Sir Richard's Faults THE VAMPIRE REVELS 2/6/13

Sir Richard is the only supernatural being in the club. I cannot divulge the name. It's the finest town club in The City (London). Either you know it, or you don't. And they all know his true nature. The staff knows too. Chilled gin in the day room. An assortment of champagnes for dinner. Once in a while he can tolerate a bit of meat, sizzling hot and plump with fluids. It's rumored they keep fresh human 'tissue' on hand at all times. You know the 'burden' settles differently on each of us. Some can fly. Some manipulate matter. And others like a nice piece of ass.

I, myself, am a dead vampire, killed in the Tunguska Event, while convening with a rare clan of surviving Neanderthals deep in the Siberian forests. You know, their shamans were often vampires. This clan had a special one, named Sid. I think it was 'Sid.'  But I'm not sure, for the sound of his response was lost in the roar of the white-hot, exploding comet. Did have a very strong handshake, though. That I remember.

So now I narrate these things. Sometimes I change a word here and there. Did want to write for the Moscow stage, you know. Chekov thought I had talent. Said I was possessed of a certain quietly informed ennui.  The character of Doctor Ostrov in Uncle Vanya  was patterned after me. And so was 'Moe' from The Three Stooges, via the musings of a certain Ukrainian emigre. Even though 'dead,' I get around. Let me tell you that.

He used to marry a different mortal woman every twenty years or so. Gave old ones handsome going away presents. Reluctant departees got banged in the head with a ballpeen hammer. Couldn't bring himself to take their blood... family. after all.

And Tomas de Macabea, or Jonathon ben Macabi, or whoever he is, hates him. He hates him for what he did to Sylvia and to her father. Three hundred and forty years is not so long a time to night-folk. I knew two in Minsk who still came to blows over purloined tokens (ancient chits, or tickets) to the ancient premiere of Medea. A vampire never forgets. We may accommodate. We may forgive, at least on the surface. But we never forget.

Sir Richard took his vodka in the library. Tomas watched from the adjacent map room. He tried to crush his skull. Tele-kenetic abilities come easily to him. But the offending villain has powers too.And he grinned and nodded as the intended force shattered the emerald green glass eye of a quite surprised mortal invitee from New York. An extortionist, plastic surgeon on hand did his best to restore the shredded eyelid and he only charged double for it, so there. The rich can afford to pay. And the poor can do without.

Sarah tried to prevent a showdown. They attended meetings and discussions. They watched feedings in the dungeons, using their mental abilities to bring quick, warm deaths to scared, weeping cattle-people. You know, after the first few nights, the sedative does wear off. But he was adamant. 

And 'King' Rafe knew. He tasted it. He wanted it. All the best Revels had them. Fang fights, I mean. Wild confrontations up on the vast, slate roof, under a bone chilling moon. No knives. No swords. No piano wire. You know, you can slice through a neck quite easily with that. 

Vampire duelists fight bare. Just hands. Just teeth. Just strength. Ever see a rib cage crushed like an egg shell? Ever see bile ooze up from a sundry assortment of cranial orifices? 

And the witnesses are quiet. No one cheers. No one talks. Oh, sure, telepathic communication is allowed. But that's all. Two other vampirinos already chomp at the bit. Yet I'm sure, should it come to it, the Tomas vs. Sir Richard bout will be last on the bill.

The mortals among them pretend to be nonplussed. They pretend it's all about the meetings and the discussions. They pretend we're all here to solve world problems, like hunger and intolerance and all that. But the night-folk pretend too... And wolves will be wolves.

Little Bastid Annie is quite excited by it all. To her it's just a case of my father can beat the crap outta your father....

Sir Richard looks weak...a dissolute baronet. But don't forget, he's very adept at 'sticky' magic, the dirty, loathsome sort used in graveyards and back allies.  And don't even ask me what spirits he knows.

Baylah wants to contact Sylvia. She wants to talk to the long dead paramour. But Sylvia cannot be found. Perhaps she wants it that way? Edith uses her tricks too, but so far...... What is it they say?... Bupkiss.

Tomas sits 'fore a mirror, concentrating his strength. He still attends the meetings. He still contributes. but everyone knows. Jazmin worries. Lisa worries. Her husband, Brad, thinks it all great sport. Vampirinos are like that. But vampirinas can be different.

wilkravitz tries to talk him out of it. But Tomas never listens. He just throws him some money to shut him up and ponders what's to come...

What could you do with your bare hands, or even with your teeth?....

Think about it...

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FANG FIGHTS .. This is how they settle grudges.. THE VAMPIRE REVELS

Now you gotta remember, these are basically feral creatures. Yes, I know about the reverent types. I know about Tomas and the Philadelphia crew. And they're not the only ones like that. Still, losing one's religion is quite common among night-folk. It could happen to anyone. And Tomas never expected to see Sir Richard.  He despised that slimy bastard. Didn't want to get old. Couldn't bear to change. So vain. So studied. So hateful. 

You know, a lot of people bought titles in the late sixteen hundreds. Parliament created one especially for that purpose.  A baronetcy it was called. The holder was styled 'baronet.' They called him 'Sir.' But unlike a simple knighthood, this thing could be passed on, assuring his descendants at least a toe hold among the nobility. They got a manor, an entree, and probably a monogrammed snuff box. I don't know. Many were former alderman, or county sheriffs, or some such thing like that. And oh, how they reveled in it. Petty, little 'merry monarchs,' that's what they were. Wore the same wigs, the same clothes, the same mustache, the same everything, as Charles II, their perceived benefactor. Some paid over ten thousand pounds for the much coveted social elevation.  And it is ironic, that Tomas left London for safe harbor in a nascent Philadelphia, itself a fiefdom of one such fellow. Though being a Quaker, Penn never styled himself a baronet. He was Lord Protector of Pennsylvania, a realm more grand than many a principality on the continent. 

But Tomas had no gripe with him. His nemesis was Sir Richard. They say he owned a coffee house, perhaps two. Gentleman of quality frequented these establishments, for the rich, aromatic brew newly brought to The City from Hapsburg realms, by way of Paris. Sometimes they had dinner too, simple things like sausages and cabbage, or perhaps a willing wench.

Richard's place had false walls meant for spies, narrow hidey-holes just right for blackmailers, honor-thieves and robbers. They'd listen as merchants, parliamentarians and slavers,  mapped their lives, remembering certain potentially embarrassing tidbits for later.  Men say things when wigs are off. Everyone knows that. 

Guineas and ducats by the score danced into Richard's pockets via straw men who made their threats on his behalf. Unpaid taxes? Dangerous liaisons? Plots against an already unsettled church? Such whispers dusted every crevice of those old, paneled walls. High backed booths, meant to grant privacy hid traitors.... and sometimes vampires. 

Tomas de Macabea liked London, in many ways one of the most 'modern' and inclusive polities in the Christian world.  He appreciated the expansive park-like estates to the west and the grand palaces, such as Saint James. Opulent pleasure barges ferried monied gentlefolk to suburban entertainments in such newly established amusement centers as Vaux Hall and Chelsea. They strolled manicured grounds, rode festooned round-abouts and sipped fine, chilled, sweetened wines. Chamber ensembles provided discreet accompaniment to quick, chaste kisses and some not so chaste.  Many a bastard began in the bushes of Vaux Hall. And many a duel began there too.

Her name was Sylvia, the same as Tomas' more recent mole-folk sex-friend. And he loved her. True, marriage was out of the question. He adopted the raiment of a not so proper Andalusian emigre. The second son of an old Seville family, of late at odds with The Inquisition. London appreciated people like that, but they did not mate with them.

Sylvia's father was a gentleman, not a noble, but in every other way indistinguishable from the breed. He had the 'house' in Sussex and the requisite stables too. She came out at court and danced at all the finest assemblies and cotillions.... her gowns made by skilled Huguenots come for the freedom and financial opportunities of The City. And her jewels were fashioned by Tuscan craftsmen, some of whom were discretely Hebrew, as was Tomas.

He doted on his sweetheart, never her acknowledged swain, but always there, in the shadows, with a bauble, or a bon-bon, or a kiss. Indeed, his blood brought her through the plague, although she didn't know it. And when Richard's greasy machinations brought her father low, she suffered greatly. A girl from a titled family may of least have had that. But she did not. How sad that money, or the lack of it, changes everything.

I am not able to tell you more tonight. Dawn comes. Some spirits dance through sunbeams, but I cannot. The frothy energy diffuses the nebulous particles of my being. And so I hide in darkness, sleeping with the vampires.

I go now to my rest. Molest me not til moonbeams shine again....

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AUTHOR ANDREW HARDING SPEAKS ~~~Straight Out of London

OK, from looking at this, you can tell what comes next may be just the slightest bit 'blue'..not too much. You can read it at work...if you know how to close that screen real fas'... COPS & VAMPIRES & ADVENTUROUS PARAMOURS & ENGLAND after midnight... Welcome to the world that is THE HYBRID SERIES...... and this is how he does it, the ANDREW HARDING interview..... Click on THE INTERVIEW ANDREW HARDING'S PINK DIAMOND TELL ALL ..... after you're gonna want to go see the books on Amazon...
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WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME.: Actor Tom Hardy.....Latest review!

WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME.: Actor Tom Hardy... ..Latest review!: My latest 5 star review on AmazonUK, #59 out of #102 reviews. In the review it is suggested that Tom Hardy plays me if my book turns into a...When it goes to film, you'll be able to say 'I told you so.'.......Writer David Perlmutter lived his own 'wrong man' nightmare and shares it all with us...

A CHILL BALCONY WITH AN ELFERINO 2/4/13

wilkravitz cannot channel events at the vampire revels this dark-time, for he is ill. That mortal has the chills, plus incipient throat pains. And his belly is gurgling too. They tried to arrange for one of the disembodied spirits to carry the tale, but you know how independent ghosts can be. And the only two they could get on such short notice were either Leon Trotsky or Lizzie Borden. But since they have such low 'Q' ratings (ask an entertainment industry friend)it was decided to forgo our look into THE VAMPIRE REVELS and focus on some other segment of the after dark universe. 

We're back in Center City, Philadelphia tonight and Albion has the reigns. You've met this charming Elferino. He's one of a foursome, two girls and two boys, mortals taken on the cusp of puberty, into vampirism, I mean. The pointy ears  and slim, vulpine bearing stem from the potent hormones of the young. Some parts of their adolescent bodies (almost) refused to die. Thus the storybook ears. 

Such attractive beings they are, like poster children for Gallic waifs.... tousled coiffure.... soulful eyes and fine, trim jaws. But this is not about Marianne, or Roland, or Celeste. This tale dotes on Albion. 

He loves winter in the city. Dark, cold nights, frigid cobbles, windswept streets and winking traffic lights. True, certain boites and night spots stay open, but he glides through residential lanes, looking for lonely souls bent in toward icy zephyrs. 

Sometimes he gives them a fast vampire's kiss. Just a little. Just a drop. He doesn't take much. The 'elf' folk never do. The instantaneous 'quickness' of it all is hard to detect. A tickle? A stray lock of hair? A noxious, loathsome bug? 

And then, if his kissing friend is sick, or weak, he returns to make them well, biting into his own tongue, as he delivers a rapid, mouth smooch. You know how strong and curative their blood can be. Perhaps you've been kissed by one and never knew? Or maybe you do know?

Tonight he stops, down among the bare, February herbage and barren flagstone walkways of Washington Square. No friends there save the ghosts of Revolutionary soldiers planted deep below the winter-dry grass. And he gazes up to the third floor of a quite satisfactory, though post-war, tall, apartment house.

Someone sits out there, alone in the shadows, wrapped in coats and wound in scarves. This someone may have been out there a few nights before. I don't recall. You'll have to understand that I both narrate and star in this midnight ramble and am so easily confused.

So I (Albion) politely bowed. The someone up above never moved. Then I flickered through the ether (bone cold as it was) and came to rest on  a cushionless vinyl chair. The good ones are in storage. 

The person in the thick, warm (or almost warm) coat said - Are you death?..... I whispered - No, but only his nephew..... The person nodded, saying - Please forgive me, but my hands are so cozy burrowed deep within these pockets. Mittens too, you know. ..... I said - No need to explain.... So we did not shake hands.

And I heard his stories.... of ancient Dilmun and summer nights along the Euphrates.... of drafty garrets in medieval Paris and decomposing heaps of Roman dead (the plague, you know). Our world is his bailiwick. And he studies so hard. Imagine, mistaking me for his master. 

Sir Death has squires, you know. He trains them, like Santa Claus trains salami breathed drunks (well, some of them anyway)for the malls. I don't know if the Easter Bunny instructs his helpers. I don't know if they even lay eggs. Though some claim the ability to lay double-yolked, opalescent marvels. Who knows? A biologist I am not.

But the being had a client deep within, an old woman, curled in a bed. She had a flannel nightgown, long and warm and crocheted 'booties on her feet. Her eyes were open. She rarely slept... a few moments here and there, but that was it. And a nurse came by every afternoon to feel her brow and say hello, though few others ever did. The land is quite large. The family quite scattered. You know how it is.

One night, after watching Pat and Vana on a little TV in her kitchen, as she ate a microwaved Perdue Italian Style Chicken Cutlet dinner with tater tots and, oh, I don't know what else, she left a note, written on the back of an old receipt.

That's why Death's acolyte was here. She didn't 'post' it the first time, but now she did. A small, plastic 'brag' book filled with much loved photographs from the old days hid under her pillow, bedtime stories for a sleep that seldom came.

I contemplated making her well. I thought about a blood gift...just a little one...just enough... She'd live and breath and walk and eat.... more than that, I can't vouch for. 

But she had people to see and places to go. So I told the being in the coat to have courage and left him to his duties.

Did I see the woman later on my rounds? Was she down in the square or walking the lanes in the dark? To that, I must answer - No, she was not, for that sweet soul was very far away.

I was fourteen when the night-folk came for me. And I have 'lived' through many stories too. Would you like to know what an elferino or elferina endures? Then do a bit of current magic. Google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz. My truth is not so different. My torture no less keen.....

adieu.... Bon nuit ...Albion

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Like Bilderberg Conference, But Different... THE VAMPIRE REVELS 2/3/13

Let me tell you about the Hunt Room. I was there with them. Edith was too. At first we didn't know if we were supposed to join in, but the thin woman from Hungary was there and she was a mortal. Now, Hungarians do have some weird mojo going on, but she was still mortal. 

It's me, wilkravitz.... just in case you didn't know. Baylah said you probably did, but I like to be clear about things.  So it was us, the group from Philadelphia, the thin Hungarian woman and a life-eater couple from Santa Barbara. We couldn't figure out how old they were. Neither one ever said. Tomas tried to feel them out, but nothing... nothing. They were cordial enough. He smoked these little, orange, woodsy cigarette/cigar things. Didn't ask if anybody minded. I mean some of us did have real, biological functions going on in our bodies. The wife apparently was adept at some sort of magic. She did this thing with her hands and the smoke disappeared. You could still smell the orange, woodsy part, but no obvious smoky smell. 

Now the room wasn't the real hunt room. That space was bigger. We were set up in a little chamber off to the side. The real hunt room was filled with mounted antlers and stag heads...boar heads too. Looked just like the logo for them cold cuts. Huge hall. Cold and brutal. Our room was more like a little sitting room, not gray, or barren, or castle-style at all. Tomas said it reminded him of what they have in Scotland...wing chairs positioned 'round a strong, oak table. Paneled walls.... little chandeliers with dark green shades over the lights.... thick oriental rug.... small fireplace with a carved, stone surround.... Boy, don't I sound like a real estate ad? Look, I don't know how to post photographs and I just want you to know.

That is odd though. I Google it and I study it and I almost grasp it. But at the very moment I try to do it...BOOM, it's out of my head. WHOOSH, it's out a there. Edith says no matter what they say, vampires don't like publicity, so maybe my selective forgetfulness is their doing? They like being talked about. They can accept that. But pictures make them nervous. I don't mind. A guy who runs a big promo/social site, told me on Twitter that he'd show me how to do it. @ScopeQLQPasa, that's where he is. Go look. If you write, or create, or make movies or video, you might like it over there. Very visual. That's why I gotta learn how to handle photos.. But I did ask Tomas if he was making me forget..... He didn't say, although he did give me two hundred and fifty dollars in travelers' checks. Don't ask... vampires worry about travelers' checks. Edith says they do it to look normal. If anybody investigates 'the group traveling out of Philadelphia.' we won't look so weird.

Functionaries came in with little aroma candles. I think they were like vanilla and musk this time. Don't ask me. I don't know.  Smelled good, though. Left little bottles of vodka too. Like what you get on the airlines...if you go first class. We go private and that's even better. Put down a tray of cheese and pepperoni and crackers for the mortals. Baylah said she likes the way cheese feels. Sarah said Muenster used to be her favorite. Then she got real quiet. Sometimes she thinks about thinks. You know, she is only a little older (in vampire terms) than Annie. I KNOW the thought of running into one of her mortal relatives terrifies her. Not that she has so many, but still....

Annie isn't with us. She's with her boyfriend, Larry, and this other 'kid'.... little 'goth' thing who thinks she looks like Winona Rider from Beetlejuice. They got their own group with two mortal kids. But the mortal kids are real adepts. Know a lot a necromancy shit, so Annie ain't gonna try nothing. Don't know what they're gonna talk about.... probably Justin Bieber, or how to write cursive. Tomas checked up on her. That's how we know. Funny, in so many ways, Annie is very old...almost ancient, like she was born to be this way. But she's also still a child who likes coloring books and squirtin' whipped cream from a can into stranger's faces when she's out on the street. Look, she used to bite toes off. Still does, every once in a while. So the whipped cream we'll accept. 

Some music began to play in the background, in the room where we were, I mean. Can't pinpoint the source. Think it's 'King' Rafe's magic. Baylah said it was the score from 'ONCE.' That's a Broadway show.  You know, what with her piano bar and all, she knows. I liked one song about still having 'time' and all. Vampires think about time a lot. They can just sit and stare into the middle distance looking at time and space..... like they're studying the fabric of creation. Sometimes I forget how 'miraculous' they really are. 

The thin Hungarian woman had real nice, long auburn hair. Sort of like Sarah's, but longer. Nice smile too. She ate some of the cheese. Edith and I were glad she did, 'cause that made it all right for us to take some too. Good pepperoni. Bet it came from Italy.

The Santa Barbara night-folks wanted to discuss the economy and what we could do to promote the creation of wealth. He owns a whole lot of real estate along the Middle Coast between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Something to do  with computers too. Said vampires cannot afford to be divorced from such things. Gives them a little bit of control over things. Tomas doesn't like vampires who talk like that. You know how religious he is, don't you? Passover's his big thing. The miraculous night when God came to save him. He cries. He prays. We have a Seder (means 'the order' as in sequence, or 'the service'), with Pascal Bread (matzoh) and everything. Edith cooks it. She can cook anything. Some of the Red Paint people eat with us, so there'll be a few more mortals at the table. Tomas says God came to rescue each and every one of us. He tells the story of the first born, little Egyptian children being translated into the ranks of the heavenly cherubim when they died. He tells about the prince of Egypt who stepped down from greatness, but rose to glory. Tomas is a real medieval Jew, holy roller. Believe me, I NEVER expected to meet a vampire like him. But now I know there's quite a few...other Jews... Christians..... Muslims. It's like Tomas says... 'Faith never dies'..... Might need some intensive care once in a while, but it comes back. 

Tonight was just for all the groups to get to know one another. The Santa Barbara vampire couple is Brad and Lisa. Bet they know Nancy Reagan. Bet they knew him too. The Hungarian woman is Anna. She likes to be called Jazmin, though. Says it makes her feel younger. We did all talk for a while. They liked Edith's stories about The Pines. They liked when I told about blogging all this. Brad says he might know an agent in Brentwood.....

I liked Brad..... gonna keep in contact with him....

Goldie Hawn and her group must of been somewhere close by, 'cause I could hear her laugh. An interesting place, THE REVELS. And when it does get too obtuse for me, I mess with my Kindle (it's small, they don't mind). Found an interesting site, comforting and wise. Click onTHE LADY FROM GREEN BAY . You might like it too.

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I told you... We only pretend this is fiction.... Please nominate me for a SHORTY AWARD...just tweet this ~~~> I nominate @wilkravitz for a SHORTY AWARD in #BLOGGER because of his stories and narratives..... Thank you. Thank you all very much...

Magic, Then The hunt Room THE VAMPIRE REVELS 2/2/13

They slept soundly during the light-time. A ghost walked through their quarters, but only Annie saw him. He stopped and bent down to study her. You know, she curls up like a rolly-polly, like a sow bug. And she snores. Most night-folk don't do that. They compose themselves into a relaxed position and close their eyes. Breathing is just a habit, you know. Oxygen does nothing for them. One vampire, I think he's from Canada, says they're just puppets made from embalmed flesh. They met him on the dance floor. Lives out west. They call him The Midnight Mounty. Wears a black uniform. Not red. Nice hat, though. Looks a little bit like Billy Jack.

Tomas don't hold with that meat puppet thing. I mean, look at all the variation. Some got religion. Some kill children. Some are basically psycho maniacs. Others are bashful. Go browse through our early episodes. We told you 'bout bashful ones. 

When Annie saw that spirit thing, she just laid there lookin'. She goes - Who the hell are you, you God damned bastid? ..... So she sat up, passing through the night-fiend's nebulous body.  you know, the totality of a ghost's life rests in the 'body.' You can see the whole thing. It's like snoopin' through an attic. Annie saw him robbin' coaches, ravishing maidens, stealing pocket watches. Well, they were all pocket watches back then, but you know what I mean. Then she saw when they cut off his head. No fancy machine. With an ax and a block they did it. Took three chops. You know, if the family pays the headsman, he'll use a sharper ax. But this guy didn't have any money left and he didn't have no family. Ran away from a poorhouse. Slept in dirty inns. They knew he was a thief.  Thieves tip real good. Wenches loved him. That's what they called waitresses back then. Guess waiters were called 'wenchoes,' or something like that. Don't ask me. I don't know too much 'bout old English. I died in Bolivia. Don't even speak much Spanish. Quechua, that's what I talk. You know them ancient Incans? Yeah, well, hi ya. Now you know one. Got my head bashed in with a gilded, ceremonial club. Emperor liked the way I cooked llama. So I got an invite I couldn't refuse when he went to see Inti Ra. I'm thinkin' in Quechua right now. But whoever's in charge over here got like a universal translator. We talk mind to mind. That's all I know. Miss that coa-ca, though. Say we don't need it over here.... Bunch a lyin' bastards.

Highwayman-ghost flinched when Annie went in him. It hurt him and she knew it. Nobody ever came that close before. He jumped back. She said - Saw-ry.... But she didn't mean it. So he turned around and went to scare Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. Yeah, they were here too. She got like this meditation-calm-youself-down thing for kids that she does. Think her agent got her the invite. Gotta find a recently dead agent over on this side. He'll know.

'King' Rafe had a big show planned. Been rehearsin' for weeks. Tongueless functionaries had a sit around and be like an audience. He can sublimate real good...pass right through anything, even rocks. They got stories 'bout a vampire hero-guy. Lived in Babylonia, or maybe it was Arizona? I don't know. Say he sublimated right down to the center of the Earth. But how they know he not go down in a cave and hide for a long time?

Show got a big snake. Call it a mega-python. Come from the Amazon. Not too far from where I was, actually. Forty feet long. Maybe fifty. Real fat.... I mean REAL fat. Could swallow like the biggest fat-ass in the world and not even feel it. Don't even need no lard smeared on it or nothing. Did this thing where he lay down on the stones. Make hisself real stiff. Legs out straight. Hands to his sides. Then he say somethin' and the huge, gunmetal 'worm' slides out a the shadows. Few a the mortals got scared. Some a the new vampires too, even Sarah. One human lady from Chicago ran out. She was crying and everything. Kept babblin' that she couldn't stand that stuff, 'cause a dingo once ate her baby. I think she a liar. I think she just had a go pee.Vampires don't like when humans run out to pee all the time, so you gotta have a good excuse. They like real strict school teachers or somethin'.

Snake open its mouth real wide. Slide up over his legs ('King' Rafe, I mean). Slide up over his hips. Oh, did I say that he was naked? Well, he was. Vampires are weird like that. Everything with them is a big show. 'Look at me. It's a big show! Look what I can do!'..... He call this trick 'The Living Coffin.' Make like snake can't take him all in. Make like it gettin' tight. But it ain't. Then, when only his head stickin' out, he says somethin' in Vahmperigo. That's old time vampire talk. But it is not like the Vahmperigo Tomas knows. Rafe talk Northwestern Vahmperigo. Got Dutch words in it. Got French words. Anglo-Saxon words in it. Think some of it is Pig-Latin too. 

People start clappin' when his head disappears. Then snake just close it's mouth and wind itself up.  Band playin' somethin' from Carmen...slow and sultry. Functionaries slip through the crowd handin' out little aroma candles. You know, a big snake stinks real bad. 

People get up, go over and poke at the thing. They say - Yeah, he in there. One lady, I think she like a braver human lady, jab it three times. Then she go - I just touch his butt.

Lights go down real low. Candles dim. Folks get real quiet. Even vampire folks. Some a them got lots a special talents too, but they still like a good show. Only not ventriloquists. They don't like no ventriloquists, 'cause the tongue gets stuck on the eye teeth and they can't see what they sayin'.... That's the vampires, I mean.

Ten heartbeats later this chanting noise come out a the walls. Like shamans. Like druids. Gets deeper, til the whole hall vibratin'. You can feel it in your chest. You can feel it in your stomach, if you was there, I mean.

Finally snake hiss real loud. All the chanting stops. Silence. Snake open it's mouth. Pan pipe music come out. Two heartbeats later this satyr fella squeeze out. He the one playin' the music. He look like Mister Numb-Nuts in that Narnia movie. Got goat feet. Got goat legs. Got this cute, little tail... cute little horns. Not like devil horns. These cute ones. Then a bull come out..... a white one, with black shiny horns. Five Barbary Apes run out, all screechin' and hollerin'. Real big ones too. Whole bunch a other mythological crap fly out a that snake..... a Medusa....  two real little old fat guys ridin' tricycles. Got bells and everything. Marilyn Monroe climbs out (she almost trip)...Ed Sullivan climbs out. Finally John Lennon come out, but not Yoko. She not wit' him. 

All them mythological bastards start singin' 'Imagine.' All what squeezed out a that snake start holdin' hands and dancin' 'round in a circle.... faster... faster and faster. And circle get tighter and tighter and tighter, til it like a room-size. colorful tornado... Then fast Beatle song come outa them stone walls. It go - Little, little be a gypsy, get  around. Little, little get around. Be a gypsy get around..... Then BOOM!... Just a big BOOM! Tornado gone and all them creatures wit' it. Snake rise up high over the crowd, like a giant cobra. Hiss real loud. Snap it's head down real fast, like it want a eat somebody. Folks scream. Even vampire folk. Then rain come down.... black, shiny rain. Snake meltin'. And when it all gone..when floor covered in three inches a melted snake water, 'King' Rafe rise up from the middle, all gold, like Greek God, Hermes, wit' little feet wings and everything. 

Stone walls start singin' ('nother Beatle song) And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love, you make...

He rotates 'round, bows to the crowd and returns to his throne. Thunderous applause from all in attendance, lasting for ninety eight heartbeats at least.

When they stop, people look down to find, small, gold, Hermes statues on the tables in front of each and every one of them. Later on, there were Hermes scarves and leather goods too. One a the vampires got ties in France.

Needless to say, the act was a success. Some human guy from Nevada, Steve Wynn, I think, wanna book it in his hotel.

A few minutes later, they broke up for the Bilderburg style discussions. Was gonna tell you 'bout that now, but ancient Incan spirits get tired. And I wanna go listen to some Ima Sumac records.....

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Long one tonight. Didn't wanna leave no part out. You know we only pretend this is fiction... Could you maybe tweet --- I nominate @wilkravitz for a #BLOGGER SHORTY AWARD based on his narratives and stories.......g'night.