Meet The 'Never-Dies' ...... 11/12/13

Tomas, also known as Jonathon, is still receiving harmonic treatments at The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. He's still very confused and depressed. Vampires get that way sometimes. Lately with him it's a hobby. But we have detected a bit of paranormal information via the full psyche scans and would like to make you privy to it as well...

'Never-Dies'.... Remember that term, for it identifies yet another gruesome toothsome churning in the night-world soup. To keep it simple, they're old people... extremely aged old people, who've lost, or never had, the ability to die. You've heard the expression 'the good die young?' Well, this bears it out. 

Imagine someone who grows ever knobbier and bristlier and fuzzy-downy haired and wrinklier and fungi-nailed and twisted. Oh, and they drool and spit too. But as their muscles weaken, they also contract into thin, little, gristly steel-like cords. Some mistakenly call them goblins. 

They hobble through the shadows (repulsive beings tend to do that) grabbing dirty, city pigeons, which they cram into their snaggle toothed maws, feathers, feet, heads, flapping wings and all. The mole-kids consider them to be great clowns... except when THEIR on the menu, since some resort to cannibalism. The witch in Hansel und Gretel was a Never-Die, in case you're interested.

A few practitioners of the macabre claim they resonate no magic, but are animated by a rare disease, a live-forever germ, if you will. In its early stages children and grandchildren of sufferers care for them via hopefully benign incarcerations in old folks' jails, better known as 'nursing homes.' But time finally takes it's toll and there comes a day when great-great grandchildren have no idea who they are. That's when the sinewy survivors break free their bonds, gum a few ersatz nurse attendants to death and shuffle out into the great, wide world. Most form trios, or quartets. A few are solo acts. Normal mortals rarely see them... But they abide and their rheumy eyes stare with longing at fresh skin and plump cheeks.

Edith (friend, confidant and witchy-woman housekeeper to our vampires) knows a few from back in the Jersey Pine Barrens who live off scared, young kids in stalled cars. You know, they're all not runaways.

'Never-Dies'.... Who'd a thunk it? Gleaned from the neurons of a life-eater's (p.c. term for vampire) mind. 

Even Doctor Franklin didn't know about them and in a sense he's, sort of, like a 'healthy' one himself.

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SOOTHING A TROUBLED VAMPIRE.... 11/9/13

They got Tomas into a room, not the big chamber with the big Grand Armonica. This was a secondary one, but more than up to the take. He was convulsing, so they laid him out on a table for treatment. Luna was there. Sarah, his 'declared' consort, hates her. Sure she (finally) recognizes the polyogamous  (not really polygamy. just the opposite of monogamy) nature of night-folk love affairs, but she still hates Luna. She just does. Look at her in that crisp, white lab coat. Look how she has the sleeves pushed up just so. And what, does the Anti-Enchantment Bureau have in-house hair dressers now? How's she get that bun, or twist, or whatever it is so perfect. Must loosen those tendrils with a crochet hook. 

Now please know Sarah was not there in the flesh, however her remote viewing abilities are very strong. She wanders the world at will, observing strange goings on in Roman catacombs and Los Angeles sex affairs unbeknownst even to @TMZ ... Vampires, especially intelligent 'noble' ones are exceedingly curious creatures. Galileo worked with some. So did Da Vinci, Josephine Baker, Alexander Pushkin and Helena Rubinstein. There are hundreds...maybe thousands, but those five just happened to pop into my head.

And did I tell you that Luna's a vampire... a vampire physician, to be exact. Raised by the Bureau. A prodigy she was... able to dissect and analyze mummified tissue at seven years old. By twelve she achieved verifiable cogent thought and observable brain-muscular connections in her first head transplants. Human to human switches ultimately bored her, but her first human-dog switch ( a Quebecois lounge singer and a Great Dane) grew ever more melancholy. The one with the human head missed his thumbs. Dew claws, even intact ones, aren't the same. He could no longer hold martini glasses and that, apparently was a big part of his act. The Great Dane with the human body is a watchman in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and engaged to be married to a cute, little foreign thing with her own nail salon, who's positively addicted to his indiscriminate and not always facial 'kisses.'

But Luna eventually succumbed to vampirism. I think the unbelievably long lived one called 'Papa' had something to do with it (twenty eight thousand years old, but looks like a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere), though this disembodied spirit narrator does not know, as I was still embodied at the time (only two years ago) and selling vintage hula-hoops door to door. I killed myself. OK? Don't ask.

She intubated her former night-folk lover (even vampire bodies benefit from certain carefully prepared nostrums) and snapped off his tight, little, black, leather, 'Speedo' thing. Then they turned on the not quite as grand Armonica apparatus in that room and levitated him up into the therapeutic (and probing) 'spider web' made from sound. Such soothing chords they were.

Doctor Franklin, sporting one of his signature, emerald green, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suits, arranged himself in a nearby ergonomically correct reclining chair and regaled the more-than-human patient with tales of not so ergonomically correct torture devices. Vampires, even usually well meaning ones, like Tomas, are intrigued by such things. 

The three hundred and seven year old, scientifically preserved patriot whispered stories of a huge, obsidian cube, all black and shiny, owned by an Indian potentate. The house size bauble was split horizontally through the middle, with an indentation in the center meant to snuggly encase a temporarily living human body. Tiny, almost microscopic tubules  let air in. Royal elephants harnessed to decorative pulleys raised the top half, allowing the condemned to creep inside. Then the upper portion slowly lowered, sealing the understandably flustered subject into fatal embrace. Cue the royal elephants. Pull the heavy juggernaut out into the hot Deccan sun. It was called 'Journey To The Center of The Earth.' And when, after a few days, they raised the upper half, the body inside was baked fine and even, as if in the best tandoori.

After a time the vampire, Tomas, slept and soon after the old reprobate slept too.

Supernatural psyches need constant care....

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VAMPIRE, TOMAS, DOESN'T LIKE PLAYING STOOGE... 11/8/13

Then it started. They dragged the victim into the concrete, circular pit. He looked around, trembled, scanned the galleries and sat down with his back against the wall. Must have been cold being all bare and all. Eerie silence. no one said a word. The guy in the pit hugged his knees and slowly rocked from side to side. 

While he's rocking, let me give you a few details. The pit is shaped like the inside of a big can... maybe twenty feet deep and fifteen feet across. Three tiers of flip-down stadium seats go 'round the top, with twenty one per row, plus three narrow aisles (with concrete steps) leading down. Industrial fixtures bathe all in a weak, dull glow. The audience, made up of Anti-Enchantment Bureau scientists, functionaries and personnel, including a few guests, such as the two filmmaker kids sits politely. Chimes sound... not too loud. Just right. Tiers go dark. An ever so slightly flickering, focused beam lights the pit. 

Tomas enters wearing that black, leather Speedo thing they insist upon. Some bureau hair stylist has really done a number on his long, wavy hair, but he's vain, so that part he likes. The victim sees, but pretends not to notice (denial). Rocking stops. Tomas never looks up into the stands, approaches the 'prisoner' and lifts him up, one hand under each arm. At first the man just hangs there, but then instinct takes over. He kicks, thrashes about and yells - No! No! No! Tomas plays cat, lets him loose and stands back, as the pathetic victim tries to scale the walls. This goes on for a while, til the vampire slaps him down. The man tries again. Tomas slaps harder. The victim contracts into a fetal position and sobs. Tomas sits down next to him and strokes his body sympathetically. The man shudders. Then the vampires pries away an arm, raises it to his mouth and slowly 'tastes' the fingers. The sobs grow louder. The man trembles uncontrollably. Tomas goes - Shhh... shhh... shhh... Then he draws the first two fingers of the right hand into his mouth and quickly bites them off. A few of the witnesses groan and cringe at the sudden 'SNAP' of the bones. But the victim is silent, though he shakes as if fueled by high powered lithium batteries. (you've seen those little toys for sale on street corners. you know what I mean). Then he forcefully takes hold of the victim's shoulders, rolls him over on his back, straddles his belly and with two rapid, focused exhalations shoots each into an assigned eyeball blinding the man on the spot. It's as if the guy gouged out his eyes with his own two fingers. He bucks. He groans. He screams. Blood is everywhere. Tomas is a vampire, after all. He ignores all external stimulation, as he rips and bites and feasts. But just as it's over, seconds before the viscous mess ignites into 'cold' blue flames and disappears, some idiotic cretin up above cheers and whistles, breaking the vampire's drugged stupor and drawing his undivided attention.

No one so much as breathes, even Doctor Franklin, as the cat-like life-eater (p.c. term for vampire) vaults up passed the rail and makes another kill. 

Tomas has principles, after all. He hates pandering to this crowd. And the inescapable rule is NEVER take pleasure in a vampire's kill.

The one in the stands had it coming...

Pity his neighbors got splattered with gore...

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BILLY KRAVITZ IS DELIRIOUSLY IN NEED OF SLEEP.. VAMPIRE , TOMAS, TAKES OVER ... 11/7/13

Greetings, oh best beloveds. The one who blogs our tale slumbers in restorative manner under old vampirino potion. It was necessary. He enables our 'truth' every night and was most egregiously in need of rest.

Please take this time to scroll back to the early days and wander through my vampiric nativity, or anywhere else you may so desire. Click the little tecla (I mean button) on this portal (I mean 'link') ~> BACK TO THE PAST ... 

Muchas gracias, sus amigo encantada,

Tomas de Macabea

y una cosa mas... leave a comment down below and I, Tomas (not Billy) will personally answer.... 

LIKE A SCENE OUT OF ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW but with BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 11/6/13

You know those scenes in THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW where the mad scientist, twisted VICTORIA'S SECRET model played by Tim Curry does his 'thing' in that laboratory surrounded by all his tre 70's pseudo Andy Warhol-ish chorus people? Well, this execution was a lot like that. 


For the past two or three years we've given you the sanitized side of PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK. Yes, there were hints at something else... Little Bastid Annie used to bite the toes off unsuspecting sleepers.... Resident ghoul, JOHNNY JUMP UP (victim of a premature burial) dragged a few squirming tid-bits up to the roof tops where he 'motor boated' his way into their blood rich, glistening, viscera packed abdominal cavity. The guy likes offal. What can we say? Paranormal folks tend to get that way. They have power. They have magic. They have hunger. They have drives.... a 'night buffet' that never ends...... You know, that'd be a good name for a horror movie...NIGHT BUFFET!! Quick, somebody text @eliroth ... But now back to 'the compound'.....

Functionaries ushered everyone into the galleries. Those in the first tier were issued plastic ponchos, should any errant bits of gore or tissue splash up that high. A few smoked medicinal marijuana to calm their stomachs, but some of the old timers who were used to these things munched left over Halloween candy. I mean it's a human body, right? Just science. That's all.

The two movie making kids sat up higher. It's not good for newcomers to sit down stream once the barfing starts. No matter what, there's always a few of them in the crown and some retching sons a bitches lose all sense of consideration when the churning starts.

Tomas wasn't with them. He was downstairs getting ready. And believe me, this part he hated. They had a woman who coordinated these events and she had a lurid sense of design.... all black leather and black rubber. Gave Tomas this little speedo thing. I don't know who made it. I'm just calling it 'speedo.' All black leather. Then she braided his hair like a late Georgian dandy. Powdered him up a little bit too, to accentuate the whiteness of his skin. Wanted to put some dusky smudges 'round his eyes, but he told her to 'go to hell.'  This wasn't the first time he was part of one a these shows you know. His costar was easier to dress, 'cause he got nothing, save a light dusting of pink powder to highlight his blood-filled body. You know, they used to costume victims in all them old Roman death shows too. Even gave 'em lines to say before they cued the lions. Everybody wants to direct.

Tomas had this thing. He didn't make it up. They told him to do it. God, the things people believe about vampires, his kind of vampire, would make you sick. He complained to Doctor Franklin, but the old reprobate, used to proto Grand Guignol (think German Impressionist early twentieth century cinema, though bloodier) productions in the salons and jewel-box-like theaters of eighteenth century Paris, tut-tutted his concerns. He wanted a good show too. 

So our reluctant, vampirino star had to bite off the fingers of the other guy, (at least two of them - one at a time) crunch right through the bone, hold it between his teeth like a knuckled asparagus stalk and hock it right  into the victim's eye. You know, vampires can do that with a lot of force. Worse than a bee-bee gun he was. Stuck out a them gushin' sockets like bug antennas. Guys screamed. They'd plead. But by that point the blood lust was all whipped up and there was no stopping him...

I'd channel more now, but I have to get up early tomorrow. Edith, the witchy-woman 'housekeeper' here at the townhouse wants me to drive her over the bridge into Jersey, so she can go to Wegman's. Who's she cookin' for? Hardly any humans in this place. But... that's the way it is.

Maybe some of her 'Piney' friends comin' over, or like a few a the 'Red Paint People?'

You gotta google them Red Paint People. I'm telling you. They are something else. You'll see...

Fiction, this is not.

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DOCTOR FRANKLIN and the VAMPIRE KNOWN AS TOMAS tell SECRETS to YOUNG FILMMAKERS ... 11/5/13

After the old reprobate came down from his apparatus, he put on one of his usual outfits, namely a deep green, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suit and some sort of sneakers. I suppose he wore some sort of socks too, but knowing Doctor Franklin, I cannot vouch for underwear.  Then he and his guests went into The Quarters, a special residence, updated over the centuries, where the venerable scientist holds court. It's an expansive, commodious space, decorated like a Pennsylvania country house, circa seventeen eighty or so... rich, but not showy. Indeed, old money Philadelphians still ape that style.  And although underground, every room had windows featuring computer generated views appropriate for to the time ( late colonial-federalist). Fine, black phaetons passed down the lane drawn by matched pairs of superior horseflesh. Gleeful lads splashed in a pond across the way. Pheasants strolled about the carefully rolled lawn. Tomas was used to all this, but the young filmmakers were not and downed their vintage madeira  rather quickly. 

The doctor explained quantum harmonics to them, a science based on his work , beginning with the first armonica all those years ago. Back then it was a musical device... crystalline discs all in a row, suspended on a long, thin, copper rod and tuned like a harp. Each one freely rotated, kept moist by a shallow pan of water running the length of the contraption and suspended down below. But over the years the thing made more than music. Complex chords and combinations there of effected things. Dried houseplants revived. Dead flies gathering dust on a sill absorbed vapors from the ether and lived again. Upon further investigation, the scientist-statesman formulated a table... a chart, detailing each discreet harmonic and it's properties, rather like Mendeleev's Periodic Table of the Elements. Certain formula were beneficial to humans, preserving them indefinitely via a break down of any oxidizing elements and other such destructive substances. Now the tones were all on computer, but two or three actual armonicas of various sizes were still kept simply because the doctor liked them. Others bathed in the sound web too, though few achieved the near immortality of it's inventor. Three hundred and ten years he was, or there abouts. Though upon close inspection not more than perhaps eighty... Some said seventy six. He and the vampire had been fast friends since well before The Revolution. They studied all manner of unusual beings in the compound, night-folk being but one variety. Mer-folk, yetis and a Jersey Devil or two also called the Bureau home. Though none were prisoners and permitted to leave should they so desire. Indeed, the salt water filled mer-folk tubes and channels were quite beautiful. 

But Tomas' actions concerning the young filmmakers were fast and instinctive. He wanted to save them. Now they're here and they have questions....

The vampire explained ...  Spies are everywhere- he said.... do you think the mafia peters out and ends? No, it does not. No self-serving organization truly does. The snoops and sneak thieves on the perimeter mesh with others of their kind on the opposite shore. In that way secrets become absorbed and known to all manner of adversary. Believe me. The mafia already knows of your film..... The second youth piped up and said - It wasn't a film. It was live feed. We streamed it..... Doesn't matter - sighed the vampire. They know and they will kill you..... Yeah, but they saw what you did to him too. They saw you kill that hit man. They know. They know your a vampire - said the first..... Tomas just sized him up and said - Well, maybe I'll kill you..... The youths pushed back in their chairs..... But Doctor Franklin laughed and Tomas smiled. Though the man on the hundred dollar bill did say they'd stay there til things blew over. Tomas wanted it that way. Vampires dote on certain individuals. To some they're saints. To others monsters. The boys, although they might not realize it now, were in the first group. And they jumped at the chance to don plastic ponchos so they could witness Tomas dispatch a particularly vile sort of evil doer... a serial killer fond of ice picks up the nose. Thrust hard and fast enough and the thin, fine, ivory-like bone at the base of the brain cracks. Ancient Egyptians used a similar method to rid the body of this rapidly decaying tissue. But their 'victims' were dead, whereas this noxious practitioner operated on the living, although they would not be that way for long. Ride the subways he did... late at night.... Often he and his prey were alone, rocking back and forth through the tunnels underground. Do you know how the lights in the cars blink out every once in a while? Well, the killer likes that, quickly switching seats, til perched right by the side of the soon to go bye-bye. Sometimes they'd scream, but so did the wheels upon the cold, steel track, so that didn't matter. He'd grab them in the dark, twist the head, the better to aim his tool and thrust home. Legs would twitch... eyes roll back... mouths spew foam... not too much, but enough... and it would be done. Shhh, here comes the stop. The killer departs, silently blending with the night, while his gruesome companion rides on, til discovered by some unfortunate soul. The mole-folk found him. The killer,I mean... and brought him here. Tomas does not usually dine this often. Vampires are like snakes in that regard. But tonight he's executioner and eager to make the sacrifice. 

They'll do it in one of the deep, cement chambers, like surgical theaters in a very strange hospital. And the boys have the option of watching 'from the bench.' 

One seems eager, the other not so much... Tomorrow we'll see how it goes. While up above and quite close by an early rush hour starts in the pre-dawn darkness. Cars speed through the sharp, cold night, streaming toward the city on 'I-95.'... A mundane world for mundane people.

But you, my friends, who visit here know better...

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MEANWHILE BACK AT THE ANTI-ENCHANTMENT BUREAU .... 11/4/13

I don't know how the drivers do it. I think they have a way to triangulate positions. Tomas has a chip too. I forgot about that. He forgot about it too. A lot of vampires have chips. Some luddites among them know nothing of technology, preferring to wallow in the primitive realities of their past. They keep to the shadows, make bug eyes at buxom damsels and sleep in specially made 'dead boxes.' Like Dracula. That's what they are. Not the new one they got on TV. He's just a rehash of our own (and presently missing) dashing Muscovite-oligarch- vampire known as Grigori Usipov. Regular readers know that. No, I'm talking about the real Dracula... the one Bram Stoker wrote about. And let me tell you something else (a digression, but bear with me). The first draft of that 'novel' was penned here in Philadelphia while the esteemed author played house guest to the prominent Rosenbach family. Their vast, Center City, townhouse mansion has since become a rarefied shrine... a museum... brimming with unusual treasures and quasi-miraculous what-nots. You can see the hand written 'fictional' account there, within the pages of a large, pale green, late Victorian ledger.  Well, researchers can see it. They have a room for such things... a small space, with hardwood floors, Persian carpets, heavy draperies, second empire moldings and a large, polished library table. Oh, did I mention the fine, old, tall clock? Tick, tick, tick it goes. And the soft, rich chimes are so mellow. Some say the book is cursed. Some refuse to touch it. Others are less fearful. Some of them are dead. For what appears there upon those pages is not the same as what was published. Secrets flicker there. And our own Tomas keeps even more within the vellum pages of his also hand written (though not by him) copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo. We've referenced that tome from time to time, but best to leave it alone, for the magic within (if magic is the right term for it) details more than just life-eaters.. Indeed, the vampires we speak of may be but one manifestation, one facet of 'the dark jewel.'

Whew! Some digression, eh?

The car arrived. More like a luxury S.U.V., if you will and the the two young filmmakers, plus their vampire savior got in. The driver, a well trained functionary of 'the bureau' said not a word, as he ferried them out of the woods and down a highway into the city. How it sparkled at night. Dense, thickets of towers all alight, as charwomen and char-men too, I suppose, moved about the august offices preparing them for a bright, new day. Dulcet jazz tones filled the cab all the way down the great length of Market Street, 'crossed the Schuylkill (school-kill) River and on into midtown, passed the huge, illuminated, wedding cake spouse (the city hall and not a copy, for both were built 'round the same time) of the Hotel de Ville in Paris. They cruised by the convention center and the nineteenth century cavern that is The Reading Terminal Market Place and larder to the knowing gourmands of this place. Last comes the Historic Heart, America's Vatican, or The Tower of London, if you will. What splendid ghosts 'live' there. Then the N.C.D. (night club district) where twenty-somethings overpay for table service and well heeled tourists dine in establishments known to Jefferson. 

In case you're wondering, wilkravitz the one they call Billy narrates tonight. Usually I just type, but our disembodied helpers are somewhere else, so I do double duty. Tomas, the night-folk, 'star' of our tale, loves his adopted city, thus the travel log, in case you wanted to know. 

Doctor Franklin's underground compound lies at the edge of the city, just passed the tight little red brick streets of South Philadelphia, home to cheese steaks, trattoria and the immortal Ninth Street Market where Rocky trained... The hidden resource is accessed via nondescript tunnels scattered about The Navy Yard. They pulled into a clean, low-lit parking garage and got out. Two agents, rather Men In Black and mysterious, led them through a thick, metal door and into the storied corridors. After a time they heard, or rather felt a sonorous hum, like music from talented whales, or well schooled 'spheres.' A portal opened and they were there... the hall of The Great Armonica, as Doctor Franklin (Benjamin Franklin, if you will) hung naked and suspended within a spider web of magnetic 'music,' as his greatest invention bathed his aged, though well preserved body in carefully regulated pulses of restorative energy. 

He spotted Tomas and waved. The vampire waved back. Then he and the two young filmmakers sat down at a table and read magazines ( I think a couple old Crate and Barrel catalogs... maybe a Readers' Digest... a People) til their unusual host was through..

The newly minted filmmakers, needless to say, were thoroughly impressed.

Next time I'll tell you more...

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