I mentioned 'prophesy' a few posts back and you saw an inkling of the miraculous when I opened 'the book' (La Ciencia Vampirismo), but now it starts.
'The Voice' never stops. It isn't loud or intrusive. It's just 'there.' Some call it a muse, or a conscience, or a devil, or an angel. If you're not too particular, it can be all those things, but to the true of heart it is always The Voice of God. It is always there, but we don't always listen.
Edith says humanity needs more music lessons. She says that when children all took trumpet, or violin, or piano lessons life was quieter. I said - Were the 1930's and 1940's quieter? People took a lot of music lessons back then.... She makes like she doesn't hear and goes back to her dulcimer. They play dulcimers in The Pines. Banjos are the main thing, but they have parlor guitars and mandolins too. Dulcimers are old. Everybody used to have dulcimers. In the 1600's and 1700's dulcimers were the pianos. Every goodwife had her repertoire... Christmas music... hymns... Old English folk songs. Listen to the video up at the top. They had a nice sound... still do.
A little girl walked into a town in the Golan Heights. Nobody knows her name, or where she came from. She speaks in a language all her own. At first they could not understand her. Then a woman from a university (I don't know which one.)... a linguist, figured it out. Every fourth word was Hebrew. Every fourth word was Arabic. Every fourth word was Aramaic and every fourth word was Farsi. They want to give her one of those cheek swab tests to reveal her genetic make up, but haven't done it yet.
I didn't 'get' this through any vampire ability. I got it on the computer, a little Mideast news feed I subscribe to.... a real small organization... sort of coded too. The name has nothing to do with the region, or the people, or the politics and they change it all the time too. But it's sure an interesting feed. They say the 'Girl Of Four Languages' talks about 'others'..... children from other places. No one knows who they are, or where they're from. They print rumors. They admit it's only hearsay. One story says Putin picked up a similar child, a boy who speaks Old Slavonic and I don't know what else. There's supposed to be a little Tibetan girl and a Bolivian Indian boy who speaks Quechua (Old Incan type language), Spanish and Portuguese. I read about another one in Africa. I read a lot of things.
But all of these things fit with my prediction. I knew. I still know. It's not over. It's just starting..... People are beginning to 'hear.' They're aware. Not everyone, but enough. They know the way we live now has to change. That's why we have all those radical 'fundamentalist' groups. They know it too and they're scared.... 'Brighten The Corner Where You Are' and all that. But when all the corners are brightened, where are they gonna hide?
Baylah says she has dreams in Tuareg now. She still spends most of her time at the Jersey Shore with her rich, mortal gentlemen friend, but we speak. I call her. She calls me.
I study people on the street all the time. I look at the children. Stores are open till nine or ten o'clock. Apparently small children have no set bedtime now. I keep expecting one of them to start talking like that little Golan Heights girl. I keep expecting a lot of things.
The Vampire Revels are coming up. I told you about that 'get together' a fortnight ago. Still don't know if I'll attend. Sarah can do without it. That I know.....
(It's 5AM now. Jonathon closes his laptop and gets up. He knows how to type. Billy still does everything else and he doesn't know that much either.... Our vampire tells Edith he's 'retiring.' She nods, waits for him to leave then clicks on HGTV. Edith loves that network. She turns it down low and watches for maybe thirty minutes, then she goes up too.The den is quiet. The house is quiet, save for the periodic sound of the furnace, or tiny little noises made by the dear little ghost boy in the library. Sarah bought him a new set of Legos, pirates, I think it is. He plays with them on the thick Turkey rug in the small pool of illumination that washes in through the slightly open draperies, from the streetlamp near the corner.
That's how it is... life in the townhouse.....
Now please allow this disembodied, spirit, narrator to say good night, or good morning, whatever the case may be...
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The book known as La Ciencia Vampirismo speaks for itself. The strain now known as 'vampires' has been embedded in humanity since the beginning. Indeed, there is a life-eater saying that goes - I am but a link in the chain going back to the beginning. May no man know its source. Some have seen 'gnome' vampires [here the book refers to Neanderthal vampires] and other varieties of forest folk. The chain is very long..... Since the inception of language, or at least languages that can be deciphered, we have been called 'the demi-angelic host.' In no way were we allied with evil. In no way were we cut off from Divinity. Indeed, our task has always been to combat evil. We stop it and we consume it. As people developed cultures, forming clans and tribes, we became holy men and holy women and shamans. [when La Ciencia Vampirismo was first written and compiled, fourteen recognized 'lines of descent' were still acknowledged]... Existing lines, stemming from illustrious ancient shamans are ~~ 1) Prism 2) Luna 3) HeartsBlood 4) Dacians 5)HollyBough 6) Ursus 7)BaughBaugh 8) Ospreys 9)Vulpines 10) Leonids 11)Serpents 12) Stone 13) Star 14)RamsGate The book goes on detailing rather physical information about the vampire world.... preferred shelters... safe levels of dusk and dawn light..... methods of sublimation.... differences between classic vampires, cherubs, elferinos and imps.... skin shedding among the new born..... preserving mortal lines if possible.... the gathering of 'familiars' to help with various chores. Then it gets interesting.... 'Thought Throwing' [what we might call telepathy].... 'Thought Lifting' [what we might call telekinetics]..... 'Talking to Dieties' [well, that's self-explanatory]... Increasing your inner power.....Interacting with Merfolk.... Lies Alchemists Tell... Undergarments for Unicorns and How To Sniff Out Rancid Ladies... Plus countless other arcane essays and additions..... The last chapter is 'Practical Prophesy.' Most night-folk go right to that one. Knowledge is power, after all. And in case you didn't know, hand copied and illuminated books, especially on vellum, or some other natural skin, develop 'souls' of their own. Jonathon's copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo calls itself 'Cumis.' ... To be truthful. There is no way to tell if this post is due to Cumis, or some other disembodied spirit-narrator. Cumis likes being wrapped in clean, soft, Spanish Merino cloths. Cumis likes quiet libraries, low light and cozy, though not overly warm temperatures. Cumis likes the smell of fine wood and bees wax. Whether these things are beneficial to Cumis is immaterial. Old, vellum books have minds of their own. Next time we'll go into Prophesy. <to be continued> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click SILVERWARE ... to see all episodes of Vampire Wonderland... click GRILLED JUICY STEAKS ... to join me on Twitter... please COMMENT. thank you.
David Bowie lost his physical form. Is he still here? I am Jonathon. I am a vampire. What do you think I'll say? Of course he's here. Flesh and by that I mean offal too, is a very friable thing. Energy is forever. All of you, everyone reading this are already dead... are yet to be born... are young... are old... are experiencing 'existence' at every possible singularity. Time is an illusion. Time is a mathematical conceit. You know that thing we say at the top of every post... Everything is everywhere?.... Well, it is. I see that in 'the book.' I see that in La Ciencia Vampirismo. We do not create new things so much as we (individually) become aware of what is already there. The 'spice rack' is full, but perhaps... just perhaps... there are combinations of flavors yet to be discovered. And maybe there will always be bottles yet to be opened? Eternity is terra incognita and we are in (vampires too) very small boats. I should tell you that 'La Ciencia...' is not a collection of all vampiric knowledge. How could it be? It is merely a collection of compass points... each bit pointing toward a different horizon. Would you like to learn the best possible scenario vampirically speaking? It is that the need for vampires will decrease as humanity spiritually evolves. After eons of contemplation intellects greater than mine agree. We are here to cull the wicked. We are a physical tool wielded by a spiritual hand... 'pinking shears' for Creation meant to snip off errant threads.... Those of you familiar with our tale know that. We parrot it enough. But it's not just a slogan. It's the truth. We get those 'vision' and that's who we kill... 'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog.'.... Needless to say, we're the sheepdogs. What can I tell you in a single episode? All true philosophies come down to one thing... be righteous...... Why is that so hard to understand? And when humanity achieves that state, what will become of us? Will we exist in abeyance, like farm tools in the city?... Will we be mute observers, or do we have an as yet unexplored additional purpose? Will we forever be that point where the spirit meets the flesh? Will new duties appear? Heal the sick.... We do that too. I do it, not every day, but I do it. I give tiny vials of my blood to 'familiars' with sick children and not just children. Those few drops make them well. Those few drops... not enough to make them like us... but enough to make them whole. It always comes back to the same thing... Do what you can, where you can, when you can. It's three o'clock in the morning. The book is closed. I sit in the snug, little library and I 'hear' the city... Not sounds... Not words, or noise... Maybe I feel it. That happens all the time. I get up and sublimate right through the wall. It's cold. I'm on the street. Our narrow, little side street is empty, but I hear traffic nearby. If I continue, if I walk through the city... if I pass through knots of humanity, they'll notice. They'll say - Who is this man without a coat?..... I don't need that, so I sublimate back into the townhouse and bundle up. Comfort counts too, you know. Then I leave through the front door, lest Mrs. Jackson, down the street is out on her step with Pepe, her little dog. She must think we're drug pushers, coming and going at all hours. Sometimes she smiles and waves. I wave back. Sarah waves back. Edith does. Conrad does. We all do. I send her a nice gift every Christmas... 'summer' chocolates on Mothers' Day.... little toys and goodies for Pepe.... Our own Gladys Kravitz (sorry, Billy). I head for a coffee shop. You've seen that Edward Hopper painting, Night Hawks? Wee hour city life takes place in coffee shops. There's a waitress. She sits in a booth far from the window. She holds her cup of tea. She cries. A little child is sick... her child and doctors charge so much money. I give her a vial... For the little girl - I say.... She understands. They always understand. Like they pick it up from me. Then I give her some money. Two 'flats' of one hundred dollar bills... five thousand in each flat.... I say put it away. She stows it in her pocket. The money's not for the doctor. What's in the vial will take care of that. Maybe she'll fix up the apartment a little? Who knows?.... She doesn't get off work till seven in the morning. It'll be light by then and I'll be home, snug in the sleep cabinet with Sarah. Then I dream. I see the little girl as an adult. Does she do great things? Is that all you care about? Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn't. But her line goes on . Maybe a descendant does great things?... And who's to say what's 'great?' Tomorrow night I'll read some more. No part of this book is new to me, but every time I read it I find something. Look, maybe you like illusions? Maybe you like the vampires they write about in paperbacks?... But I thought you'd like to see a bit of the truth... I've shared things like this before. And I've helped some of you out there too Let me bid you adieu. And as night-folk say --- May you never know fear. May you never know pain. And may you hide from death, now and for forever, or until that time when all doubt slips away... Good night.... Jonathon ben Macabi <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click THIS ... to see more episodes of Vampire Wonderland... click THAT ... to join me on Twitter... please comment. thank you.
Jonathon takes the book, puts it on a small desk and gently runs his hands over the ancient, hand tooled surface. Then he quietly closes and locks the door, turns off the little overhead fixture and sits down to read by the focused light of a boudoir sized table lamp. He loves the warm, confines of the space. The library is his favorite room. And La Ciencia Vampirismo is his most treasured volume, a medieval text compiled in Spain during the last days of La Convivencia , that special time when Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together in something approaching harmony.
He whispered a prayer and opened it. Some say he made this copy, or contributed toward its creation. The calligraphy, in Old Castilian, Hebrew and Arabic is quite beautiful and the illuminated border of flowers and vines (with tiny, little black and gold bees) is, after all these centuries, incredibly vivid and alive.
Jonathon likes bees. Nocturnal creatures rarely see them, but he remembers. They had an apiary when he was little.... three hives to be exact, stocked with plump, furry honey-makers from up in Galicia. Gentle creatures they were... an old strain dating back to the Romans. Stings were few and far between. Jonathon brought them flowers. Not that they couldn't find their own, but his blooms, in small clay pots, had a sweet, fresh perfume and lots of thick, amber nectar. Rina, the kitchen girl, said the bees used it to bake tiny cakes for their young ones.... Can they do that? - he asked. For the idea of industrious, insect bakers seemed like magic to him. Rina said that they could and forever after Jonathon believed in the fantastic..... more than believed. He lived it.
Odd, the recollections a vampire has. But La Ciencia Vampirismo is an unusual text and readers often see words that are not there.
Jonathon turned the page (fine, creamy vellum). Where the former sheet had the title surrounded by that famous border, this one featured a large, stylized number one, drawn in a more or less Arabic manner, though at the same time favoring a stylized flamingo. Whether those birds were known in the Iberia of that day is a mystery, but they were in 'La Ciencia...' Beneath the bird-one was a phrase --- Never be defined by thine enemies..... A line, considering the times and the first inkling of organized, inquisitional sentiment and thought, obviously penned by a vampire. Some of you may know that up until The Inquisition, vampires were often seen as tragic, positive creatures. A base, judgmental age changed that, fashioning a more evil and gothic 'Doctor Polidori' take on those beings.
Soon the enchantment would start. Soon the book would work its famous magic. Insights would float up from the page. Jonathon would see things and gain knowledge. His feelings of impending prophesy from a few episodes ago, would be fleshed out and he'd know what was coming.
Sunday nights... late nights, I mean, are very peaceful and special in the townhouse. Edith softly knocked. Jonathon, cognizant of her rhythms said - Come in.... she brought him tea. He rose from the desk and sat down on one of the settees to drink it, lest it spill and ruin the book.
But he looked at the opened tome resting there on the desk in that small pool of light and saw tiny, diaphanous figures rise up from the page and dance about. Some favored Berber mountain girls, others eastern odalisques... a few suggested birds that quickly flew off and disappeared.
That's when he fell asleep and began to dream....
In the beginning, he was a toddler eating honey cakes made with honey from their very own bees and making a sticky mess.....
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Jonathon speaks..... I come from a lyrical time. 'Human' speech had rhythm and cadence. All languages had a 'Shakespearean' quality. In my mind, I equate this graciousness with my youth. Do I still crave that homeland? I suppose, but I could never give up on this place. Philadelphia is mine too. It has a style not often seen in New World cities. Buenos Aires has it. Quebec City, Boston, New Orleans, Charleston. Other places too, I suppose.... Still, have you ever seen the delicate architectural details of Granada? Have you ever attended oud recitals in The Alhambra? Tasted the light, seafood based cuisine of Spain's southern coast, or sailed the moonlit waters of the Baleric Islands? Granted, the food has not been mine since that fateful night in Provence, but the memories are mine, as is so much else. Maybe a trip to the 'Revels' will suffice? There was an announcement. A large, creamy, heavy, ivory envelope came. We get them from the Antiquities Registry, an organization that chronicles and regulates activities in the vampire world. The language, while strictly speaking not coded, is couched in terms unfamiliar to mortal ears. According to that latest epistle, a convocation is to take place this February... Not a full formal event, but a convocation none the less. You've heard us liken them to Bilderberg occasions? Google that. Google the Bilderberg Conference for an example. Well, perhaps I'll go. I like the mountains, though never much of as skier, I can handle myself if I have to. But riding through snowy, starlit, alpine meadows is sublime. Percheron mounts are the best. Just shy of Clydesdales. We pound through the powder. It flies like sugar. If humans, or post-human beings like us, ever want to feel like centaurs, that is it. I'll let you in on the location as soon as I know. They release these things little by little. Most high ranking night-folk can pick up and leave quickly. 'Familiars' run everything anyway. Odd, when you think about it, but we function like preternatural corporations. I don't know who the shareholders are, yet we do have our hangers-on. We do have people who depend on us. I myself give quite substantial sums to various museums throughout the city. If you know our story, I'll bet you can guess which ones they are. Not to mention the work we do with Doctor Franklin and his people at The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Additional details will be provided next time. My beloved ancient hand illuminated copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo has arrived.... And I'd like to retire with that book... Thank you for forgiving the eccentricity of this unusual post... As always, I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. And I appreciate your affection and support.
This is but a coming attraction to tomorrow's post. Could not blog tonight. #FF duties on Twitter and all that. But please, listen to the song and come back tomorrow for the story.
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The next night, Jonathon went with the elferinos. They soared over the January city. Vampirinos possess not true flight, as do Elferinos. They can sublimate through the air, but do not glide upon it. To an observer, both methods seem the same, though to night-folk they are not. He likes to vault high above the noise and float there... like a leaf on an infinite sea, staring up into the void. Sometimes a meteor streaks by... sometimes a tiny, artificial moon. Mortals would be terrified by the immensity of it all, but not vampires... not life-eaters like Jonathon. This night (the one we speak of now) a small, sleek, propeller driven, four passenger plane, probably a Beechcraft, whizzed by just above him. I don't know what the pilot thought when he saw what looked like a young, wavy haired, Spaniard all bundled up in black, tailored, quilted leather waving up at him. Maybe it was hard to see him with the bright lights of the city down below? But I'm just guessing. In an effort to avoid a collision, the poor man pulled all the way back on the wheel, causing the plane to break up, as it fell in a nose over tail spin. The unfortunate man, the only one on board, was dead by the time he hit Broad Street. The bus that ran over him right after was completely redundant. And the almost-a-crack-head slacker dude sitting in the torture-the-driver seat across the aisle screamed like a little girl, as the doll-like corpse came tumbling down. A few minutes later, Jonathon came down to earth, executing a neat, right foot first landing worthy of a ballerino, but as this happened on an impossibly narrow street lined with incredibly cute little 'mews' houses, no one saw but the cats and you know how hard it is to impress them. Soon after, he re-joined the elferinos and elferinas (picture early teen, waif-like street kids, a la the junior revolutionaries in Les Miserables) in the sculpture garden of The Rodin Museum, a favorite spot. They liked the walled privacy. Tiny bits of illumination hidden in the grass, or among the trees daubed the bronze statues in a low, yellow light. The 'elf' folk, two males and two females, Roland, Albion, Marianne and Celeste, condense from the shadows. Jonathon follows them to an exceptionally dark corner, where they sit upon the dry, cold grass and talk. Night-folk can have exceptionally quiet voices when they want to. You might mistake them for whispering leaves, if the trees still had leaves. Jonathon tells them of his 'plans.' Elferinos and elferinas look young, but the ones here in Philadelphia are mostly three hundred years old or more and not English. They hail from the Low Countries, victims of seventeenth and eighteenth century witch hunts. I think if you GOOGLE ~~ Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz, Marianne In Britches, you'll find a way into one of our most popular story arcs, where you can read all about it. Roland, a stalwart 'lad,' says - Jonathon, don't you like it here?.... He shrugs, nods and shrugs again.... They understand. No one talks. Celeste sings an old Walloon song. Back at the Townhouse, Edith (the witchy-woman, housekeeper) makes a call to Mister Edith, over in The Jersey Pines and the next day that venerable, ancient, vellum text, known as La Ciencia Vampirismo, is brought back to the city..... Perhaps it contains some answers? <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click - ANCIENT TALES ... to view all episodes of Vampire Wonderland... click - NUMBER PLEASE ... to join me on Twitter... please COMMENT. thank you.
They sit in the townhouse kitchen. It's late. It's quiet. Jonathon reads a magazine... SPANISH LIFE... all about resorts and property in the hot coastal regions. Traditional, tile roofed, stucco villas... five bedrooms, five and a half luxury tiled baths, chef's kitchen, built-in wine cooler, stainless steel appliance package, two car garage plus parking for three. Bit of a Mediterranean view from private balcony off master. Close to bars, coffee shops and spending opportunities of all kinds. Marina space available.
Sarah (vampire Jonathon's consort) peeks over his shoulder and says - What do you think?...... He goes - I don't know. I'm guessing I'll have to go up into the hills to get something like I want. You know how it is in Malibu, all crowded on the beach but spread out and roomy when you move back a bit? (scans the glossy pages) God, it's so different. They want four and a half million dollars for these places....
Edith pours tea and says - What did you think? Did you think it would be the same? And where would you walk? There's nowhere to walk around up in the hills. Nowhere but the hills. You like to people watch. Who you gonna watch, rabbits and grouse? I say 'no.'
Sarah adds - Look, you don't have to go right away. Think about it. If you really have to do this, I'll go. You know that.
Do you want to go? - he says..... She doesn't answer.
Edith blurts out - He wants the old days. He wants it to be the way it was. We can get a hypnotist. He must have a 'familiar' who's a hypnotist, or knows a hypnotist. They can regress him. They can take him back to old Al-Andalus all he wants. It's hard to hypnotize vampires. I know that, but we can get a really good hypnotist. Doctor Franklin must know some.
Sarah moves her bar-seat closer to his and hugs him. They're sitting at the granite breakfast bar. Edith whispers - And who would you kill there?..... People, I'd kill people. Why? That wouldn't be a problem - says Jonathon. I only 'cull' twelve a year. I'd have visions. I'd know who to kill. That wouldn't change.... She shrugs.
Does Baylah ever want to go back to Timbuctu? - asks Sarah...... She's only about three hundred years old. Not even that. - says Jonathon. And 'Papa' has his out of body experiences, or whatever it is when he misses his past.
You went back once. I was with you. What was that? - asks Sarah...... I don't know - he says. God, do you know how long it's been since I've read my copy of La Ciencia Vamperismo? I don't even know where it is. I lost track of it.
Yeah, well, I didn't - says Edith. I got it out in The Pines. I got it put away. It's safe. It's OK. I wouldn't let nothing happen. You know that.
I don't know anything anymore. I just want to rest. I just want to sleep - he says.... Sarah helps him and they go up to their chamber. Edith puts the cups in the dishwasher and closes up.... Except for the ticking of the clocks, the townhouse sleeps....
The little ghost boy, who spends most of his time in the rooms down in the basement, comes up to sit in the dark, library and peek out through the draperies. He likes to watch the street. Occasionally, a rare late night pedestrian sees a small, gray face, but this is Old Philadelphia. People see a lot of things.
Jonathon and Sarah get undressed and burrow under the covers. Everything is snug and tight, just the way vampires like it. She clicks on the small flat screen they have mounted on the wall at the foot end of this humidor-walk-in-closet for people... well, exotic people... and watches some station binge blasting The Twilight Zone. Jonathon just lays there..... She says - Jonathon, if we go to Spain, how am I going to watch television?..... But he was already sleeping.
And then he dreamed. Maybe it was something he saw, or experienced once. Vampires experience a lot of things....
There was a rectangular shaft, lined with square, white, porcelain tiles. And it was just large enough to accommodate two bull hippos with perhaps a cubit and a half of empty space around their unyielding, boulder-like bodies. One faced east. The other faced west.... water up to their flanks.....
A skinny, shrieking, babbling man desperately hangs onto iron spikes running in a line from the lip of the shaft, maybe twelve cubits above his highest hand-hold to seven cubits below his twisted, puny, inadequate for gripping toes. Four pike-men wielding elephant spears jab at his head, his ass, his thighs, his groin... wherever they could... forcing him ever downward toward the 'dead-bath.' Drunken, overfed courtiers, each with perhaps two, sticky, clinging, low grade concubines borrowed from the 'cheap' harem with the slightly tattered, stained cushions, yell, gesticulate and for some odd reason make kissy faces and go 'awww,' as the doomed, bare man inches lower and lower.
Then it happens. The pike-man with the big thing growing out of his left nipple hits a tender spot. The doomed, bare man screams, lets go and SMACKS down, stomach side south, right on the wide, expansive, oozing back (did you know they can sweat 'blood?') of the west facing behemoth.... For a few heartbeats he just lays there, like a mouse in a glue trap, tasting what comes out of those pores.... The audience up above gasps. A few of the concubines go 'tee hee hee.'... The pike-men pull back on their weapons.... Bubbles stream out from the lemon sized nostrils of the offended 'river horse.' Then it SLAMS the left side of its body against the tiles. The accidental passenger screams some more, but the beast is so big. What can he grab onto? Then it slams into its neighbor, who slams back. Soon they're at it, rearing and 'mouthing' at each other's giant, hippo butts. Hides rip. Blood flows. Water churns, as the skinny, naked man slides down between the two berserk killers.
Those up above begin to cheer, greasy and hot in the orange torchlight. Someone heaves a squealing concubine over the edge. Two others follow. By the time it was over, they all went in. Look, the 'prince' was gonna redecorate anyway. Shame to waste all those bracelets and anklets. Lucky they were just the cheap stuff... the girls too....
Last Image - What looked like two huge raw livers floating in a gruesome vat of Campbell's Chunky Soup from hell.....
Then the dream was gone.....
And Jonathon wasn't sleeping...
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