Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: a continuation--- AND THE VAMPIRE STEPPED OUT OF T...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: a continuation--- AND THE VAMPIRE STEPPED OUT OF T...: The monk-not-quite- a monk felt the breath against his throat. He laid down upon the bare, gray mattress and stared up into the darkness. T...The child-vampire, Annie (when she was still with us) creates an ally.

Then, later, she finds a way to regain her mortality (with help from various sources). She's out there now... and she hears voices too...



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Prepare for the return of Little Bastid Annie.



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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: a good place to jump into a tale-- THE IMPERIAL CITY.. a venue for the strange & mira...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: THE IMPERIAL CITY.. a venue for the strange & mira...: We were there. We were in the Pantheon and our guide was a former emperor. Votive flames illuminated the many idols spaced 'round the p...Can't post. Not back at the hotel. Doing this on friend's phone, or rather he is. Here's a nice place to jump into one of our story arcs. Hone your skills... We all have them... Think... focus... Make it so. A side trip during the visit to THE HERMETIC ORDER OF THE GOLDEN DAWN house in London.... Gotta stop. Friend getting an attitude.



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THE RATHER ECCLESIASTIC, VAMPIRE, JONATHON, CRAVES WORLDLY FAME.. 3/12/15

Jonathon speaks tonight. Billy is still indisposed. Much better, but not really able to produce much that you would want to read. His mind wanders. Such was his ordeal.

But I will use this time to assert myself a bit and put forward my own ideas and viewpoints. I know it sounds strange, but I want some independence. I want a Twitter site of my own. No Billy. No filter. Just me. How this is done, I know not. But I have watched others at this device (thus my typing tonight) and am quite sure I can learn. 

You might be surprised by the things I say. Oh, I have communicated before right here. But Twitter is a different thing.. So immediate and real... a conversation with the world... And I do know a lot about the world.

But what's this 'avatar' thing and how do I get one? It is known that in the long ago days of the blessed Daniel and Nehemiah (who have I left out?) Persian Jews traveled east to confer with Dharmic believers in Bactria and the surrounding principalities. Although their realization of the Divine was quite different, their morals and philosophy were not. Indeed, we learned a lot from them, as the last books in out Holy Canon attest. 

Avatar meant (still does, I think) an earthly illustration of the 'godhead.' We had fits over that term. He who made all (and that includes every galaxy and universe) Is One and inviolate. Thus we, His sentient, soul-filled children, regardless of form, are one and inviolate too. But we persevered for conversation was of the highest order and the food, being vegetarian, posed no problem to 'our side.'

Well, getting back to that 'avatar' thing...divine, I am not.  Indeed, in the past, Sons of Israel, as well as Sons of Ishmael, made not graven images, lest simpletons used them for idols. But now one sees representations of humans and animals all about us. Even Ishmaeli kings grace magazine covers. So I, obviously, want to share my countenance with the world... whether via photography, or more painterly pursuits I have not yet decided.

Perhaps I will contact, or be contacted by one of you... a person who reads this... and if God wills it, that person will be an artist. Maybe an arrangement might be reached, where that new found ally would supply likenesses in exchange for illustrative credit. I am told this blog thing is evolving toward book form, so such a relationship would prove beneficial to us all?

How vain I am. How vain all night-folk are. I hope you do me justice.

As they say--- So let it be written... So let it be done.

It is midnight here and I am finished --- selah.

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What Holds you Here?... 3/11/15

Everyone is at risk. The phenomenon is well documented. No one knows the cause. No one knows how to prevent it. I'm talking about 'winkers,'... people who are there one minute and gone the next. It happens in that instant when you look away, or leave the room to get pretzels. The neighbor lady was right there, leafing through your OK Magazine and eating Girl Scout Cookies. But then... when you return, the Samoas are there. The magazine's on the floor, though the neighbor lady's vanished. She's not in the powder room, nor snooping through your mail scattered atop the dining room table. The door's locked. Your husband is upstairs sleeping and the kids are safe in 'juvvie' hall. They're coming back, but she ain't. The universe just winked her out of existence, or transfered her somewhere's else.

We do know that atomic particles can be instantaneously sent from one point to another. At times it happens spontaneously. Now you see it. Now you don't. This is like that, except the particles are a bit larger.  And I'm not talking about alleged government experiments, such as the one in the Philadelphia Navy Yard circa 1943. Doctor Franklin supposedly knows something about that, but he won't tell you anything.

I'm talking about S.M.T. ---- spontaneous matter transference.... the mysterious 'little sister' to spontaneous human combustion. I know a lot of S.H.C. stories stem from the accidental witnessing of vampire feedings. Victims always ignite into 'cool' blue flames and burn to ash. You know how many drained lifeless bodies they'd have on You Tube otherwise?But even so, SOME cases appear to occur in and of themselves. And certain instances are never explained.

Imagine walking along a city street, taking in the scene, checking yourself out in shop window, humming little tunes, when ZAP!... your eyes behold the orange skies of Mars, as your skin instantly freezes and your lungs turn to glass..... Even worse, you solidify deep within a twenty two hundred degree magma chamber. How long would it take to die? How long does it take for a brain to burn?

Now, to be truthful, no one ever disappears while being watched, even if just momentarily... a stranger's glance will do. It's like the old scientific maxim --- measuring something both validates it and alters it at the same time.... They 'look' therefore I 'am.' Maybe that's why so many people crave fame? To be seen is to exist....

They say perfectly preserved, dead bodies have been found sealed within seams of granite, hundreds of meters beneath the surface. And desiccated naked bodies (four to be exact) were reported by crew members on Apollo Fourteen half way to the Moon.

Que sera sera.

What will be, will be.

Wasn't supposed to post tonight.Lot a chores today...busy and all that.

But this just busted into my mind and I wanted to share it.

Good night...

See you in the morning.

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A PRIVATE SCREENING... A NIGHTMARE.. 3/10/15

Empty movie theaters are good places to see ghosts. Actually, you'll do more than 'see' them. You'll encounter them. The energy of the room brings them out. It helps when they're actually running a film... Not the ghosts... the projectionist. 

Go on a weeknight. Buy your ticket and take your seat. Most times, you might wind up sharing the place with a few other patrons...slackers... bohemian couples... Nobody goes to movies on a week night. They're all at Starbucks, tapping out 'The Next BIG Thing.' But every once in a while you'll get lucky... No one else will be there... no one in the flesh anyway. The girl in the ticket booth knows. So does the old man selling candy. He whispers to himself and chuckles. It's so quiet in there, except for the hum from the florescent tubes in the glass candy counter. The ticket girl bows her head and goes back to her book... a small, military issue, World War 2 issue Bible. She moves her lips, as she reads. Sometimes she just nods.

You enter the auditorium, or whatever they call it. Sanctuary Cinematique would be a better term. It's dark, but not too dark. you can still see the life sized, bas relief, mer-folk on the walls.... the heavy, velvet curtain and the gold leafed proscenium arch. No one else is there... just you and the exit signs. You take a seat... right in the middle of the last row. There are two aisles... maybe eight seats on the right and left sections and sixteen in the middle. The wall behind you is carpeted. 

You put your things down as silently as possible, lest something notice you and eat your popcorn in a slow and sounsless manner.
A door opens... the one to the left aisle. You press back in the seat. Someone enters. It's the old man, the candy butcher. He makes his way toward the front, crosses to the right aisle and goes back up. Did he stop and say something into an empty third row? Hard to say. He leaves. It gets darker. The heavy, velvet curtain glides open. Did someone sniff? Was it you?... Hard to tell.... 

A short subject comes on... an old somewhat faded film about polio, circa nineteen fifty two. There are little children in iron lungs. Somber parents visit, sitting by the exposed heads. A lacquered up actress reminds all to give to The March of Dimes. Can you imagine? All they wanted were dimes. They always show unusual things like that. The place is known for it. God knows what their library must be like. 'Someone' crinkles cellophane. Was it the start of the 'coming attractions?'... Who knows? 

Everything's from the vault... old fifties teasers... clips from Father's Little Dividend and Stalag Seventeen... Black and white film stock has such a dream-like aspect, especially when it's slightly worn... A shadowy figure peers from the screen... only for an instant... but definitely not part of the frame... Just a face and a body... Spencer Tracy walked right through it....You might want to leave, but for some strange, intangible reason you don't, though you fold shut the popcorn and put it away....

The feature starts.. Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding... Smiling dead people, singing and dancing like the living..... You doze off... for just a moment, but you do doze off, only to wake with a start.... Something was next to you. Fred Astaire danced on the ceiling... then the dark shape evaporates... an iciness on the back of your neck.... a weal on the inside of your wrist..... Odd, but it doesn't trouble you...

The image on the screen freezes... a splendid coach and a beautiful palace... Someone takes your arm... You rise and glide down the aisle... or pass through the seats... It's all so fuzzy... Tiny voices tickle your ears, urging you on... little whispers... distant giggles. Yet discordant words bleed through... Go back - they say... Wake up - they plead....

All the weak, little lights placed about the movie house go dark... There's just you and the screen.... A figure, a thin, waxy figure, exits the coach and moves toward you... He wears a dark shroud. Then he smiles, cracking his face into a multitude of tracings and wrinkles. The eyes are black and lustrous, like small, dark marbles. And there's no color... no color anywhere, save for the dark, red, scabby look of his gums.

Why does he smile? Why does he have to smile like that? You see a face... a small head... there at the back of his throat. But this one doesn't smile. Then he takes your hand in his chicken claw appendage and gently pulls you in... Just before you break the membrane 'tween this world and the next, you say thank you...

What comes next, I cannot say... at least not for where you are...

A bit later, the girl in the ticket booth closes her Bible and calls a mortuary. Soon they bundle your body into a hearse and roll away.

The old candy butcher waves goodbye...

Never see a movie all alone.....

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♥ Rachmaninoff's "Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini"-the Vampirino Jonathon Remembers Things. 3/8/15

It is over. Billy has been restored. The spirit rests within the simian shell of what was Jamba. He sits in a specimen display habitat deep within Doctor Franklin's menagerie beneath the Anti-Enchantment Bureau. And the entity is a liar. His powers were never so vast, nor his age so long. Perhaps he understands not human speech? But he quietly stares out through strange, orangutan eyes. Sometimes he shambles around his space. He sits on an upper ledge. He moves to a lower ledge. Occasionally he moans. I don't know how much of the ape remains. I don't know if he's gone, or dead, or merely suspended in the dark. Thank you, Doctor Franklin. You always come through for us.


Billy is upstairs in his chamber. He rests under sedation. A therapist will be here tomorrow to teach him to move within his body. I ask him where he was, but get no answer. I don't think he knows. 


Edith prowls around the house throwing 'hoo-doos.' She says they keep away unwelcome spirits. Maybe they will. Odd how even night-folk grow complacent. We think we know this city... and we do. But everything is everywhere and Philadelphia is just as vulnerable as anywhere else. 


The snow melts. It was warm today. I didn't see the daylight, but feel the echo of it in the air. Sarah and I will go out. We will attend to the sick and cull a victim... one for her and one for me. Right now I sit in my 'chapel' room. It's a music room too. My 78rpm collection is legendary. Caruso arias... pre-war Cantorials from Vienna... from Budapest... from Warsaw... old Philadelphia Orchestra recordings. There's a bell canto recording from the early nineteen twenties. If anyone asks, it's officially an unidentified counter tenor. But trained ears know different. The timbre unique... Like a counter tenor, yet with subtle variations. I know what it is and I'll tell you, because who'd believe you anyway? His name is Bartolo, a castrato born at least two hundred and fifty years ago. But the 'unusual alteration' was not the only thing to befall him. During the First Empire... during Napoleon's reign, they sent him down to entertain the troops in Iberia... the 'Peninsular Campaign' you know. While there, he caught the eye of a strange gentleman in the back. Common soldiers rarely heard him sing. His voice was for the officer corps and other well born gentlemen down from London. Sometimes various, local grandees would attend too, such as the strange hidalgo in the back. No one knew it, but that nobleman was a vampire. Obviously, I was not the only Spaniard to go down that road. Three nights later, The Great Bartolo was a new born vampirino. He was maybe forty four when it happened, but still possessed of a very boyish charm. Castrato are like that. And he still sang with the clear, pure voice of his mortal days. Still records to his day. I believe he lives in Switzerland.


Sarah will be down soon and we'll leave. We have a list. Not a long one. Three or four names. Sick people. Poor people. We visit them. One gets a vial of blood. Another gets a discrete, little envelope of diamonds. After that we feed. It's our time, you know. Once a month and all that....(he thinks) 'And all that'... After four years of this 'blog' thing, how well you know.


I do my job and I watch the world... 'Cull the wicked. Help the worthy live.' Sometimes I pass people on the street and I recognize them form, say thirty years, or thirty five years ago.... maybe a young mother and father who used to push their little one for a brisk, pre-beddy-bye evening stroll. I'd say - How's the little one?'... They'd beam. The little one would gurgle..... And now the mother is sixty three and the father, if he's around, I don't see anymore. They live so fast. I've seen so many go. You don't know what it's like. People I remember from Restoration England have been dead more than three hundred years...... (he puts on a recording.... the same one we have, as a video, up above..... we hope you listen to it too)


We pass through the window of this upstairs room and pan over the late night city. Steam rises through vents in manhole covers. Taxis roll by. Frightened, solitary pedestrians silently glide home, or to other places. Loud, laughing frat boys exit clubs looking for fights. Waitresses pour coffee in all night cafes for people who tell tales.


Sarah comes down. She and Jonathon bundle up, exit the townhouse and take their place in the late night parade.


Edith watches them go. Then she throws another hoo-doo and runs upstairs to check on Billy.


A Sunday night in March.


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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...: BINGO BOY - post 65 So the new house at the shore was all filled up that night. Marge and Jimmy in their room. Ricky and Little Chrissie ...BINGO BOY is really a crazy, charming tale. This is the final episode. a lot of people like to read stories backwards. If you're like that... and if you like a weird, hardscrabble romance in a crooked bingo hall under the Philadelphia 'EL' tracks, that leads to a 'murder'.... a prisoner down the cellar and a cushy move to a nice town along the South Jersey Shore---this one's for you.



Click on the title up above, read the episode and then keep clicking OLDER POST to see what came before, or just scroll down to it, if your screen is set up that way. If you like THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP, or that kind of pixilated tale, take a look at this.



Please leave comments along the way. Writers appreciate that so much.



And in another vein. Who watches Saturday Night Live? Who'd like to write for Saturday night Live? Well, we have this 'thing' we do that's almost as good. Every week, while the real show airs on the east coast, we 'live tweet' our opinions and critiques, but most of all our own humor to - Twitter.com/#SNL4fun .. (click it) . Jump in and join us. Ad a little joke... your 'take' on a sketch... even something humorous that has nothing to do with the sketch... If the sketch is about an office, share a work story. Use the show as inspiration. But YOUR creativity is important, not theirs. And don't be afraid to bomb. Comics and comedy writers bomb all the time. Most of the time we DON'T bomb. Remember--- MANY people will see your material. SOME of them will like it. Once you try you will be hooked. It IS almost like having our own show... our own version of SNL. So give yourself a job in 'showbiz'... Join everybody else next week at 11:30PM for #SNL4fun <~~~ and remember to use this hashtag on every tweet, so it will be seen as part of the group. That way we all gain greater visibility. This isn't my hashtag. I'm just one of the 'cheerleaders' who really push it (there are others)...



We've been growing every week and are close to TRENDING. Post your humor, observations, critiques and comedy where people WILL SEE IT. Post in on #SNL4fun. If we don't (yet) write for the real SNL, we can still write for this one. It's simple. It's easy and it appears to be working.



Now you know.



<back to our regular story next time>



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