The Book of All Things New

A whale can course through the ocean faster than the sleekest ship. They marry the womb-like broth and pass through it with complete familiarity. I lay pressed against the gigantic back. My fangs penetrate into the blood-rich hide. No thing, no entity can break this bond. We pass through time and space as one. A protective gelatinous substance oozes from its pores, enveloping my body, smoothing out the rough spots. My being is one with the noble beast. We slice through the briny abyss, speeding passed transluscent, light-emiting organisms. They decorate the darkness like the Saturnalia of Rome. Ah, how I savor those memories. Let my come upon my New World offspring. Let me meld with my New World brethren. Let me instruct them in the way that we should live. For they follow false doctrine and 'The Teacher' needs to set things right. A vampire's life? Bah! They nibble at it like worms on a corpse, when they should tear into it with the strong, bloody teeth of a lion. I saw things. And I know things. I sensed them as they penetrated the stones of my Vatican mausoleum/prison. I tasted them in the salty, red soup of my victims. I saw what they saw, the sweating, human beef of a hundred generations, the ever changing tools of the necromancers. What is a 'lap top' but yet another magic mirror? What is an Amy Winehouse, a Jimmy Fallon, a Bret Favre, a Pink, but contemporary incarnations of long gone Jongleurs? True, interesting, to say the least. I wonder how they will taste? Ah, to live in freedom. To drink in an atmosphere free of sticky mold, decay and corruption. Soon I will know. Soon I will know. Hello, Snookie. Greetings you wearers of eightteen hour bras. Salutations you drinkers of double lattes. I will slurp you up. I will eat you all! My eyes stare out through the milky balm that encases me. Tiny remnants of fragile lifeforms raining down from sun pierced layers stream passed me. I feel the pressure. I feel the depth. I feel it all..... I wonder how they dress in my 'son's' new home? I do so favor a fine tailored doublet. Would that I might find one on that 'Walnut Street' I think they call it. Look for me. You'll know me, for you've never seen the like....................Zebulon talking. Did you read that? Can you imagine this fellow? Is he ever going to be a handful. Annie and her hounds? Nope. That condensed distilation of evil known as The Shaky Hand Man? Please! They are as fleas. But this one will be different. This one will tempt them. And we will see  how 'nobel' our blood drinkers truly are.......But of late, I enjoy watching Roland and Celeste. Who are they? The other two elves, usually content to silently soak things in from the background. But now they are different, stealing out to explore the world with a child-like wonder. It does my heart (or at least  the memory of my heart) good to look upon them. They hide in the ventilation ducts running up above the flimsy 'dropped ceiling' tiles  in department store changing rooms. They peek down through the metal lattices, pointing long, thin fingers and giggling their soundless giggles. Do you think you can hear them? No, you cannot. For they are quiet as dust. Follow our story. Read our tale. Learn our ways. Edith says that one or two of you will be 'translated' before all this is over. I wonder who it will be? I wonder which one of our life eaters will drip the magic on you? I wonder............

The Book of Edith.... sometimes it's my turn

OK, so you know I got the crazy eye (the inner one, I mean) and can read minds and see stuff. Well, my brain (I think it's my brain) is gettin' all clogged up with all this crap and I gotta make room for more. So here goes..... 1) A girl in New Jersey better keep her mouth shut if she knows what I mean, 'cause her friend ain't exactly her friend. And if she likes workin' in that salon she better look for a new lunch partner. That, or eat a lot of dry, crunchy salads - takes a lot of chewin', less time for talkin'.......2) A certain 'you know who'  in Bucks County, Pennsylvania had better get a plumber in to check out that hall bathroom, 'cause it's about to blow a gusher and stain up all that new, 'paper bag' colored paint in the dining room.....3) To the guy with the new Silverado ----- she knows and she is sending the pictures to your mother!.......4) To the folks in # 608 --- When the kid next door turns on its little sister's 'tickle me elmo' it does something to the plate she got in her head and she can see right thru to your master bathroom. But don't worry too much, 'cause she runnin' outta batteries and her mom don't wanna buy her none. So that should end things, unless the little bastid goes rougue and starts boostin' 'em from the Rite-Aid. 5) The next four people who recruit four new readers for this blog are gonna win a new volkswagon Jetta , either that, or I got my telepathic abilities all screwed up with somebody's tee-bo of Drew Carey or somethin'..... Man does that make my scalp itch!

The Book of All Things New

This is Zebulon  bringing you the word from Philadelphia. The pilgrimages continue. Actually, they've really just begun. People report cures. Physcians are 'skeptical' since they can't figure out a way to grab the spotlight and collect money for it all. But know this, the cures are real. Fender  benders are down too. Mindless schoolyard fights and frenzies are down. And the people on the bus are so damn friendly, so damn friendly, so damn friendly. Life is like a song. Everything is kiss-kiss, hug-hug, good hot soup filled with roses and puppies. Our immortal threesome keeps filling those little miraculous blood vials and the elves and cherubs go right on delivering them. Investigative reporters criss cross the town searching for angles (angels too) and stories. Fistfulls of glittering lucre from the vampires treasure cache find their way into deserving, needy pockets. Bag ladies rent luxury apartments. Poor kids on food stamps suddenly have ten thousand dollar bank accounts. Best of all,  no one feels compelled to ask any troublesome questions. And 'urban grunge' becomes the look of choice at all the best tables in stylish restaurants, at least until the diners find the time to purchase an assortment of fashionable outfits. This is a quiet time for the vampires. What,  did you think they do not have them? Well, they do. It is not always high drama, clenched jaws, flaring nostrils, butt cheeks pinched together and other forms of soap opera madness. That stuff only happens on the lesser TV networks (both free and cable) and in teen-between, 'I'm so misunderstood,' blood sucker mall movies. Real life is completely different. So there is plenty of time for our vampires to explore their world and their feelings and each other. Baylah has a boyfriend. He visits her at the piano bar. They spend the night as his place. Didn't I tell you about him already? I could swear I did. He's what we called a merchant-banker. Now they call him an equities trader. He has a seat on the Philadelphia Stock Exchange and a fine, carefully tailored, red brick, Center City, petit palace, not to mention a magazine worthy weekend/summer place 'down the shore.' Does he know about her unusual condition? I don't know. But he must know something. True, it is a dangerous game telling mortals. But Jonathon's familiars know about him, so why should this fellow be any different? Still, he does not know she is 'Our Lady of the Olive Garden. But he does know a lot. I can tell. I have a feeling. Speaking of feelings.....Sarah and Jonathon are certainly getting in touch with theirs. They've taken to wandering naked through the dim and shuttered galleries of the Art Museum.... a pair of regular tableau vivants. Why? Why not? And (in the same condition) they made love right on top of the polished, granite slab dedicated to the unknown soldiers of The Revolution in the middle of Washington Square. Did anybody see? They must have. No one said anything. It was three thirty in the morning. True, a lot of cats started vocalizing, but I don't know if the two events were in fact connected or not. Most of the people living in the high rises around that way have fairly steady incomes, so they were probably snoring away in preperation for  next mornings's trot on the tread-wheel.. Then, when they get tired of that (Jonathon and Sarah, I mean) they sublimate into the zoo, where they ride the magically liberated great, white, arctic bears through the deserted, cobbled lanes. And according to the residents of monkey island, it is quite the show. Want to hear something else I know? Hitler and Liberace  have a big, hit show in the neather world.. No, they're not exactly neighbors. Hitler gets a work pass to commute up for the show. What's it called? I told you...The Hitler and Liberace Show! Look, I'll see if I can get you tickets when you die. No, really, I promise.. So, don't say I never do anything for you............

The Book of All Things New

Jonathon sits reading his centuries old, vellum journal. He carefully turns the pages reviewing his time in London during the catastrophic contagion of the sixteen sixties, the fall of Byzantium to the Ottoman empire and countless other places as well. Then he takes out a new, dollar store, composition book and begins to inscribe the details of hism current life........ Outside, Morticia is on the snow covered roof with Albion, Marianne and  one or two of the other elves. Albion speaks. He says - No, really we can. We can share the gift with you. We can enable you to fly....... Morticia giggles nervously. She does not believe it. She says - How? How can you do it? I don't have any powers. I can read minds a little, but everybody can do that........Marianne interjects - You do not require any magic of your own....... Albion - We have more than enough to go around. It is a gift. Think of it as a gift. We are giving you a gift. Are you ready?..... Morticia - I, I think so........ She stands her ground, closes her eyes and clenches her mitten-clad fists. She shivers a bit, more from apprehension than from the cold. Albion neatly bites into the skin of his inner wrist, draws in some blood, throws back his head and gargles a little. Then he lowers his gaze and focuses on Morticia. He rises up off the powdery surface  till his feet dangle six inches above the roof-top. Then he blows the blood out of his mouth and into the cold, frosty air, where it instantly solidifies into a glittering mist of tiny, sparkling points of light, which settle on Morticia, gilding her with radiance. She giggles some more....... Albion speaks - Now do not simply dream it. Do it. Be it. Become the air. Rise up. Break free....... And so she does. Morticia rises up, a bit wobbly at first, but soon finding her balance. The elves rise up and join her.And they streak off (wearing clothing of the appropriate black color) to penetrate the night. Such are things in The City of Brotherly Love......... Yet  on another continent things are different. The Teacher comes to the shoreline. It is dark. An icy, bone-gray, January moon holds court above a silver-black sea, as the starry chorus twinkles in the background. The Teacher steps into the cold as death brine. He moves forward till the water reaches his chin. Then he begins to swim. Does a vampire feel the cold? Yes. Is it painful? That is relative. Pain is a signal announcing injury or infection. What are they to a creature beyond death? So, no, they do not 'acknowledge' pain. Not like mortals. It is merely a sensation, like an exotic flavor one developes a taste for. And so he swims on till the land turns back and forgets him. A meteor quickly slashes across the sky. But he is fixed on other things. And a song begins to pulse across the waves. A chant, a drone, an aria sung by beings vast and knowing. The whales rise ever toward the surface, until he feels their huge, leviathan presence. It brushes his belly. He stops swimming. He is familiar with these creatures and has traveled like this before. He kisses the back of the benevolent beast, drawing in a throatful of rich, hot blood. Then he seals his lips around the bleeding wound and closes his eyes. And this is how they move on, united as one. When the whale dives down into the abyss, he dives with it. In this manner the exit the Pillars of Hercules and pass out on to the broad, immensity of the North Atlantic. Do the whales have to surface? Do the whales require breath? Was he naked to the sun? I do not know. Some secrets are kept even from Zebulon and I do not know what magic happens when a vampire voyages thusly. I cannot tell you. But they continue on in this fashion and will do so till they reach the Jersey Shore.

The Book of All Things New

This is Zebulon. Of course you  know this is Zebulon. What am I thinking. With what other narrative voice do you have such a relationship! The other narrators like to maintain their anonimity, but not me. Oh, and via the akoshic records, I know your names too! Hello, Jason! Greetings Melissa! I could go through the list, but you know who you are. Now back to the buzzings and bitings in the nocturnal world. For the time being, things are good. The world, or the Philadelphia part of it, is a better place. Still, no one thing, no one force is universal and absolute. There are always bubbles in the batter. And so, some 'iffy' souls are still breathing. That means our life eaters still have a certain measure of work to do. Not much, but some. They have gone back to monthly, lunar cullings. If I am correct, right now, Sarah is taking out a crooked civic guard ('cops' I think they call them). She knows where he hides. She knows where he sets his trap. If you have the right 'look' and the right last name, you don't get the ticket. But if you have the 'wrong' look and the 'wrong' type of last name, you get the ticket, regardless of how you were driving. And that is but one of his lesser crimes. Neighborhood thugs who 'play ball' are ignored. Others are robbed, or beaten, or killed. Does he act alone? Unfortunately not. But  tonight it is his turn to 'learn his lesson.' Although I fail to see how this newly acquired information will be of any benefit to him, since he will soon be completely and utterly dead. Look, look, look! He stops her on the street. He thinks she is a 'street walker.' He threatens to take her in.But it is only a 'scam.' We know what he really wants. Sarah pretends to ce concerned. She invites him to join her in a nearby, dark, sticky, greasy alley. He smiles and says - What for?..... She says - A free sample. I've got some new 'merchandise.' Come and tell me what you think.'........ He parks the car and follows. He pushes her against an unsavory surface. But before he can unfasten any of his many buttons, 'snaps' or 'zippers,' she has him. She caresses him. She kisses him. He growls - Cut that shit, you bitch. I don't have all night..... So she does what he wants. She gets right to it. She rips his collar, twists his neck to better present the necessary blood vessel and goes to work. He shudders. He moans. He struggles and tries to draw his gun. But it is too late. His blood is hers now. His life is over. His crimes are done. Sarah watches as his body collapses down onto the filth and burns away. But she did take his watch first, a nice one. Gold, inscribed with the name of some famous 'creative' and well marketed individual. It will be a welcome addition to their treasure cache. Jonathon and Baylah did their duty too. There were three blue flames this night. And the treasure cache was fattened accordingly.........And later? Later they all retreat back to the snug refuge. The three life eaters, joined by Edith, the telepathic Piney woman, take their ease in front of an orange, electric fireplace blazing forth from a genuine Amish mantle (it was a good deal on some shopping station and the elves and cherubs wanted it so they bought it). The vampires each enjoy a soothing aroma candle. Edith sips a cup of tea laced with a liberal splash of Jack Daniels. They stare into the quasi authentic, somewhat animated flames. But all is not peaceful. They can sense it. They can feel something. Jonathon knows. The one who created him, the one who named him Tomas, is on his way. His spiritual father is coming by for a visit. And as in most 'families' there is friction......For 'Daddy' seems just a wee bit upset.....

The Book of All Things New

The parking lot surrounding The Olive Garden Restaurant is now a pilgrimage destination. Reform Congregation Rodeph Shalom is now a pilgrimage destination. People claim to have received cures. People claim to have had encounters with 'passed' loved ones. A Red Paint 'seer' tells Jonathon and Baylah that they have created a truth. It is not a falsehood. It is no longer a lie. God has stepped in to make it real, like the healing sap, bled by a tree to seal a wound. Jonathon asks - Whose reality, whose truth did I create? And the seer answers - Elijah the Tishbite's, the Prophet Elijah. He who prepares the way of the Annointed One.....Jonathon asks - Does that mean the Annointed One, blessed be he for whom we have been waiting, will come?..... The seer simply shrugs. He turns to Baylah and says - You need not ask. You know. You set out to emulate the Mother of the Nazarene. And you  did it very well. You created a void for her to fill. And there is a pattern here, in Philadelphia I mean. First we had  the unexplainable events captured by the universal eye. (he turns to Edith) What is it? She responds - The internet. He says - Yes, the internet. Like a fisherman's tool. It gathers us all in. Then we had the night without death. That one was a 'biggie.' And now we have this....... Sarah says - I see young people wearing 'My hands are God's Hands' hoodies when I go out. I don't know where they're getting them or if anyone makes a profit, but I see it. And the news says street corner drug traffic is way down...... Albion puts down a handful of Legos, silently approaches and adds - We visit aged ones in those orphanages for the elders they have. And the care givers are starting to seem as if they really do care. Even the physicians. There are less bed sores and less carelessly spread infections. There are more visits by children too. I condensed  at a bed side late last night, about the second or third hour after midnight, and a doozing son and daughter were still there keeping vigil over their ailing mother. They woke just as I offered her the blood. Just as she tasted the drops in the vial. They looked, but did not say a word. And they heard me say 'God bless you' as I quickly sublimated away. To them it must have seemed as if I disappeared........ Sarah - I wonder what they thought?....... They know that she is well now. Isn't that enough? - whispered the young 'elf.' And they sat there, in the hours before the dawn as they always do, discussing their 'lives,' sharing hopes, expressing fears. A peaceful night, in a snug refuge deep within the woods of the vast city park............But in Rome, things were not so peaceful. Police and other more mysterious individuals surround a  house in the rain where The Teacher had been sheltering as he composed his thoughts. The area is cordoned off. A chorus of glossy reporters hovers in the distance. People whisper - The Vatican Bomber, The Vatican Terrorist, they have found him. He is about to be apprehended..... Everyone grows silent. The police begin to move in. But their prey rushes out like a charging bull. He roars with rage. The humans fall back. Some of the civic guards hold their ground. And he sublimates and barrels right through them, his tiny, glass-like particles shredding them to bits. The remains splash down onto the paving stones and are  washed away by the rain drops. But those body parts which were not shreaded, such as the occasional head, knee or hand, do not wash away. They lay there on the ground as a swarm of image recording devices whirr away.....

The Book of All Things New

And the city of Philadelphia was a changed place. The atmosphere seemed softer and easier to breathe. Pilgrims came into the city, more than came after the first internet postings a few months earlier. More than when Morticia and her lot arrived. The 'New Pilgrims' are not just goths and lovers of magic, heaven forbid. The new people are true spiritual seekers and they come in all faiths. Something happened here (if they only knew the truth). And they all want to be part of it.  The hotels are filled. Some residents rent out rooms in their homes. Everyone in our own little group, the vampires, the humans (both Pineys and Red Paints) and any other assorted disembodied spirits we may have floating around are caught up in it too. Who cares how it started? Thank God that Jonathon and Baylah are such good actors. Thank God they've kept up their sublimation skills. Jonathon is still not quite sure how he managed the 'heavenly' illumination that accompanied his descent into the sanctuary. But things like that sometimes happen and that, in itself, is a miracle. Wait, did I say that all the humans among us were caught up in this? Well, that is wrong, or at least it appears to be wrong. The Old Woman and Annie are almost completely silent and impassive, so it is hard to tell. But I would guess that they are not in this. I am sure of it. Look, I could pass through the akoshic records and pick up a few things. If you want, I will try. Send me your thoughts. I will get the message. And I have tried. But the 'records' are troubled by a strange spiritual static as of late and they are quite difficult to understand. I could go, but it would only be a guess. I am even having trouble communicating with you right now. Someone else wants to speak. And the 'someone else' scares me. So say good bye to Zebulon for the time being. Believe me, I am glad to get out of 'its' way...............Open yourself to me! Witness my reality! Pay attention! There is much to absorb! Open your eyes (your spiritual eyes) and see! The prison shatters. The walls fall away. I thought that I would be able to sublimate through the very lead and rocks. But this is different. The ceiling crumbles. Lead whines and groans, splits open and explodes. Functionaries scream. They pray. They scramble off to safety. They contact others on little, black, magical communication shards. Lights rains down to blind me. It is not the sun, but it is bright and hot and new. I have not felt the like for centuries. My skin begins to steam, but I do not truly burn. I rise up, whether via sublimation or by simply scampering out like a demon freed from hell I do not know. There is a hallway, a passage way. The floors are paved in polished granite. The walls finished in marble and the finest, ivory-like plaster, but the structure seems to groan and pop. Little ant-like workers in black cassocks race around shouting to each other. Loud wails echo from the walls, over and over and over. Their sound is deafening, like the great bells of Kiev! A few of the terrified humans begin motioning to me. They want me to follow them. They want me out of this fortress of stolen artwork (for that is what I sense it to be......indeed, they once 'stole' me) as soon as possible. Small cracks appear on the granite with my every step. The cassock-wearers cry and gnash their teeth. They plead with  me to follow (and I do). We seem to be going toward an exit. Someone throws me a monk's robe. I haistily tie it on, my own garments long since turned to rags. A door flies open. BOOM!! I am out on a street. No, not a street, a public square. Frightened people run in all directions. Is it an earthquake? No one knows. Masonry rains down on the populace. People fall. People bleed. And I raise the cowl, lower my head and walk on. Horrific, shell-like vehicles race onto the scene, each carrying a contingent of civic guards. Weapons are drawn. Those tiny communication shards are much in evidence. A group of carefully groomed humans race into the area, turn to face a bank of torches (I think they're torches), lick the food from off their teeth (each one checks the other) and begins  speaking into thick, little magic wands. A crowd gathers to watch. But I continue on my way and disappear into the still surviving, winding recesses of The Eternal City........