Luciano Pavarotti- Nessun Dorma -Traditional Vampire Wedding Song, English subtitles

Jonathon speaks ~~~~

I am locked in this place, this world, this creation of Doctor Franklin, far away from all I know. Who knows how far?

Behold the glorious menagerie of 'Baby Philadelphia,' where all are controlled, ostensibly for our own good... even vampires.

I sit in my room (Franklin's official house is a very commodious place) and think. If this moon is the real moon, it shines through my window and puddles on the gleaming, hardwood floor.

Franklin knows I like music and has provided me with some ancient recordings. One, NESSUN DORMA, is very special to me and since the 1920's to night folk in general. An old, wind-up, 'Victrola' plays in the dark corner. I listen, as Enrico Caruso sings.

I believe the version available to you is by another master, but it has English subtitles and they will explain a lot. Please listen.

Nessun Dorma means 'no one sleeps,' or 'none are sleeping.' From our vampiric viewpoint it tells the story of a love sick vampirino desperate to bring his mortal enamoratta over into darkness.... You may not know, but vampires usually 'marry' just before the dawn, affording the mortal partner a last glimpse of the gray sky before sunrise. And even though the fiery orb 'kills' the night, the vampire wins, for he takes his love.... There were other arias before this one, but since it was written almost one hundred years ago, this one is special. Choirs sing it at formal night-folk nuptials. I witnessed one such affair in Montreal almost seventy years ago, a beautiful candlelit ceremony in an old, stone chapel. Faith never dies. We take it with us. Old friends of our tale know that.

When Sarah and I united, circumstances were much less structured.

Some sing the song at vampire passings too. It plays a role in PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, the screenplay written prior to this blog and in many ways the inspiration for it... In that telling my name is 'Thomas' and I am Scots, another old and venerable people..... One night we'll post scenes here. I know we've said that before, but one night we will.....

I hope I'm there with you to see it....

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The music stops. Jonathon just sits there in a chair by the bed, as we hear the empty hiss of the old, felt turn-table spinning and spinning and spinning.....

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Welcome To The Menagerie

And then he was alone. Franklin left. Jonathon got up and proceeded to walk around the city. He asked Sarah if she wanted to go, but she didn't want to. They were all like that. Each preferred their own company. Vampires hate feeling helpless. They retreat and fall into depression. Edith, although mortal, felt the same way, maybe not to the same degree, but she knew.

Jonathon walked around town, observing all the people who were essentially flesh robots. Ones born here and 'chipped' at birth were lucky. They didn't know any better. All were free to go about their lives, so long as those lives were lived 'According To Franklin.' This place was his world, not theirs. Violence was not tolerated. There was no punishment. There was no pain. The violence simply stopped. Should a miscreant continue down that road, should they insist on going their own way, they dropped down dead and died. Oh, one more thing, anti-Franklin talk counted as violence too. You did your job. You played your part. You lived your life and that was it.

Some people seemed to love it. Ladies strolled around in white bonnets smiling to their neighbors. Husbands came home after a day's labor with small sacks of sweets for the children. Few ever changed jobs. That would create problems. No one wants problems. Children were tended. Gardens were tended. Everything was as it should be. Keep your place and don't make waves. Smooth sailing for those in loftier positions, but brickyards needed workers too, so did sewers.... Jonathon saw it all..... and he wanted to go home.

Jonathon tried to sublimate. He tried to pass his hand through a neat, wooden fence behind a vegetable patch, but no go. All he got were bruised finger tips.

Welcome to the menagerie....

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michael jackson ben is Doctor Franklin's Private theme Song.. 6/1/16

And Doctor Franklin went on..... The old reprobate could talk for hours, especially about his favorite subject... himself. The vampire, Jonathon, sat and listened....

Please, my dear Mister ben Macabi, think me not a bigot. I esteem no group's talents, beauty, or ability over any other. It is humanity in its entirety that needs my guidance. I've promised to be a benevolent master. .....

Jonathon doesn't say a word. He listens and tries to understand..... Franklin goes - Are you trying to 'read' me? Don't waste your time. You can't do it. Your vampire abilities, as well as the burdens, don't hold here. I've turned them off. Harmonics can accomplish almost anything. An infinite 'choir' of notes and chords, each with its own frequency, each with its own 'vibration.' I can shatter skeletons, living skeletons, I mean, deep within a living body. Think about it. What once was a man, is now a hand puppet without a hand, a slug quivering on the ground. They don't live long. Breath depends on the diaphragm and the diaphragm depends on bones. Tendons have to be attached to something.  Theoretically, a whole city can be 'liquefied' in such a manner. Well, maybe more than just theoretically, but you don't have to know everything.

Then he goes silent, listening to the birds in his garden. Jonathon sighs. He has to humor the old man. He knows that. So he pours himself a bit more wine, the better to fall into a soporific buzz....

Now alternate universes are a funny thing, an infinite number of Brigadoons, each real, each occupying the same space, each with its own unique 'hum.'  The 'hum' is pivotal. It's what makes them discrete actualities, the umami of universes, providing heft and weight and presence.... the 'beefiness' if you will. And Pig Blood Annie has been tearing through a lot of 'beef.' The rampaging 'born-witch' has seen a lot of places... all 'dark' worlds.... endless masses of densely packed writhing worms.... one huge, never ending blizzard..... the world where all sentient beings are Charlemagne The God...... But she's making progress. She's getting closer. It's the smell. It's the scent. That's what born-witches go by and vampires and over three hundred year old reprobates named 'Ben' leave very particular trails.

Meanwhile, Billy, who blogs this all for them, is in Jersey, trying to find help in The Pines. Those Red Paint people must know something. But they're quiet. They're cagey. They're tricky. Regular Jersey Pine folks know and they leave them alone. But who can tell? Maybe they'll help? A bunch of shut-mouthed, confident, Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Peekaboo Street lookalikes, that's what they are.

But disembodied, spirit narrators don't judge.

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THE DARK SIDE OF DOCTOR FRANKLIN ... 5/27/16

Doctor Franklin speaks -

Let me tell you something, my vampire friend. You ask me if 'slavery' or something like in exists in 'Baby' Philadelphia. Well, let me tell you this. They are all my slaves. Every soul you see here has been marked and counted. You and your friends too, I might add. Have you slept? I mean since you've been here... Have you slept? Don't answer! It's rhetorical. That's when we 'chip' them. And no one has a clue. Should one misguided 'Spartacus' attempt to speak out, he will immediately die. Harmonics can be focused. Waves can be sent. People can be killed. And don't search for the chips. You won't find them. I say 'them,' for there are more than one. Who helps me? Wouldn't you like to know.

Oh, this can't be so surprising. You've known me for centuries. How blind people are. I, who never once held elected office, shaped and created the nation, as much as I did Philadelphia. Universities are there because of me... fire companies... security forces... insurance consortiums... hospitals... vast publishing concerns... self-help groups... no, not 'self-help,' mutual promotion. You think the Bilderberg Conference is something new? Ah, I see a look in your eye. You understand now.... Be my ally.. and I'll be yours. Not just friends. We're already that, but something more. Be to me what those vampire bodyguards were to certain senatorial families in ancient Rome.

My power came too late. I was eighty four years old. That's how old I was by the time 'they' ratified the constitution. People were wondering about my longevity. Few reached eighty four back then, especially an old reprobate like me. So I faked my 'death' and the rest, as you know is history.

I'll be a benign dictator, but will not suffer opposition. I already have 'helpers' in certain pivotal positions. Your place and indeed those of your night-folk brethren will be important. Think about it.....

You want me to get rid of that 'born-witch.' Do you think she's the only one? You need me, my 'young' old man... and you owe me for past favors. ... So, Jonathon ben Macabi also known as Tomas de Macabea, what'll it be?

You don't want to stay here forever? I could disappear and leave you behind... all of you. So chose well, my vampire friend..

Now have a bit of the wine. I know you like that... and sleep on it.....

(he smiles menacingly, raises his glass and says 'cheers')

Jonathon sits in silence....

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A VOICE FROM THE ETHER DETAILS ANCIENT MAGIC.. 5/26/16

They say the BORN-WITCHES began on a remote sea crag, a barren island betwixt the Hebrides and Iceland, yet in a time before names were names and words were words. Sentient beings talked mind to mind then and all who drew air had a bit of the magic in them.

He who we call Loki tarried with mortals then, spawning little godlings and godlingas all about the Northland. He set them up in rude, raw, rocky castles, the keeps of which can still be seen set down upon the Western Marches of what ye call 'Highlands.' though no true mountains be there. Mortals love to exaggerate. They are as chessmen who whine. And those who bored us were thrown to the cearban and died in a most grievous manner, ripped to shreds in huge frowning, razor toothed maws. We watched and laughed as they cried.

Who are 'WE' ?... We are the LIVING ETHER, eddies and rivulets in the universal presence... not the GREAT GOD nor parts of THE GREAT GOD for we were made by HIM and have memories of what came soon after our birth. Sometimes it rained for days on end. Roses grew tall as trees, pollened by great, furry bees, like flying ponies.

What was I telling you? Oh, yes, where born-witches came from. Well, to be truthful, they came not from one place, or one particular event. Rather they accrued over time and coalesced into what we have now. Some early ones lived their whole lives in caves, conferring with sister witches and thinking thoughts that went out like radio waves. Maybe it's wrong to say they actually died. They go back to the ether and after a time they come back to us.

Some condensed on that rocky crag. Just stone. Just seawater. Nothing grew there, even the crabs stayed away. They waded into the sea for food, grabbing big fish for sustenance. Some liked whelk and clams too. Some liked cold, drowned mariners. A few weren't so drowned.

They rode six-gilled Greenland sharks. The witches, I mean. They thought songs, odes really. Not so much verbal, as tonal. They stared at the sun with impunity and threw their basic mind spells like hurricanes.

Loki brought them gifts, startled talking heads, twisted from the shoulders of Neolithic cavern painters. Some stayed quickened for days, jabbering away in a basic, human language known to all. They stuck out purple tongues and made faces. Then they died and were eaten.

My poem is done... not the tale, but the part I feel like telling now. Please let me go. Tornadoes need stirring and I'm very good at that...

My name is my name and not yours...

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THE BIRTH OF A BORN-WITCH.. 5/25/16

A continuation of PIG BLOOD ANNIE FINDS A PORTAL~~~

When Pig Blood Annie's mother's water broke, what came out was pig blood and it came out in torrents, till the root cellar of the shotgun shack was fill up to the canned tomatoes and pickled brassieres. Mama-woman look at the dark, red flood an' grins. She say - Hey, baby-girl, where you be?... Then she start slidin' her feet through the qsteamin' gore like she feelin' for clams, or sand crabs. Goes real slow. Don't wanna miss nothin'. Ain't no tellin' how big a born-witch is when it come out. Some are like little lima beans, but with a mouth full a tiny sharp teeth and small, beady red, red eyes. They got itty-bitty, sharp fingered hands (not arms.. just hands) bustin' out a that lima bean skin, which they use to dig in and climb up mama-born-witch's belly to nurse. Some nurse wherever they want. All it gotta do is bite through the skin and draw out some blood. But that only the lima bean kind.

Pig Blood Annie something different. She was more dramatic like. Come out like a little, white squiggly worm (tapered at both ends, so head and butt look the same). Don't know where mama get all that extra blood. She like drama too. Once fought a salt water crocodile over some water buffalo. She also a communist, but that not part a the story.

Annie rise up out a that pig blood like steam off a bludgeoned Christmas ham.
She not all filled out like her normal self. She more narrow and flaccid. You know, flabby and skinny at the same time. Born-witches ain't fussy that way. Mama take one look at her and go - Pig Blood! I gonna name you Pig Blood! ... Just then the radio go on. She keep a cheap little, wood cabinet table model down there to keep her company when she canning stuff or skinnin' enemies. Guess her witch aura set it off. Opera music come out. Lady warblin' like she bein' tickled to death. Mama know that voice. It Antoinette  Farinella, famous Italy singin' lady. She listen for a few seconds and go - 'Antoinette, I gone name you 'Antoinette,' NO, not 'Antoinette.' I gone name you 'Annie.' PIG BLOOD ANNIE! That is who you are! ..... The newborn, mouths the words.... Mama say - Come upstairs. I gone take you outside and hose you down, me too maybe. Gotta get you fed and all nursed up... So she leads the witchy-baby-lady-human thing (say it fast) up the old, wood steps, turns 'round and belches (the blood-flood gets sucked down into the dirt floor. Then she belch again (light goes out... radio fades). All is dark.

We see a rickety house, in a little forest clearing, under the soft, silvery light of a high, full moon. A lamp burns in an upstairs window. We pull in close and peek inside. A cleaned up Mama tucks a cleaned up Pig Blood Annie under an old quilt. Then she takes a moldering, brown-yellow skull from a drawer and puts it on the night table. The newborn witch watches.... Mama says - Here, Chester will keep you company..... Newborn witch looks at Chester's smiling face. Mama says - Good night. Then she turns down the lamp and leaves.

A pack of wolves slinks into the clearing and sits beneath the window. The alpha turns and studies the camera. Then he stands up, walks toward us and morphs into a man, who says - And that's how Pig Blood Annie came to be.... After that he walks passed us and disappears ...

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THE TRUTH ABOUT BABY PHILADELPHIA ... 5/22/16

After the others were settled into their rooms, Jonathon went out to explore this place known as 'Baby Philadelphia.' The sky seemed normal. The sun was bright. It didn't harm him. He didn't try to eat yet. Just because some things were different, doesn't mean all things were different. His fangs were still there. A woman sold 'pasties' (meat pies) from a pushcart. They smelled fresh. He asked what kinds she had. She said goat and lamb. Jonathon bought a lamb. The preferred currency in this place was quarters. They had Franklin's image, after all. He gave her two. The pushcart woman said 'thankee' and passed them to her little daughter, who stowed them in a metal, bank-like box. There were no napkins. Franklin eschewed litter and he was, after all, the grand poo-bah of the place. But they had a type of waxed paper. The woman gave him a few, one to wrap the pastie and two for clean-up after. God knows they were useless on grease. Such is life in a blended eighteenth and twenty first century polity.

Jonathon took his lunch and spotted a narrow passageway, a tunnel really, running between two brick townhouses. He asked a boy where it went. The urchin told him it led to a small 'pocket park,' the perfect spot for a quiet lunch or peaceful introspection.  So he thanked the boy and entered the tight, dark alleyway. If another person was coming the opposite way it would have been close, not belly to belly close, but still... That's why ladies avoided the place.

After sixty feet, he came out into the light and his eyes did react to the renewed brightness, but apparently he was still able to withstand it. Before him, beyond the walled gardens  of surrounding houses, lay the park, a manicured landscape of carefully clipped green grass, small boxwood hedges and potted rose bushes trimmed into low, round topped 'trees.'  A pavered walkway traversed the space from east to west. It's sister did the same from north to south. He sat down on a traditional, teek, garden bench and began to eat. No problem there. His vampire nature still at bay and the meat pie tasted so good, savory and salty and peppery and rich. Jonathon cleaned his hands the best he could. Waxed paper only did so much. Then he sat and watched as another man, obviously a gentleman, came in from the opposite side, took a seat across the walkway and nodded, as a well dressed, turbaned little black boy cooled him with a large, leaf shaped fan woven from palm fronds. The gentlemen didn't say a word... no thanks... no acknowledgement. He just sat, looked through a carefully bound book and fell asleep. The little boy stopped, picked up the book, put it on the bench and went back to his task.

Jonathon tried to engage him, but the young fellow would have none of it. He put his finger to his lips and went 'shhhh.'

It was then that the 'changed' vampire knew. The little boy was a slave, or something very much like it. Jonathon took a few quarters out of his pocket and quietly gave them to the child, who responded with a small bow, as his 'gentleman' snored on.

The vampire got up and left.

He continued exploring this artificial place that he half knew, but only half.

Then he went back to Franklin's big stand-alone house. Little Bastid Annie was teaching the parlor maid to play Black Jack. Everybody else was taking their afternoon nap. He sat down in a big wing chair till Doctor Franklin came back for dinner. Then he said - Old man, you've got some explaining to do...

Franklin knew something was up. It was only a matter of time. He said - After dinner, my boy. Let's eat first. So they washed up, changed their linen (shirts & neck cloths), joined the rest and went in... Had a good roast beef dinner too.

After that, they talked....

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