VAMPIRES GET IDEAS FROM LATE NIGHT INFOMERCIALS TOO... 7/01/13

I haven't been channeling this for a while. I don't know why. In the night-world, things just happen. But I felt the all too familiar spinal tingle and the subtle echo up beneath my scalp, so I sat down at the keyboard and waited. In six hours it'll be my birthday. You see, birthdays don't really begin at 12AM. They begin at the time you were born. So like my birthday runs from 7:31AM on July first to 7:31AM on July second. Twenty four hours..... That's why they call it a birth 'day.' If you start celebrating at 12AM and you weren't born till later, that would be jumping the gun. But some people ain't so fussy.

I don't know why I just said all that. Maybe Jonathon engaged my psyche before he had anything to say? If this turns out to be a two way conversation, I'll ask him. But usually he talks and I type. 

OK, here it comes..... He has a new toy... a new way to kill people, for those nights when he's not hungry, but just bored. I guess because he's still in a more or less feral state it's all right. And Jonathon ain't in State College no more, or the woodlands surrounding it. He don't know where he is. County roads and borders mean nothing to orange-eyed night wraiths. He scampers through the leafy canopy with a quiet grace unseen among hominids since the days of homo-erectus. And he catches things... little things.... fast things... tiny mammals out on the prowl... snakes... large, unidentified species of arachnids plus the occasional unfortunate common forest gnome. Boy, do they squeal like pigs. 

Oh, he still enters settlements, human mortal settlements, I mean. And he still kills bad people, only not with his teeth. Got a whole set a toys... got a lot a props... Gets 'em when he sublimates into stores and places... Stashes them with his clothes, mostly brand new, hard, scratchy, dark demin blue jeans, tighty-whities and tee shirts. Got a hidey hole in a little sub-basement under a old lady hair-fixin' salon. I don't know if it say that on the sign, but that the kind a place it is. Nobody been down there in eighteen years, so he's pretty safe. Watches TV and everything. Had a boost a transformer out of a motel to make it work, 'cause it an old one what had less picture lines than them new models they got today. That where he get the idea. Sees an infomercial 'bout vacuum bags guaranteed to wrinkle up all your bestest stuff and keep out them spiders. What they really mean is keep out them roachies, but it more civilized when you say spiders. Steals some a the biggest ones from a storage room in some old folks jail (nursing home) out by a Costco. They the best, twelve gauge  plastic and all, like what used to get made into slipcovers (more like hazmat suits) for granny sofas. But since most a the grannies what liked that stuff is dead now, companies use it to mummify wool sweaters and such.

Jonathon got a whole lot of 'em. Got an old vacuum cleaner to... canister kind, what got long, snaky tubes. Only he don't store blankets in 'em. He fill 'em up with people. Give 'em the vampire fish eye, scramble up they brains a little and take 'em down... to that sub-basement, I mean. Gets 'em drunk... Get's 'em sleepy. Keeps a case a beer down there for just that purpose. Then, soon's they pass out, he strips 'em down and shoves 'em in, all curled up like freeze dried Incan corpses. Zips 'em shut and sucks out all the air. Shrink 'em up to nothing... Real flat, just like beef jerky. Noses get smashed to the side. Titties look all funny. Man-junk get all smushed up. Skin get all wrinkled. Sometimes they eyes is open. Sometimes they's closed. Ears get all bent too. Most of 'em look kind a stupefied. Few look like they jus' don't care. 

Got fourteen stacked up right now in the corner. But he startin' a get sick a that game. Wanna play something else. Gonna move on soon and leave that crap behind. 

Don't know what gonna happen when some dumb bastid find 'em.

Guess now all you serial killers what got storage problems gone start doin' the same thing ...

Shit, jus' 'cause you got issues don't mean you can't be organized...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SARAH GOES 'VAMPIRE CRAZY'...a true story from when ANNIE was STILL a vampirina... 6/30/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: SARAH GOES 'VAMPIRE CRAZY': Sarah usually fed with Tomas. Not always on the same night. But he often accompanied her. Their cycles weren't congruent. She was a ful ...How to make vampire quacamole or hummus out of deserving human beans... This is a little seen re-run. I'm weak with fatigue...Dizzy too. If you want to thumb through all we got, click on this~>VAMPIRE STUFF THAT WE HAVE TO PRETEND IS FICTION... bon soir.... 

LITTLE ANNIE AND THE GIRL WHOSE MOTHER FEEDS HER SHITTY PIZZA .

They spotted each other one day in the park. Annie liked to sit on the benches and watch all the people. This wasn't a big park. It's a square.... Washington Square Park... That's what they call it. And even though Annie, with the help of some of the Piney people, managed to regain her mortality, she's still something of a witch, or a magic girl. 

The other girl, the one whose mother feeds her shitty pizza, likes the park too. She brings food for the pigeons, little bags of passed date 'Goldfish' she gets from a dollar store. Annie and her used to play when the vampires lived in Chestnut Hill. They sort of kind of knew  about the vampires and all. Shitty pizza mom had a thing for 'Papa' and he went over to give her a bath and groom her every once in a while. Vampires like to bathe and clean up mortal women. Jonathon did it to Silvia and Aura. Their sponge baths down in the tunnels were a big thing. Oh, they hit other notes on the scale too, but the cool trickles of ever so slightly rusty water tickled so. 

Shitty Pizza girl saw Annie and said - What you doin' outside? Ain't you scared a burning up?..... Annie went - Shows what a dope you are, you dope. I ain't no vampire no more.... Girl says - What'd you do, lose your license? My grandpop lost his license. They can do that to you, you know. Cops just grab 'em and run away. They run away real fast. You know how cops run. 'Specially them young, skinny ones. 

Annie goes - What you doin' 'round here? Your mom kick you out?.... Girl goes - Moms don't kick you out. Well, they do sometimes. But not when you're little. They need you to run in the kitchen and get 'em 'tateh chips when they watchin' tv. Or like maybe a piece a kleenex. You miss bein' a vampire?...... Annie goes - Nope. .... Girl goes - What you do with your coffin?...... I ain't never slept in no coffin - says Annie. I slept in a bed from Crate and Barrel. I know, 'cause Sarah told me...... Girl goes - Oh..... Then she tells Annie how she used to play that the boxes her Barbies came in were their coffins. But she used to wrap tin foil around them, 'cause the plastic windows in the front were see-through and in some religions they make you get buried naked. And it wouldn't be right to have see-through coffins, 'cause people might not listen to the minister when he tells everybody about you, plus old people would look too sickening and their grandkids would run out screaming.

Annie says - What kind a religion makes you get buried naked? Where they sendin' 'em... whore heaven?...... The girl whose mom feeds her shitty pizza said she didn't know. Then she sat down, reached into her bag, crumbled up some a the stale Goldfish and gave them to the birds..... Annie felt bad, 'cause the little starlings weren't gettin' much. She witched the pigeons so they'd go away... and they did. Then the starlings got a little more.

The girl told Annie she and her mom lived 'in town' now. They had a nice condominium 'right over there.' (just across from where they sat). And she didn't realize that Annie witched it so they would. 

Maybe Edith could take them to the movies, or like an all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffet? 

Maybe they could go down the shore and stay at Baylah's boyfriend's house? Annie liked the daytime.

After all... she was just a little girl... even though she still had powers...
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click here~> X MARKS THE SPOT ...for more. and visit me on Twitter ~>@wilkravitz ... klactu borada nicto y'all.... 

Oh, and also (they were so nice, I told them I'd pass it on) if you're in Philly and want phones, digital equipment, or some kind a phone/tablet/computer hook-up, go to the corporate owned AT&T Mobility store on Cottman Street and ask for Melissa and Kyle Durham. I went in there desperate for somebody to help me make sense out of my convoluted (my fault) antiquated phone  set up and they did... Took their time (with a tech dummy like me) got me hooked up right and saved me money too. Maybe they can help you too?

This isn't an ad or a product placement, just a 'thank you' for their help...

ANNIE ESCAPED VAMPIRISM BUT SOME COPE THIS WAY..... 6/28/13

They made me a puppet...a complete and fully articulated doppelganger. He looked just like me, but with the blush of mortal skin and less cunning eye teeth. My brain was his brain. We shared it. My thoughts animated his body. Indeed, he really was not a separate, sovereign thing. The mechanical thing...the automaton was me.

They put crystals in my brain and in certain points throughout my body as well. The puppet moved as I moved. He looked. He heard and saw and felt and smelled and tasted too. I  lived through him and the daytime opened up to me. 

I'm told the price for it all topped twelve point eight million American Dollars. But my coffers are deep. Vampires collect things over the years. I have paintings gathered from many places... a Giotto from a Tuscan duke.... a Chagall from a Parisian collaborator.... and something from the beach house of a Hollywood mogul. Look, I won't highlight them all. Nor will I mention every bank account.  Just know that I'm well fixed. You've heard your Jonathon speak of such things. Baylah does too. So you know. If you 'live' long, you prosper. 

Sometimes I stare at clear blue skies for hours ... and sunlight on the waves ... and butterflies... and grandmothers buying peaches at road stands.  They speak to me and I respond. Green leaves... I love green leaves too. They look so different at night. And sunbeams streaming through stained glass windows... And orange clouds at dusk. Now even in my nocturnal form I can come out after sundown and see the last bit of purple in the sky. I always liked doing that. But now I see much more. I see everything. 

They tell me such things are called 'avatars' after similar constructs from the cinema. And I am the first vampire to have one. Eight hundred years in darkness, done. 

I feel so much better now. Sometimes I dance and sing. And when I do my doppelganger does the same things too. 

But you know what else I like...no, love? I love making the acquaintance of mortals in the daytime and bringing them home to dine.

How shocked they are to see my 'cat toothed' twin.

I bite them and they die...

The best of both worlds... don't you think?

It's good to be rich...
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LETS SEE IF TELEPATHY IS IN THE AIR TONIGHT....... 6/27/13

I know not what I am, or how I came to be. Some say I am a carving shattered from a pediment atop a Florentine church. Renaissance artillery was so imprecise. But now I have a soul, of sorts, and eyes that see and skin that feels. 

I scamper in the darkness, lest people should see. For the artist made me naked and I am bashful. 

Oh, I know you are waiting for the resumption of the tale. You follow the vampirini of Philadelphia. But it is hot and the disembodied spirits narrating this thing pick up on the energy of the ether, as rising temperatures stir the atoms and make them dance.

Now I rest, wedged between a bench and a planter, not far from il Duomo, listening to the chatter of New World gawkers, plus occasional Alemanni . This one wants a lemon ice. That one craves biscotti. Another seeks a lover. The thin one wants to die. 

Sometimes I whisper. My lips never move. But they all hear my words. 'Travel to Vienna'..... 'Buy the silver sugar bowl'..... 'Marry the foreign Jew.' 

People listen to what I say. Catherine De Medici called me 'pet.' She sat me in her boudoir, right by the bed and told me secrets in the dark.

I know so many things, yet still don't know my name. Tomorrow night I'll scamper somewhere else.... a fat, little angelkin diving into shadows.

But indulge me for a bit. Play 'cat' to my magician. Let's see what strangeness we can do. Let's see what powers hover hence.

I will whisper a play.... a favorite of 'the Bard,' performed in Shoreditch long ago, yet known to you and me.

Please COMMENT if you hear the name. Tomorrow we will see if our souls proceed apace.

Farewell for now. I have to race. Some students from afar draw near....
And I have secrets yet to hear....

A cherub made of stone...
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for more Vampirewonderland, click here~> 700,000 words .... what play did you hear? please COMMENT or join us on Twitter, click ~>@wilkravitz ..... anon....

MORE ANONYMOUS LIFE-EATERS SPEAK OUT........ LEARN SOME SECRETS... 6/26/13

There was a hangman in our town... a true sadist... a devil much worse than any life-eater (vampire). He had a way to let the victim swing. No snap. No neck break. No quick drop into oblivion. Just a pendulum swinging in the breeze.. They gasp.... They drool.... They pee and shit. The crowd laughs. They clap and throw chestnuts. Throwing chestnuts is a tradition here. 

If the family of the victim can afford it, they give the hangman three silver crowns. This happens during the final visit. He ushers the victim into a marginally cleaner and brighter cell... No greasy stones... No black soot from eons of cheap, fatty candles wafting smoky dreams to nowhere. Three dirty bowls of stew. Well, not too dirty, but you know what I mean. And the beef is fairly free from mold and mildew. One for the victim. Two for his chief, not yet mourners. Most bring their own spoons. They sit on stools and eat. They talk. Some people cry. The crowns trade hands. The victim mouths a heartfelt 'thank you,' then silence. After a bit the clergyman comes in. What a coincidence... Everyone believes the same as the king and has done so for one thousand years. They even control the souls.

Then, when it's time, they do it. The poor soul walks out. Peasants cheer. They throw the nuts. Children caper about, miming 'the hanged man'... lolling tongues.... eyes rolled back... twitching arms... kicking feet. Bawds sing songs and flash their wares. as churchmen take down names. But death will be quick, for the rope is long and wound just so. 

Does the crowd like that? No, they don't. Dirty faces droop in disappointment. Eyes dart about. Perhaps there's a witch to burn? Or a heretic? Or a Jew? But the Jews were banished years ago. And they burnt their last heretic after the witch flew off. That one really could fly. Pity they didn't grab her feet before she got away. Young toughs began smashing market stalls run by immigrants, Walloons and Lombards and the like...... Oi, what they jibber-jaggin' about? Smash 'er teef.... And they did.... At least she had teeth.

I fixed the hangman. I fixed him good. Not that he was the biggest villain in all this. But that night it was his turn. Made him swallow each and every silver crown he had. Kept them in a secret niche within the stout stone wall.  Tipped a pewter chalice and spilled them out.... like rain upon the floor. No one heard. His cell was like a fortress, though he possessed the key. And moonlight filtered in to gild the coins. 

How he cried. Was I a demon, or a witchy-man? He wanted to know. And I just laughed. Sublimation is a special talent of mine and stout stone walls meant nothing to me. Though some of my ilk might have been scared. Condensing in stone is a terrible way to die. And had he lived in a more public venue, say a room over the tavern, I might have passed him by. Night-folk shun notoriety.... Well, back then they did. 

First I bit his nose and chewed it off like gristle. He moaned and trembled. Then I licked the blood that poured down from the wound. Then he went limp... dropped through my arms and rolled under the bed. I grabbed his legs and pulled him out. He whimpered like a puppy, as I sliced into his nethers and drained him dry. 

They all expect the neck. They all protect the neck. But me, I like variety. And it's disorienting to the night-meal when the lungs and heart and brain are still intact while the blood is drained away, like a great, internal tide rushing out to sea.....

He gasped... He wheezed... The whimpering stopped and then I watched the flames....' Spontaneous human combustion' they call it...

When it was over and he was gone, I scooped up all the coins. How greasy they were. So I took them home to wash them and gave them to the poor.

'Saint Francis' they called me, as I blessed them and mumbled prayers...

Was I always so honorable? No.... But that night, I was....
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see more at ~>NIGHT-FOLK UNIVERSE ... visit me on Twitter at~>@wilkravitz ... your COMMENTS mean a lot...

THE UN-NAMED BRITISH VAMPIRE SAYS MORE..... 6/25/13

I wish to continue our discussion. Vampires still perspire. And we do not ooze blood. What comes out is sweat. Which is odd, for we do not crap. At least I do not. They tell me the magic (not all consider it a burden. that jargon belongs to Judaeo-Christian types) settles differently on each and every one of us. Some excrete a paste-like substance. In the middle ages, dried turds were considered relics and sold as 'angel shit.' But I don't think they do that anymore. 

Most nights I frequent the East End. I recommend it to all visiting vampires. The 'food' is quite divine. And poor folk die so conveniently. No one cares. Few notice. It's all so easy. 

Did I tell you I saw The Ripper? I could smell the blood. There was so much of it, so could the rats. He had her on a bed... a filthy, crusty pallet in a dank, mildew cellar. And, I must say, he was a true virtuoso of the blade. I believe he favored a Neapolitan stiletto, long and thin and sharp. Your California 'Zorro' couldn't do any better. Such a juicy ripping sound. How appetizing. Please, I have to admit it. Don't hate me.

He hummed a little tune.... something from the music halls. I don't know the name. And she was spread open like a Prussian eagle... internally exposed from trachea to pudenda. Though not at all self-conscious. Death cures all manner of phobia, you know. 

Did he see me peeking through the small, street level window? Well, I think he did. I think he knew I was there.... An audience and a safe one at that. 

Oh, I can tell you who he was. But why should I spoil your fun. Night-folk know many things.... eternal witnesses we are. We know which miracles were real. And we know where all the bodies are buried. 

Your Jonathon does not like to hear that, for he believes 'with a perfect faith.' I think he has a messiah complex. I've spent evenings with the young Doctor Freud. Oh, how he wanted to analyze me.... a night fiend... a vampire... I ghoul. Well, to him I was a ghoul. But if you've been reading this for a while, you're familiar with the one they call Johnny Jump Up and you know what a ghoul really is. 

I stroll through Covent Garden looking for my own Eliza Dolittle.... East Enders.... Sloane Rangers.... Pearly Kings and Pearly Queens.... My tastes are so eclectic. 

Six quarts of blood. Where do I put it all?

I think she picked me for my looks.... 'Mama' Jeanette, I mean. I've been told I'm a pre-cursor to the young Lawrence Olivier. 

You should see me play Macbeth.
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