POST 1 of a NaNoWriMo FIRST DRAFT for the month of NOVEMBER 2012

BINGO BOY ----- post 1

     This is how we do it. This is how we live life under the el tracks in a grimy river ward of Philadelphia. Cops call it the 'vampire wonderland,' 'cause everybody jonesin' a suck somethin' outta somebody else. Could be money. Could be life. Could be crack. Could be love. Folks come here to drink. Got plenty a bars. And if you like greasy, burnt up food, they can feed you too. But it not all bars. Got a 'Five Dollah Buy you Anything' lady store and a Geisha Girl-Body rub-Tickle Palace. 

     Place in between got no name, jus' a sign. Jus' a big, old, faded red neon sign. And all it say is 'BINGO.' Got three big plate glass windows, some bee-bee gun holes, dirt and a few dead bugs. I do not know what kind of bugs they are, 'cause I am not no God damn bug-ologist. Them what lives 'round here know me. Them what got bad dreams knows me real good. I Mister Never-You-Mind. Took a whole body acid bath in nineteen eighty nine at the invitation of Big Zeke. He a gangster. He a killer. He a, what they call, sadist. So they take me down to the cellar a what used to be an old tannery, strip me, like for skinny dippin'. An' they do dip me, but not in no water. Ole Mister get hisself dipped in a big, zinc vat a hydrochloric acid. Man!!! That take off the pimples real fast. Flesh start steamin'. I start shriekin'. Shit in the vat too, if you wanna know the truth... All my most expensive special parts get burned off and I die. Never did get to heaven, or purgatory, or hell, or How-Are-things-In GlochaMora, or Brigadoon, or none a them places. Mister Never-You-Mind get smacked down right back here. I a ghost. I THEE ghost... captain a all the neighborhood spirits (you meet them later). Guess that almost like bein' a knight. But all you gotta know is I the one tellin' this story. I the narrator. In life, Mister was a bad, ole Cajun-Creole ramma-jamma. Yeah, I know that ain't no bad-ass word no more, but I like it. And I am the captain. And I am tellin this story. So get youself used to it. 

Now, what flavor bull-shit was I givin' you? Oh yeah... the bingo parlor. If it do have a name, it'd be Viragoes and Harridans Bingo Hall. Like a flea bitten stock yard for tobacco stained, gravel-voiced, snaggle-toothed granny wimmen. Sea hags in nylon wife beaters, tight black bike shorts (gets 'em in Five Dollahs Buy You anything place) and flip-flops. Toenails ain't nothin' a write home 'bout either. Twenty five cent a game buy you three boards (two cards on a board) and chance for ten dollar. Some a the fancy wimmen what got big grandkid-feedin' welfare checks or dead husband (pension) checks plays gold cards. That cost a dollah. Prize only twenty five dollah. Should be forty, but they too dumb a know. Not 'spossed a smoke in a place either. But ain't nobody give no never mind. Only pansies and Jew-girls don't smoke 'round here. 'Sides, in the 'vampire wonderland' thirty five the new sixty.

Lemme take you inside. I go fsst! right through the glass. But you gotta use a door. It crowded. It always like that. Three long 'tables'.... thirty to a side...sixty to a table. One hundred eighty bovine, curbstone beauties when the place all fill. Drinkin' coffee. Suckin' stink weed. Coughin'. Cacklin' and survivin'. Life is tough here. No Name Bingo all they got. An' when it close at ten thirty, they got mostly nothin'.

Back room at the far end. But first they got a 'podium.' That where Uncle Patsy sit. He the caller. Got a real deep, slow, cold voice. He old. He skinny. He sick. Think it got a do wit' his lungs. But he been sick real long time. Not 'spossed a breath no stink weed smoke. But he do. Marty, he the owner, give him orange juice, 'cause lady on a radio show say it cut out all the nicotine. Uncle Patsy drown hisself in it. Marty call  numbers when Patsy on a piss run, but them moldy, old bitches in the seats don't like it. So Patsy pee real fast. Too bad they not got fast peein' in Olympics, or he win a big prize for it, like a 'frigerator, or a shotgun, or a moped or somethin'.

Peek-a-boo mirror back a Uncle Patsy. Outside the mirror. Inside a window. That the back room. It got ripped up, ole, dark green vinyl sofas, dirty wood floor, ole desk what got itself boosted from a school. Whole bunch a cartons. Few mouse turds... and money. It got lot a money. Everybody always countin' money back there. Not foldin' money, bitin' money, as we used a say. Quarters mostly. This where they get rolled up and stashed away. 'Muscles' help. He a 'tired cop. You know cop get 'tired real young. And he ain't got hisself no modern muscles. He got like ninteen seventy five muscles. He got like Joanie Love Chachi muscles. Ain't no big thing. But he do got a gun. He got two gun. Wear 'em like a cowboy. They 'spossed a keep everybody safe.  'Cept if somebody pop him in a head from 'cross a street. Marty wanna have two 'tired cops. But he not get 'round to it yet.

Some bingo kids back there too. They grab quarters an'make change when they out front. They count change when they back here. Two carnie lookin' bitches back there two. Marty lookin' out the mirror. He watchin' 'the house'. He talkin'. He sayin - OK, Mary, OK Dianne, you gonna be my two 'bingo slatterns' tonight........ Them two bitches keep crackin' they gum. But they do show a little interest....... Marty say - Here the routine. Here what you do. Sit down by the toilet. None a them cows like a sit by that spot. An' every time Patsy call out 'leven number an' we still ain't got no winner, I want one a you to yell out with a bingo on the next call. That alone will lower the pay out by like six game a hour (then he look at Ricky) An' you over there, Shit-For-Brains, what your name?..................... Ricky go - Ricky, my name Ricky............. Marty go - You their 'bingo boy.' You grab the money on their row. You the one check they bingo's. Pay 'tension. They gonna take turns. When Dianne win, you check it with Mary. When Mary win, you check wit' Dianne. Just show 'em the God damned card and call out any four or five possible bingo numbers from the light board. That's all you gotta do. That's it. you got it?.......... Ricky go - Yeah, I got it............ Marty say - I fuckin' hope so, shit-for-Brains. An' how 'bout my two 'slatterns'over there? What about you? You got it?.........Dianne go - Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah we got it. We got it. We got it.................... Mary go - Christ, how fuckin' dumb you think we are anyway?............ Marty say - I ain't got that much friggin' time............. Dianne go - Screw you, you hairy Jew bastid. It the same we did when we 'bingo slatterned' for Mickey in Wilmington........ Mary go - Yeah, we professional. We KNOW this shit. 

Guess they got like a diploma, or somethin'? What your daughter do for a livin'?..... Oh, she a professional 'bingo slattern'....... My, oh my, ain't that nice. ....... Now you gotta 'scuse Mister Never-You-Mind. I wanna go have a conversation wit' them gals on a corner.

They dead, but they still hoes........

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IMPOSSIBLE FOR BEGINNER TO ACCURATELY COMPLETE NANOWRIMO START-UP CHORES. ASKED FOR HELP, BUT cricket chirp, cricket chirp, cricket chirp, STIL WAITING. SO IT'S GOTTA BE THE VAMPIRES TIL I/THEY CAN (HOPEFULLY) GET IT RIGHT

I thought I'd be doing NaNoWriMo by now. Have a story all planned out and everything. Spent HOURS trying to sign up and complete start-up chores. The vampires I blog for even agreed to let me do it. (it's me, wilkravitz, in case you don't know) But it's almost impossible for a tech challenged soul like me to get it all right. And THEN, when I ask for help, I apparently did that the wrong way too. Plus, our server VIRGINBroadband2GO, made sure they did their part via slow responses plus many other sundry varieties of punishing, little tortures. So.... attempting proved futile. I'm STILL not 100% hooked up the right way. Nor have they answered any questions. Will I go back tomorrow? I'd like to. It'll be a day late. But that's OK, because I suffer from word hemorrhage of the brain. So until then, let me continue to fill you in on what's going on 'round here. 

Luna pretends like she doesn't know us. She's a vampire and a physician and an Anti-Enchantment bureau operative. Started as a mortal. But she had a 'thing' with Tomas and Papa and now it's 'fangs' for the memories. Truth is, our guys really don't care. Papa still occupies some ethereal (finally figured out how to spell that one) Shangri-La or Brigadoon, so he's completely useless. Sure he steps in and 'does something' when HE wants to, like some uncaring, lethargic chef stirring the pot. 

Oh, I need a vacation from all these 'miraculous' creeps for a while. Let 'em go bother Anne Rice for a few weeks. She'd dress 'em up in leather and lace, prance 'em around and have a great time. Tomas would get on swimmingly with her. He'd rediscover that Castilian lisp (which was never his regional accent) and sip those old, thick, Spanish wines. Jerez, I think they call them. Annie would pout and stick out her lower lip and kick her feet. I'm telling you; I'd love to push that rotten bastid out a window, but the little bitch can fly.

Doctor Franklin could help me, but he won't. And I really can't complain about him, 'cause he's got other problems. Seems his 'remedies' don't work anymore and he's starting to age fast ..... which can get real inconvenient when you're already three hundred and six years old. What, he's 'only' got the body of an eighty four year old? How the hell is that supposed to help him now?

Wants Tomas to do something for him. Wants him to test drive the Great Armonica.... And the one they got out here is really big. In a sense, what the old reprobate wants to do is get into heaven, or someplace like it, without ever dying.  Like a divine 'wetback' if you will. The machine's supposed to do it for him. It's gonna rev him up and spin him 'round real fast, all the while bombarding his flaccid, drooping, flabby flesh with carefully orchestrated harmonic frequencies designed to instantaneously shuck off the mortal coil and deposit him securely in The Bosom of Abraham. Sarah says - Why doesn't he just die?..... Why, indeed? A scientist to the end. What can I tell you. 

Did you know he had a son? A 'baby boomer,' named Merrill. Think he's about fifty seven years old. Got an antique shop on Pine Street. Don't see the old man much. But they get together once in a while. And ,boy, does he stand to inherit a lot. We don't think about it today, but Franklin was rich even in Revolutionary times. Imagine how much he's got now. You know, that big contact lens cleanin', eye care company is part his. And he owns West-of-Broad-Street real estate comin' out the wazoo. Think he's got a big chunk of Sandals, or one a them other resorts, but I'm not sure. I know he's had Bill Gates and Warren Buffet down to the complex under the navy yard. Bill and Hillary Clinton were there once too. But I'm not supposed to tell you that. I'm not supposed to tell you anything. They think all I do is shuffle up the real stuff and hide everything. But I don't. And if you've followed us since the beginning you KNOW how many times I've said - Please understand we just pretend that what comes next is fiction.

You think those bastids read this? No. Not one. Not ever.  Oh, they like havin' their names out there. You know how vain they are. Think it's all like a dumb blog-opera for stupid human consumption.... Let'em go to hell. what do I care? Oh, they're SO good. Not like all them other life-eaters. Yeah? When's the last time they bought me a decent new pair a sneakers?... the cheap, bastids. 

You know, a group a guys from L.A. wanna catch 'em. They wanna grab 'em. They want a study 'em. Sorta like when they had Papa under The Vatican in Rome. I know, 'cause I took the call. Last week, I think it was. Told the 'familiar' I'd be sure an' pass it along. Made like I was writing it down and everything. But I didn't. And three days later that brown nosed 'familiar' got himself run over by a car. Not from side to side. Not across the waist. No, not like that. This dumb bastid managed to get hisself  flattened from crotch to head. You know... the scenic route.  Ever see one a them rubber dolls where you squeeze it and the eyes, the ears and the tongue pop out? Oh, it was wonderful. Don't look at me like that. Shut up. Don't look at me. 

God, I wanna do NaNoWriMo. Wanna grab myself an agent and get away from those sons a bitches.

Listen, if any of you know somebody at NaNoWriMo, or Amazon or anyplace over there, PLEASE ask them to help me do all the start-up crap the right way...... I have been among the 'dead' too long. 

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Vampires will have to take a back seat for a while. Nanowrimo Time!

     Bear with me. this is going to be a little different. I'm going to produce the first draft of an actual novel. It won't be like a blog post. There'll be less 'telling' and more showing. Plus, no paranormal stuff. Just a linear

story about real people in complicated situations. I still like the pixilated angle, so we'll keep that. The setting will still be Philadelphia, plus the Jersey Shore area (hey, in three months it'll be back--- beach towns got contractors coming out the wazoo.), because that's my world. May have to change the background to white. Don't know if they allow negative image creativity. Hope I remember how to make the color switch. PLEASE leave comments along the way. I crave feedback, so don't go cheap on me. Now I got to learn how to lay out a manuscript page on this site.. I don't even know it that's possible. But I want to do it here because this blog is my place and if those vampires don't like it, they can get themselves a new 'familiar.' But trust me. They won't. Gotta leave now to go complain about some dumb girl on the TODAY SHOW.

A VAMPIRE TESTS THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN MAGIC AND SCIENCE

Long before the advent of the atomic age, musicians searched for 'the lost chord,' an elusive example of pure harmonics believed to possess miraculous properties. Some, such as Sir Issac Newton, thought it able to manipulate matter. Other, less scientifically oriented dabblers spoke of time travel itself. 

But from the late nineteenth century til now, mainstream investigations followed a different path, seeking impossibly tiny 'particles' such as electrons and bosins and quarks, not realizing that these ghostly singularities were really the momentarily observed intersections of a multitude of frequencies...... the music of 'the heavenly host,' if you will. Well, Doctor Franklin thought otherwise. The venerable genius has been uncovering harmonic secrets since the eighteenth century, via experiments and demonstrations built around a certain invention known as the 'Great Armonica.' There's a large, working installation at his 'home' compound under the Philadelphia Navy Yard. You've seen it in past episodes. But the large one, the mother of all Armonicas, rests under the pastures of south, central Pennsylvania, rather like a parallel particle accelerator and remarkably shaped like one. That's why the vampires and the 'doctor' were here now. 

A silent functionary lead the vampires  to simple, though commodious quarters eight stories below ground. Each being got a sitting room, a bedroom, plus a bathroom and kitchen. The decor, though minimal, echoed high-end Scandinavian design. Chilled alcoholic beverages filled the small, stainless steel refrigerators. Blood meals, when needed, would be supplied by specially chosen (though definitely not favored) inmates from a nearby, high security prison. In some cases, families of 'lifers' ask so few questions. Indeed, some of them welcome the loss.

Edith, along with the other mortals from the townhouse, pulled in a bit later. Annie was not at all happy to see her 'nanny-controller' arrive. She said - That fat bitch ain't bunkin' with me........ Tomas told her to shut up, or she'd go POW! right to the sun....... And we all know how much she hates those banishments to the solar corona. But a promise, from a 'cute' technician, to take her and Avi into a lab and let them 'hunt' white mice, made her evilly gleeful once again.

Now Tomas had assisted with Great Armonica investigations before. Vampires are stronger. They can tolerate more. Normal human bone would shatter under such exposures. But those experiments pale before this one....... Heaven and Earth made one...... The world of the spirit and the world of the flesh reunited. A Promethius for our age..... an Icarus.... a Daudilus ...... I forget. Which one flew too high?

Ah, look! Avi caught his first one! And Annie got one too!

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Apre le Deluge.... (after the flood) a communication with the vampires

This is Baylah.We attempted to reach you earlier, but wilkravitz had trouble with the device. He uses a company called VIRGIN Broadband2Go and it is a most egregious organization. Our messages are often ruined. They're powers are small and mean. They're 'voice' is thin and weak. So another attempt will be made via the Twitter place. Look for a TwitLonger epistle, God willing, soon. If such is not possible, please forgive us. The Tempest has done strange things...

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DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S COMPOUND UNDER THE PHILADELPHIA NAVY YARD EVACUATES IN THE FACE OF HURRICANE SANDY

The Anti-Enchantment Bureau is in utter pandemonium. The Delaware River is expected to reach unprecedented levels. The underground compound is seriously threatened. Huge, unmarked trucks pull up around camouflaged trapdoors, uploading massive shipping containers of equipment, records and supplies. Some containers bear live specimens which have been sedated or anesthetized for the journey. And the rain comes down in sheets. Agents communicate via private frequency throat mikes, similar to those used by fighter pilots. Certain vetted cadres of Philadelphia police guard exits leading out to various main thoroughfares. Once empty, the water-tight, vacuum sealed doors slam shut. Yet nothing is foolproof. Thus the massive exodus. 

Doctor Franklin, the vampires, plus certain others travel in two large, armored, black RV type conveyances. And that includes me, wilkravitz. But I do not know the destination. 

A small team of agents was dispatched to the townhouse. No one can remain behind. Even Edith knows too much. Granted, tiny segments of society have always known about the paranormal. But the largely, still medieval minded populace must be kept ignorant. That's why they don't tell them about aliens. You know that. It'd be religious warfare in the streets. 

Edith didn't want to leave. She cried. She wanted to go back to The Pines. But Mister Edith, also possessed of keen telepathic capabilities, knew the truth. They would be in danger anywhere else. Chinese agents knew of their existence. Russian agents knew too. You want me to go on? Look how long they kept Papa imprisoned in Rome. Vampires mean power and every government wants that. So the house was emptied. A specially trained and briefed team swept through the place, gathering up books, keepsakes, belongings and anything else pointing toward supernatural provenance.

But Blackie and Minnie stayed behind, keeping to themselves and escaping detection. Papa, still in a nebulous, spirit-like state, disappeared. A few other, shall we say unusual individuals (vampires aren't all that's out there) discreetly sought refuge in the basements of the PENN Museum. The ghoul, known as Johnny Jump Up was still out there. Damn, must be like Christmas Time to him.

                               *********

It was quiet in the large RV. Just the engine, the wipers and the tire hum. Baylah felt bad for her boyfriend. He loved the Margate beach house so much. She did too. But an eight foot rise in mean sea level? Come on. That place won't survive. It's gonna be like the Sinking of Atlantis. Bye-bye shore towns. Hope y'all got flood insurance. Happened once before... more than once... Why do you think Longport (an extremely vulnerable town just south of Margate) begins at Eleventh Street? 

I'm typing this because Baylah thinks SO LOUD. She's  like pushing it into my mind. It's not that I'm so telepathic, but her brain is HOT.

The others are quiet. But I get trickles from them too. Tomas goes back to his childhood among the orange groves and olive trees of Old Al Andaluz. Sarah pictures her family. They all do. Annie hugs little Avi. She loves that scruffy Yorkie. Conrad and Leo play a telepathic game of 'movie stars initials.'

And we travel down Route 73, through dark, wooded, suburban towns. These are old suburbs... gray stone houses, huge trees, a scattering of destination type 'inn' restaurants, maybe a cute, little shopping district now and then. Nobody's around, not even some yuppie walking a designer dog. Everybody's inside, glued to their televisions, watching the talking-people tell them how long they got left. 

You know, even if you're snuggled up all warm in your bed, a thick, heavy oak tree can still smash through the roof and shatter your head.

More tomorrow.....hopefully. You're with us as it happens.

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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...: One of the workman came out a little later to take a piss. The alley was closer than the latrine. And nobody was out there, 'cept for the dr... Here's how our sad, little tale ends up. But if you're at all familiar with the original, you knew that. Still, perhaps it'll make you click on the 'older post' at the bottom and see what our little guy had to endure on the cold, hard streets of belle epoch Prague.