. 

Annie was alone, save for the mumbling spirit-woman. So she snuggled in next to her (not that ghostly, spirit-women were especially comforting that way) and hummed a little song. A cop came over to investigate. You don't see too many stringy haired seven year olds humming to themselves on subway platforms this late at night.  He was a nice cop too. But Annie hissed like a cat  and bared her teeth..... That he could have dealt with. Crack babies are everywhere. It was the levitation part that got him. Almost  fell on the tracks. Annie laughed and cackled till the nice cop ran away and twisted his ankle real bad. But he just kept on going.

The fire-eyed ghost laughed too. Annie looked up, whispered something in her ear and walked off toward the exit, leaving the dead soul alone.

Then she boosted two or three Archie comics from an all-night CVS (for the ghost boy who lived in their cellar) and slowly strolled back toward home.

On the way she saw a man hanging from a tree, his head grotesquely cracked to the side. He whispered - How you doin'? as she passed. The little vampirina said - OK, and you?..... The hanged man said - Eh..... But eight heartbeats later she turned around. Maybe she wanted to say something? I don't know. Only the hanged man wasn't there.....

Though a big, black crow sat in the branches...

And if you should wake from your rest this night, sit up, raise the shade just a little and peer out into the blackness..... Perhaps you'll see a dark-time vision too?....... They ARE out there...... They really are...

Don't be afraid.... just look.

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

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. And...: Far, far away, across the wide Atlantic Sea and north of the Alps, lies the great, imperial city of Prague, an illustrious assemblage of fi... Please click on this first episode of the much-loved, sad, though heartwarming tale. If you'd like to see more, scroll down to the 'NEWER POST' option and click on that too.... No vampires this time, but something very special ~~~~~ THE LITTLE MATCH BOY

JONATHON a.k.a. TOMAS, IN PERSIA DURING THE AGE OF POETS

The voyage down the Red Sea and around Arabia Felix, as The Yemen was known in those days was uneventful. I fed before we left. Twins, they were. Two sleek assassins, in service to a certain lesser member of the Persian royal house. The empire was exceedingly large in those days, stretching form the ramparts of Seljuk holdings in Anatolia (Turkey) to the River Oxus in present day Pakistan, I believe. Their agents were everywhere, slitting throats, or pouring copious streams of unbelievably searing molten lead into the ear canals of unknowing sleepers. Some were also skilled in the garrote. My two were 'free agents' you might say. More like twentieth century American 'hit men,' very cruel and mercenary in every way. The first laughed when I killed his cousin. He said - How fortuitous! Now the gold is all mine!........ Yet he changed his tune when he became dessert, offering me all manner of princely recompense. But I drained him just the same. And the treasure became mine anyway. 

So I boarded the dhow (sailing craft, like sleek caravels) with perhaps fourteen or fifteen co-religionists and settled in below deck. A young man from The Sinai, himself a refugee from Trinitarian blood lust, agreed to guard me during the passage. And when he was indisposed, his loyal retainer promised to do likewise. 

But I am confused. There were two ships...two, I am sure of it. For we disembarked at a Yemeni port, the captain preferring a hold full of kat (mild, Middle Eastern stimulant) to a bunch of Sephardim (Spanish & Mediterranean Jews). Though he proved to be partially honorable and in return for a hefty assortment of wedding rings and what-nots, arranged for us to continue our trip on board the second ship. In that way we rounded the Arabian 'toe' and continued up toward what political expediency called 'The Persian Gulf.' And I entered a world filled with poets and artists of every type. 

Sarah stirred on her lounge chair, for they spoke in the small, rear garden, as always. She stretched, looked up at the misty sky and said - I've read a lot about that place..... miniature paintings... fine, Chinese porcelains... blue tiled mosques... and courtly love, Omar Kaiyam and all that ' jug of wine, loaf of bread and thou' stuff. Must have been beautiful. 

It was- Tomas, also known as Jonathon said. Especially the heartland, up north beyond the deserts, where the major cities were. Tabriz became my home, a cool, well watered place, a storybook, jewel-box, a manicured cultured city, home to a continuous Jewish presence since Darius held the throne. Imagine, after fifteen hundred years one still heard Aramaic in the plazas.... the language of  Ezra and Nehemiah and the early Talmudical, Essene scholar, Joshua, known to Trinitarians as Jesus. It was there and it was miraculous, even to a life-eater such as I. 

So I settled into a small, but comfortable house, close by the Blue Mosque and there I passed my evenings. 

Did  you have company? - asked Sarah. Was there a concubine, or a wife, or a paramour of some sort?..... She feigned indifference, yet desperately wanted to know.

I was coming to that - said Jonathon......And so he told her of Judith.......

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: YOU MAY KNOW ZEBULON, ONE OF OUR DISEMBODIED SPIRI...

Some little known truths concerning ZEBULON and his mortal days in the 'White City.' known to creation as JERUSALEM..... Explore the 'cradle' of one of our favorite disembodied spirit guides~~~~~

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: YOU MAY KNOW ZEBULON, ONE OF OUR DISEMBODIED SPIRI...: I will have to transmit this information very quickly. there are those who do not want me to share these things. they do not believe you (m...

AN ENTRY IN THE JOURNAL OF JONATHON ben MACABI a.k.a. TOMAS de MACABEA.. inside the VAMPIRE'S mind...

Sometimes I wake during the day and write in my journal. I back into one of the corners of our cellar crypt, snap on a little nine volt, L.E.D. flashlight and scribble away. Sarah still slumbers, curled among the rose petals. 

My words go into a simple black and white, cardboard covered 'composition' book. Edith gets them from the dollar store. My best words are transcribed onto the vellum pages of the leather bound volumes I get from an artisan in Valencia. He, or rather his family, has supplied me for centuries.

Can you imagine what that is like?.... 'Centuries.'....... Everything comes in waves. Few things truly change. We confront those who would destroy us. We triumph, or perish. Thanks be to God that I and the others are still here.

I have heard of life-eaters who volunteer their services to colleges and universities.... A 'living' collection of documents and records. Such individuals dictate countless hours of stories and recollections..... History made tangible. 

They want me to do that at PENN. You know of my familiars who oversee the vast museum there? They ask me. They tempt me. La Familia ben Macabi Collection...... That's what they would call it. Few scholars would ever see or hear the actual recordings. They'd have access to the written transcripts. And even those would be altered. No first person accounts by an unnatural survivor. Magic is not for the masses.

Well, I'm considering it. People should know what it was like. They must remember the brutality, as well as the beauty. Do you realize many who were beheaded actually had the offending noggin lopped off with clubs? Execution axes were purposely kept dull to heighten the horror. Took seven or eight strikes  to finish most of them. Arms would fly out. Legs would twitch and kick. Shit all over the place. What does 'nature' think? If I make them crap, they'll live?

Speaking of 'crap,' I do miss horses. I miss the smell, the leather, the strength, the heat. We had a fine stable in Granada, from the same bloodlines as those of the Caliph, himself. Like Pegasus, they were. Do you know what it's like to race down a dry wadi on a deep, orange, Spanish afternoon? Please, no wonder they call motor cycles 'hogs.' 

I contemplate purchasing a horse farm in New Jersey. Do not believe the facile jokes told by shrill, limited comedians. Except for the region immediately adjacent to the city of New York, New Jersey is a beautiful place. Edith knows. That's why she runs back there so often. At one time the English made the same jokes about Shorditch. People are so like cattle...... Now I was long out of Spain before the rise of classical bull fighting. True, lithe, young dare-devils practiced a kind of bull-jumping, but the animal never died. And since most arena del toro  open only in the day, attendance by my breed is difficult, to say the least. As an ever-so-slightly lapsed believer, I am bound to tell you it's wrong. Mankind has dominion over the beasts in order to protect them... But tell that to the chicken who gives you 'nuggets' as well as eggs.

I like the chill of this hard, stone wall against my back. It relaxes me. Soon I will snuggle back into the rose petals and embrace my beloved. For although I take 'pleasure' in foreign orchards, the peaches of my beloved are sweetest by far...

(he takes the tiny, battery powered torch from between his teeth, snaps it off and stretches out..... we hear his beloved purr as he wraps her in his arms...)

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

A manic Tomas rambles on in English (but with the cadences of Medieval Spanish, or Old Vahmperigo) as the Philadelphia Night-Folk confront dangers one dark autumn evening two years ago.... You know, you can take 'The Tomas Walk' through Center City, Philadelphia. Every place we mention here is real. And we did not start 'The Tomas Walk.' Those familiar with the tale did that on their own......Please read. and when you reach the bottom, keep going and click on a newer, or older post and wander...Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: It is me this time. It is Tomas, I am deeply depressed. Even those new pairs of spectacularly fitting jeans I purchased on Walnut Street fai...