The NON-DECOMPOSING ZOMBIE, LARS, FEEDS A HUMAN TO SEBASTIAN ... 4/15/14

I am completely indifferent to the machinations of those coarse, base children. 'Mall rats,' I think they style themselves. Let them play. Let them tip-toe through the shadows with that addle brained 'Gary.' They are but gnats to me. I will kill them when it is necessary and convenient. I will rip off hunks of their flesh and swallow it. Let them tremble. Let them scream. Lobsters scream too when they're boiled... and they can't even close their eyes. 

Sebastian must be fed . You can watch. Look , like a medieval dragon-thing guarding treasure he is... Been here for generations, dining on British Fusiliers in the War of 1812 and stupid, hate riddled belligerents during the Kensington anti Catholic riots of 1844. I believe he took some tourists during the Centennial Celebration. That was 1876, for the numerically and historically challenged. Too many dates. Too many dinners. Those are just some I remember from the early days. He swallows things approximately every four months. And the things he swallows are 'you'... humans... What did you think? Takes five or six to fill him up now. Some nights I climb down and sleep with him. I straddle his back, just behind the neck, lie down and hug him. Got a head like the serpents on Aztec pyramids. So cold. So smooth. So strong. He doesn't purr. I do. 

He'll take a victim foot first when they're trussed up just right. More of a show that way. They groan. They scream. Takes a few minutes to suffocate in there. We stagger them. One foot-first. One head first. So they can shriek in each other's faces til they die. 

We have a good one tonight... a college kid... a verifiable 'student prince'... plucked from the cobbles of Penn's Campus. I believe he was part of that tragically misguided vampire, Tomas' resurrected 'Junto.' Good deeds, improve society and all that. Well, pity... Would have graduated next year. Now he's a snake's dinner.  Got two tiny cameras Krazy-Glued on his body. One on his head. We shaved that. And one on his foot. The right instep, I believe. Tiny things they are. Made for espionage and surveillance. Oh, they have pin lights too. Whole thing's gonna be streamed right to his father's smart phone. Maybe even You Tube. Who knows? My 'techie' zombies take care of that. Why does the world insist on thinking we fall apart like pot roasted chickens and shamble around all the time? Well, let them. Makes it easier for us. Element of surprise and all that.  Do you think the dad will watch? Oh, initially he won't. But I'd bet, after a while, he will. He'll sit there in the dark, by himself, late at night. The house will be quiet. Then he'll slip the phone out of his pocket... so big and heavy for a 'pocket' device, but that's where most men carry it, and he'll activate it... Hold it in his hand and watch. He'll see the quivering.... He'll hear the screams... the prayers... the coughing... the groans... but mostly just the shrieks... then breathing... then silence. But the battery lasts for hours... a long slow shot of an incrementally dissolving son. No, wait. That's not what he'll see. (Sigh), too late now, but next time we must mount the cameras differently.

I can't tell you exactly where we are. But I will give you a bit of a description.  The place used to be an ammunition factory. Molten dollops dropped from a height rocketed down a huge, round, brick ... well, 'chimney' I suppose you'd call it.  Twenty stories high, at least. By the time they reached the bottom, they were done... 'mini balls'... lead shot... slashed in a pool and collected later. No pool now. Just a pit. A vast, deep, smooth cement pit. That's where we keep the snake. There's a few cat walks up above and an eight story building abuts the tower.  All quite visible from The Delaware Expressway. 'I-95' I think they call it. Officially empty and deserted. Not the road, the building. Some historical society owns it. Do they know we're here? Well, in a word, yes. The director's youngest son is a zombie. Father hates it all. Doesn't approve. Still wants the kid to 'control' himself and take a seat on the exchange. You know, there's a stock exchange in Philadelphia too. Quite a respectable one. Kid took me once to pick out a meal.

Please excuse me for rambling so. But I do love to meet new people.  Though I've just received a note. The 'mall rats' and their addle-brained friend are in position. The scaffold is in place. They're climbing up. 

(Sinister smile) Soon they'll get their 'prize.'

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Who's Stuffed Up In That Ceiling?... 4/14/14

We had a substitute, Mr. Loeb. But he was OK. Played e.s.p. games with the kids. Taught them how to do 'improvisational monologues.' That's were we go up to the board, you know, one of them big white boards where you write with erasable markers, and make up a name, an age and a job or hobby. Then we ARE that person. First we tell you about our lives. Not our real lives, the characters' lives. Then we take questions from the 'studio audience.' That means the kids in class. Mr. Loeb says we just gotta not say bad words or sex words... and that's it. 

Everybody likes that game, 'cause it's like the acting classes they give at the Little Theater. But the Little Theater makes you join first, plus pay for the lessons and it comes to over two hundred and thirty five dollars for like four months. Here we get it for free. But only when we got Mr. Loeb. He's like our school's regular substitute so we get him a lot. Miss Crispin has a stomach condition, 'cause Mrs Fox hates her. She's the principal. but I think they're gonna get rid of her, 'cause Pimple Face and Fat Ass saw her sitting on top of a table kissin' Mr. Bruno in the 'rug room.' That's where they keep the kids who scream and throw shit. Not real shit. They ain't monkeys. Just 'shit' shit. But she was kissin' him after school , 'cause the district won't let 'em do it when kids are there. They got rules about that. Fat Ass came back to steal a laptop. If anybody asked him, he was gonna say he forgot his inhaler. Asthma's like a big thing around here. You can get out of gym with it. 

Mr. Loeb lets us out first. Not before the bell, 'cause Mrs Fox ain't officially kicked out yet. Mr Bruno got transferred to some bad kids' school. I mean really bad kids, not like just around here. Soon as he let us go I run to this place in the yard to wait for Sybil and Opal. In case you don't know, it's me, Sophie, talking. This is Friday. Our mom's think we're sleeping at Opal's house. I don't know where Opal's mom thinks we're sleepin' at. She runs diet club meetings on top a the rug store. Won't be home til last one gets weighed, maybe nine thirty, eleven if they go out to eat after. We got cell phones. It'll be OK. 

Gary, the weird guy, is gonna let us stay after closing. At the mall, I mean. He's like a nightwatchman, but mostly he sits and reads comic books, or eats Hershey buds from the candy place. The other watchman, Joe, is more professional, but he don't come in no more, 'cause he died ten days ago and they ain't got a new one yet. Gary knows about the zombies. Says there's a place by like a garage, or a storage room where they smoke cigarettes and 'do' each other. But we can't go in there, 'cause they got an agreement. Gary lets them alone and they don't eat him. Once they gave him a watch from some big guy. Took it off before they started eatin'. That way it was clean and all. No blood, or meat gobbets. I like that word 'gobbets.' Found it on an old Trivial Pursuit card. But Gary says they can't eat him anyway, 'cause he's got a Bic lighter and a can of Aqua-Net. You can make a flame thrower out of that. He say it on Hoda and Kathy Lee, or some other show they got on late at night. 

Sybil and Opal and I are gonna go to the movies. They got like eight screens. My cousin's friend works there, so for us it's like an all-you-can-eat motion picture buffet. I don't even know what's playing. Who cares? They got good, mostly roach-free popcorn and I always win something from the claw machine. After, we're gone to The Happy Cricket. That's a Chinese place in the food court. You can get fried rice, broccoli and  this red syrupy chicken. They call it 'Emperor's Dinner. Opal says China must a had one retard emperor after another if they ate that crap. But I don't think they did. 

Gary told us where to hide. We're gonna slip under the beds in the furniture section of this department store. Not uncovered beds. They got 'em fixed up in little alcoves to look like rooms, so we'll be alright.

He's gonna come and get us. Says that stain on the food court ceiling dried up a little, but it's still there. People sit under it and nobody knows. They got this big metal scaffold thing with wheels for when they change the lights. I seen it back in the hallway, where the toilets are. Once they found a half eaten body back there. Couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, 'cause certain important parts were all chewed off. Mall kept it quiet, because Santa Claus was comin' to town. They had his big chair and like a candy-house cabin set up. But some a them elves looked pretty nervous, always lookin' around and everything. 

If we find something up there, like a body, or most of body, we're gonna put it on You Tube. Sybil says if it gets big enough and goes viral, they might put us on Ellen. I'd go for Jimmy Fallon myself, 'cause he's my favorite. But Ellen gives better prizes, so I'll take either one.

Come back tomorrow. I'll be here..... I hope.

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The Dave Clark Five - Bits & Pieces - Top Of The Pops (1964) <~ Bits & Pieces ...just like ZOMBIES ... 4/12/14

Pits and Pieces---

They call me Lars, at least now they do. I am the Zombie King of Philadelphia. Others rule Montreal and Los Angeles and Houston and Manhattan. I believe there's one in Baltimore too. We saw each other once in Atlantic City. No words passed between us.  But I skipped something. The one in Baltimore is a queen... a zombie queen. The world of flesh is open to all.


I could tell you where I shelter, but then I'd have to eat you (quivers) Oh, God I love fresh meat. Expect not the rotted simpletons they push on you. Granted, occasionally during fast times certain abstainers affect such demeanor. Ears fall off. Breasts wither. Scrotum dry and crumble. Lips shrivel... And toes get lost. But good meals work wonders. Regeneration, you know. Once I even grew a cunning, little tail.


You've seen us. We sit by you in Starbucks, or on the subway, or in church. And 'zombies' walk the streets at night too, when it suits us. But we have no aversion to the sun. Some avoid excessive heat. You know, although there are few records of it, we 'played' the Coliseum back when it was still called IL Ampiteatri Flaviani. ... Night shows... Torch lit spectacles worthy of Nuremberg.... Kettle drums and everything. Oh, how they screamed... How they pleaded. They knew what was coming. Up through the sand we came... naked like statues... all powdered white. Some lead based antimony I think it was... the better to show the blood. And we fell upon them . Here's the rub. Our teeth, my teeth, are no sharper that yours. But my jaws are strong. We bite and rip like rusty spoons. And we don't stop. Before I forget...  I am not a veteran of that place. The coliseum, I mean. Though I am of that line. Lines are the pivotal thing among flesh-eaters. God, I know how vampires feel. I hate the word 'zombie' too. Some small, varietal on a remote West Indian island bears that name and so we're all painted with the same brush? Why not call all mortals Lichtensteiners? It's the same thing. But you can call us that, if you like. We don't care what the hell you do. 


Here's how it happens. We catch mortals in lonely places. Squatters in abandoned homes are a particular favorite. A quiet, battered soul eating slices of bread from a plastic bag... Maybe a smidgen of light... Sterno can, or something like that... And then a closet door silently opens... A being steps out, smiles and nods. How the tiny, dancing flame illuminates our features. The bread eater bolts. He makes for the door. But we never travel alone. You know that. When he opens it another of our number fills the frame. Strong fingers press against the mortal chest, pushing him back. Number three comes down the stairs. Four comes up from the cellar. There could be more... No rules.


Once they're down it's over, though some bands keep the meat breathing as long as possible. Circulation preserves the flavor. So they start on the limbs and work in toward the torso... ripping and snapping and biting and chewing. Oh, I forgot. The tongue goes first. Some merry, prankster always sucks it out, slurps it up and bites it off. Prevents excessive noise too. Me, I like the nose. It's crunchy. Ass is good too. Can't tell you how we make our escapes when it's all done, 'cause like I said, then I'd have to eat you.


Do we have weaknesses? You'll never know. You'll suspect. You'll reach conclusions based on movies, books or urban legends. Be my guest. Knock yourself out. 


Those 'mall rats' better be careful, or some cheap, little thing will wake up minus her eyeballs, or possibly wake up while the procedure is still... going on... or possibly never wake up at all. 


Here's something I can tell you. We eat when the protein... when the connective tissue... when the collagen begins to break down... calcium too. Some of us crunch the bones... Warm marrow from a still living 'source' is quite the delicacy.


You should try some on toast...


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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 37TH BINGO BOY episode 12/6/12 ...FORGOT HOW GOOD BINGO BOY IS... if you like, jump in here & scroll around .. 4/11/14

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 37TH BINGO BOY episode 12/6/12: Bingo Boy - post 37 Permit me to introduce myself before I begin the tale. My era was the eighteen eighties. I lived in a small room at t... Please... this is not the post. Just the link to get you into the post. Click on where it says -- 37th BINGO BOY episode UP ABOVE and scroll around. If you like sickening carnie tales plus an 'in' to our weird romance in a crooked bingo hall, this is your kind a bees-wax. More #vampirewonderland later tonight. thank you.

Cabaret - willkommen <~~ enjoy this and WELCOME to ZOMBIES vs MALL RATS .. something different for a few weeks... 4/11/14

The vampirinos are neurotic for a little while... all dizzy over the passing of Tomas aka Jonathon. So we are bringing it to you this  new bit of alternate reality, detailing the gory confrontation of two sworn enemies... two coherent and highly organized suburban tribes... homo-necrotic- cannibalis, commonly known as 'ZOMBIES' and  homo-juvenalis-foodcourtalis, called 'MALL RATS.' I am sure you are acquainted with at least one of these loathsome specimens. Or, who knows, you may be specimen youself? Look into the shiny surface on the outside of medicine/ acne place. Are you seeing pallor?... vacant sleepy eyes?... bed head (not just hair.  whole skull)? ... red stained teef (lipstick count too, you know)? Well, then you are one... And it really make not any difference which snot nosed oligarchy dues are being paid to. Is all I can tell you at this early date. But, ah, players are beginning to coalesce.....


Ewww... What's In My Smoothie?!



Presenting sneering, tooth-sucking Sophia-Electra, princess of Foul-Mouthed-Back-Stabbing-White-Girls. Every day after escaping gulag of ninth grade, she gather acolytes in food court... joyously bitter Sybil-Roxanne and gum cracking diva Opal-Felice, where they fantasize 'bout boosting short-shorts and fine, needlepoint tampon holsters  from Short-Shorts & Tampon Holsters 'cross from Body Waxing & Lemonade. Sometime they go to movie. Sit in dark and text. Pimple-face kid say - Go in... They go in. He think they mush up with him. But that not taking place. 


Mall is life. House is death. Father bellow. Mother scream. Tuna fish, tuna-fish, tuna-fish... How much tuna-fish? Beer and Coca-Cola... Cupcake and ice cream. Nobody shit right. Shit like dopes they do. City want send little brother to school for boy who shit like dope. They want train him. So mother get bran flakes and then he pass de test.


Girl who mix banana, strawberry and ice in mixer give them drink. Sometimes she put milk in too. They give her earrings, treasures from Claire's, abducted from basket on counter. Sometimes anklets too. But they do not give her short-shorts, 'cause she too ugly. Not in legal sense of  word, just everyday ugly. No one gone lock her up.


One day rubber thing in drink.... little thing all pink, gray and yellow. Princess of Mall Girls go - Eww! What kind crap is this?.... Girl who mix drink go- What you care? You not pay....

But they know. It not rubber. It flesh... It zombie meat... 


They look up. See stain on food court ceiling. Something drip. Go 'plop' on table... Shhh, zombie up there... or corpse soon to be zombie.


Mall rat hate zombie. Zombie hate mall rat. 


That just how world is. You know.


(next time you meet Zombie King)---- I disembody spirit. Dead in Smolensk since Khanate of Golden Horde, but that whole other story...

<please forgive me. {it's Billy} I'll get it right. don't know who the heck this disembodied spirit is and zombies are a new 'thing' to me....'Zombie King?'..wonder what that means.


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RAT on the New York subway! <~~ there's a horror story .. 4/10/14

Imagine if the train made a sudden stop and the rat had friends and people fell on top of each other and it was real hot and half a them stunk to high heaven.... And the doors wouldn't open and somebody's false teeth flew out and got kicked down the aisle and the rat had a knife and all the tourists started peeing themselves......



Everyday life.... Horror we can laugh at.



Once I was eating in a fairly uncontaminated all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffet.... nice sunny day..... sloppy, finger suckers and serial belchers ain't there yet... quiet lunch crowd... and a little mouse (so manic it looked battery powered) starts running loop-the-loops all  over the place... Everyone saw, but no one panicked... even a booth full of pant-suited old ladies kept tittering as it raced around their feet... One even said- I'm afraid to move my foot, 'cause I don't want to hurt him.... People giggled and nodded.... Some said - What can you do? They hide in people's bras. They sneak in under wigs.... and that was it.... No one got huffy. No one got a discount. Trans fat icing-ed cakes for everyone!



Thing is, when you see a mouse, especially in daylight, you can bet it's the sick one that got kicked outta the nest. And they got lots a roommates .



Now I just saw that video a few minutes ago myself. Gonna go 'google' - will verminous rodents crawl on sleeping people?.... 'Cause they hide in tightie-whities too.



Imagine if that rat thing happened in an elevator. Picture the scene when the doors finally open ....



A movie in there somewhere.



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and when we said 'mostly uncontaminated Chinese style all-you-can-eat buffets' we meant 'mostly uncontaminated' by the patrons, not the hard working staff and owners.

Season of First Faith... La Prima Vera ... Elferina (a pubescent vampire) Talks... 4/9/14

Sometimes I float. I ascend up into the midnight sky and hang there. No one sees. Dark clothes hide everything. And I think as the wind takes me where she will. I turn away from Earth, facing the infinite. Many elferinas and elferinos can't do that. Too unnerving. Too disorienting. Nothing but blackness and the stars.... sensory deprivation for night-folk. Then I hear a plane and it's over. I remember a simple world... a place without the wonders mortals fabricate today.  Night was an altogether different place. The darkness was complete. Some went out with lanterns, but others did not. There's nothing like that today, at least in the rich world.

Celeste.... They call me Celeste..... 'heavenly'...'divine'... You've seen me in the background, while others, such as Marianne, or Roland claim the stage. I have no illusions. I just survive. My nativity, both mortal and immortal was not unique... for night-folk, I mean. Nothing so dramatic as Marianne. No, not like that. Do you know, her story, if I understand this correctly, comprises one of the most visited parts of this record? ... Marianne In Britches by Billy Kravitz... They 'google' it. They scroll back and forth, til they see the whole thing. Someone with the right bed-friends in California wants to make a film of it. She says she doesn't care, Marianne, I mean but I see how she flips her hair and angles her jaw toward the glass.  She is vain. So was Jonathon. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Perhaps I'm too quiet?

We leave the house at dusk and come back with first light. We avoid Sarah... not because we're cold, or uncaring, but because we're guilty and don't know what to say. Peter was a special thing to us.... the first new elferino upon these shores in more than two hundred and fifty years. So we took to him... beguiled by an evil 'Peter Pan.' And look what happened. 

It's so quiet now. I want to talk with Sarah. I do. But I don't know what to say. Did you think immortality brings wisdom? I suppose it has the potential for that. But mostly it just brings time.

I feel the air. I feel the warmth. I feel the soil. La Prima Vera begins... the Season of First Faith... all things new... for that's what the words really mean. Well, we have no choice. We must all be new things too. I browsed through an all-night food market two hours ago. Sometimes I buy things if I like the way they smell, or the way they look, or the color. They had apples, 'Jonathon' apples.... small and sweet, tangy too. I could tell. So I bought some. Most I gave to a man selling papers and magazines from a little booth near a hotel. They used to have a lot of them, but there's still a few. At first he didn't want them. He said - Ain't no razor blade shoved inside, is there?... I said - No. No razor blades. .... He knew I wasn't lying.... Then he took one from the white, plastic bag and rinsed it with a squirt from his water bottle. Cut it in half with a pen knife too. I suppose that was to make sure. I hope the pen knife was clean. I watched, as he crunched into it. Nothing sounds like a fresh, crisp apple. Even night-folk... especially night-folk, appreciate that.  He thanked me with a mouth full of sweet-tart fruit, as I left. 

Later, back at the townhouse, I put two in the refrigerator. One for Edith and one for Billy. The third one, the last one, I butchered for the seeds. Then I found a little, clay pot out back in the kitchen garden (actually a glorified patio) put some dirt in from one of the flower beds, poked in two seeds and moistened it in the sink. A Jonathon apple tree. I will grow one. Months from now, when it gets cold again, I'll take the pot inside. Maybe after two, or three years I'll plant it in the ground. Hopefully it won't get too big. Tomorrow night I'll ask Billy to look it up. I'm sure if we prune it right it won't.

A Jonathon apple tree. He would like that.

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