AN IBERIAN PROCESSION

Sarah and Jonathon made their way through the interior of  Spain. Sometimes one guide would lead them, sometimes another. All were laconic and silent. And they walked, as if on Pilgrimage, for in all actuality, they were. Each morning they the two vampires and their 'handler' found refuge in a different cave. It's odd how little a life-eater really needs. Mansionettes in Chestnut Hill are completely superfluous. Hard packed dirt floors are enough. One night, they had dreams. They had visions. Jonathon discreetly stole away to cull his target. Sarah did the same. He drained a heartless weapons dealer. She delicately killed a remorseless poisoner who was just about to slip the 'juice' to husband number three.That's how it was, until they left the flat, semi-arid plains and towns of the table lands and began to climb up hill.

'Africa starts south of The Pyrennes.' The Romans believed that. So did the Moors. And when you look at the dry, severe landscapes, or explore the picturesque, thick-walled peasant towns it seems true. Vultures wheel overhead, jackal-like foxes scrape for voles and ageless strains of cattle low in the dusty distance. But our two miraculous beings travelled in the opposite direction. That mountainous barrier was their destination. Was this planned?  No, not really. But in the life of a vampire, what is? Sometimes the guide for this part of the journey would hum old Basque songs. sometimes he would not. Sarah asked him the name of their destination. He just shrugged and laughed. Jonathon tried to read things in the wind. He tried to squeeze into the mind of he who led them. He attempted to finesse his way beneath the skulls of sleeping townsmen,  the better to search for clues. Yet clues were not  forthcoming.

One night, Sarah asked the guide if it would be alright if they tried to sublimate the rest of the way. It's not that she was tired. Vampires may know boredom. They may know ennui. But they never grow truly fatigued. When the guide realized she was speaking to him, he uttered one word - No....And then he just kept going. So did they. Sometimes, during the bright time, during the day, they would find solace in each other's embrace. A cave may not offer much, not even privacy, for through it all, the guide would just sit there, leaning against the undulating wall, eyes closed, humming to himself. But he did not care.

After a time there came a night when small things started to change. The air grew dry and cool. The ground less hard and bare. Bright eyed rabbits watched them pass in the moonlight, as night doves whispered their names. Strange voices called out to them. Yet did they, or was that but a delusion? The latest guide, this time a woman, spoke a bit. She said - Listen at first and draw it in. Sit quietly and learn. Sing the songs the 'teachers' sing. And smell the wands (incense tappers) that burn......... But that was all she said. The way grew steeper after that. At least she gave them cheap, new, canvas tennis shoes. And they were grateful. So they climbed. Jonathon thought of his long dead mortal family. While Sarah thought of him........

TIDBITS FROM THE ENCHANTED FOREST---hootchies, chimps and everything

I don't even know where he is now. Doctor Franklin and the people at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau got the killer momkey. They got Muggs. You know that. Yeah, they let him run loose sometimes, either up in the Adorondacks, or every once in a while down in the Jersey Pines. One guy says he's been seen in the Smokies. He's tagged. They got chips and sensors all over him. So now they got more recorded data on 'vampire' behavior (OK, so it's simian, vampire behavior) than humans have ever had in the last umpteen thousand years. And that chimp ain't the only one. Little, Miss Luna lights up on their computer screens too. And that dumb, selfish bitch IS a 'human,' or was anyway. So whatever goes on here at Chestnut Hill translates into a big, nasty vampire soap opera over in that complex they got under the navy yard. I told you about the miniturized video camera she's got right in one of her eye balls? You know about her unrestrained hootchie-ism. Well, so does fifty percentof  humanity. And when we narrow the label down to teenage humanity of the predominately male variety, the number spikes to eighty nine percent. Do they know she's a vampire? No, thank God. But they are a little bit indignant over the fact that all this quality entertainment comes through from the female's point of view, because they only see her body when she looks down at it. Video purists claim that tends to distort the image a little. Although those private moments when she's giving 'tickle candy' to herself are exceedingly popular. So far, the guys at the Bureau are real careful about leaking any of the vampire stuff. But Papa says it would not make a bit of difference even if they did. Come on, look how many self-limiting A-holes still refuse to even consider the possibility of life on other worlds. As if God took the time to dig out all these fish ponds and then somehow made up his mind to stock only one of  'em. See, Papa handles things differently when he goes out. He give 'em the 'stink eye.' He hypnotizes 'em and they don't know from nothin'. And the kids, them little ones, the elves and cherubs? Anybody sees them, they figure they're drunk or somethin', or like maybe somebody slipped a funny capsule down into their can a Diet Fanta. What little HAS shown up about them on the internet got quickly branded 'a hoax.' Just like they done with Rosewll..Man them dumb cattles don't even know they got ropes around they necks. What are you gonna do about it?.....

But Annie's been a little more nervous than usual. She got lots a people after her. Franklin and his boys wanna study her. And those people hiding behind the Vatican been makin' eyes at her too. What could be better than a newly formed, still relatively weak, whiny, little, stringy-haired girl vampire that they could control like a puppet? Can you imagine that? Shit, who the hell need Chuckie? At least this makes her behave a little better. That 304 year old, fat, bald hippie-lookin' dude and them Roman guys talkin' Latin into their super tiny cell phones are like the Boogie Man to her. And don't everybody know it. Oh, and Baylah? I didn't forget about her. She's gone back down to Atlantic City with her rich boyfriend. Not 'Lantic City actually. One of those little towns just to the south. Margate, I think it is. They got tickets for some big shows. I'll let you know who it is when I find out. And speakin' a 'name entertainment,' I gotta go relax. It's time for Zebulon to sit down and watch Liz Taylor on The Johnny Carson Show. And I don't wanna miss it..

ANCIENT SOUVENIRS

Jonathon led Sarah into a small room off the central patio. It was empty. The historians had not gotten around to this area yet. He was relieved to see original tiles on the floor. They were, as yet, undisturbed. And one of them, in a corner was loose. It had always been loose. The workman left it that way. An eight year old Jonathon (they called him Yoni then) would bring him cool pomegranet juice. The man was appreciative and he said - Would you like a special hiding place, boy? Every little fellow your age should have one.......Jonathon nodded. So the artisan created a snug, tiny niche, right in the corner, where no one would ever tread. When it was done, he raised his finger up to his lips and went shhhhh. Jonathon giggled. He was happy to have this secret place. The grown members of the family rarely went in there. It was a spot for the children to prepare for their lessons and play their games. So when he was alone, he'd hide things....a small saint's statue from the Trinitarian quarter...two silver coins....a piece of Pascal Bread (matzoh) blessed by a revered Biblical scholar.....the skull of a tiny bird.. A thousand years had gone by. What was left? What could be left?

So he  got down on his knees, carefully pried up the orange-brown clay tile and looked. Sarah sat down and joined him. Well, the two silver coins were gone. Maybe someone else knew of his stash after all? Or maybe he'd spent them in the souk. Children so often forget. But the saint's statue was also missing. Did it have value? Did someone take it? Yet another mystery in the life of a vampire. The bless-ed piece of Pascal Bread had long ago fed tiny, hungry mouths. But the linen scrap of napkin used to wrap it was untouched. Odd, though far older cloth used to dress Egyptian mummies often survives. So why not this? He carefully picked it up and reverently began to examine it. The color had changed. No longer 'ivory,' it was now the shade of tea. Sarah asked - Is this what you were hoping to find?.....He whispered - Yes. He wrote a blessing on it, a blessing for me. He said that it would keep me safe and steady on the pathways of the Lord.......Jonathon laughed - I don't know? Did it do that?....Sarah leaned close and kissed him. But then they heard the watchman, as he stretched and moved his feet. So Jonathon carefully tucked the cloth into his pocket. They sublimated through the building and joined their guide, silently waiting out in the cool,still, ghostly moonlight.

Now, I recall something of that Biblical scholar. I remember that Pascal Meal. For Johannan is the teller of this tale. I am the 'disembodied spirit' here, in the Old World. And I was already in service to the ben Macabis went it took place. Let me drift about a bit. Allow me to collect myself. I'm sure I will remember what it was..... 

NO VAMPIRES THIS TIME..A NON FICTION LOOK AT EASY, FREE PUBLICITY

Sure we do this for fun. And there's probably a tiny bit of addiction behind it all too. But there's gotta be a place in everybody's brain that says - maybe I can monetize this?...maybe I can get the attention of some agent?..maybe I can really boost my 'indie' sales?...maybe, maybe, maybe...,So how we gonna get there? Easy (hopefully), free publicity, free promotions. And the means are right before us. All we have to do is maximize 'retweets,' maximize mentions. Don't be afraid, just do it. Pick somebody out of your 'feed' and start pimpin' everything they say. Retweet their link (actually the most important thing). Retweet their witty one-liners. Do it all. Then, when you're used to it, add a few other free clients to the list. If you want somebody to do the same for you...ask. If they don't cooperate, ask somebody else. Imagine what multiple retweets can do. They can transform a few hundred followers into thousands and rack up blog hits like bridge tolls. Also, if you do manage to track down some agent/promoter who's sympathetic to the new writer, pass it along. You can be discreet, yet still let people know here and there. I mean this is all common sense. The 'professionals.' who are already safe on the other side of the velvet rope won't help you. Sure, there are exceptions. But for the most part...X 'em off your list, because they WANT TO RESTRICT THE GENE POOL.....Since every 'Gene' they keep out means more cake for them.. You see them on twitter all the time. Who do they retweet? - panting fans desperate for a birthday shoutout, or somebody who can't fall all over them fast enough.. Shed a bit of light on a promising undiscovered talent?......Uhhhhh, nahhhhh, don't feel like it. Stop being blind. That's the way it is. Cousins and brother-in-laws, they already got. BUT...if we support each other and help boost hits, followers and numbers for everybody, certain individuals will eventually go viral (or if not viral, at least fungal) and then, they'll have to noticeYou can't win the prize if you don't play the game...And we've been ignoring a whole lotta free chips for too long.....THANK YOU and GOOD NIGHT.

A SPIDER SAMPLES THE TRUFFLES

Papa found a few things in the shops. The owners and sales people were all over him. He just had the 'look.' I don't know whether it stemmed from his human nature or his vampire nature, but it was there. They'd measure his inseam even if he was just looking at the socks. And this is sixty year old women, I'm talking about. Storekeepers would pat his shoulders and tell him how nice the jacket looked. They'd lightly run their fingers across his ass and say - These 'slacks' fit perfectly on you..... He never carried any bags or packages. Everything was sent right up to the house.  Picked up a little girl's patent leather, spring pocketbook for Annie too. Sure, she's disgusting, but every once in a while he feels sorry for her. So what if she fills it up with crunchy, dead cockroaches? That's her business.

When he was done in the stores, he stepped out onto the aged brick sidewalk and began to stroll. Ah, the warm, night air felt so good.  People gave him looks. He was used to that. Somebody'd mumble - Don't that guy look like Richard Gere?...Teen and twenty somethings smiled nervously, then giggled and flew away. But he had no time for such nonsense. Our 'Papa' had jucier morsels to fry.

He pushed open the plain, green door and went inside. The light was dim. Festive neon brewery signs decorated the wall behind the bar. And he found an empty table (a tiny two-seater) half way down the room. So he settled in and considered all the choices. Loud college types commandeered the bar. I don't know if they actually were in college, or if they'd recently graduated. But you get the picture. A few 'older' couples from the neighborhood occupied other tables along the wall. The waittress came over. He knew her and she knew him. . They tossed around a little playful banter and a minute or two later, she plopped a nice platter of 'crab' fries and a frosty mug of cold beer down in front of him. Was he contemplating a dietary change? I don't think so. But bait is bait and cushy young school girls with moist, dewy cheeks just love those hot, spicy 'crab' fries.

Sure enough, one such specimen struggled to find some tummy room at the bar. She turned, staring into the middle distance with an exasperated look on her face. Then, as if cued by some director, she blew a wisp of hair off her cheek (yes, it was dewy). Their eyes met and that was it. Papa motioned for her to join him. and she eaggerly slid her denim-clad tushy down onto the vacant seat. He started in with some by-the-book, unoriginal tavern-talk. Papa said - Boy, these crowds can be bruttal.....Miss Sweetie-Pie said - Yeah, tell me about it.....Then he offered her a few fries (she ate the whole plate). I guess 'crab' fries make humans thirsty, 'cause she downed that frosty brewski real fast too. I think she finished off another one after that. So it was only natural when they stepped outside for some fresh air.

Fifteen minutes later, she found herself lying eighty-five percent naked on the manicured greenery
of some out of the way, shadowy pocket park, with little memory of how the whole thing happened. So she picked up her clothes (he'd carefully placed them on a bench), put them on and went back to join her companions. And those two itchy welts on her neck? Probably a spider in the grass... A really big spider.

So, Papa didn't mind putting up with Luna and Annie and all the rest of the drama back at the house, for he'd already had his fun. True, it was only a taste. But when the fare is rich (as is the case with truffles and fine pate), a taste is quite enough.....

A WELL REMEMBERED DREAM

Jonathon stood outside the entrance to his family's Granada villa. The exterior wall was plain, covered in  a smooth, fine, creamy stucco. One stout, oaken door, stained dark red and girded with wrought iron bands broke the plain, featureless expanse. He touched it and traced a pattern across the wood. to the thick frame. It was there. The mezzuzah (prayer holder) was still there. What does it look like? Well, picture a little Bic lighter, but made from heavy silver. And inside is an old, small piece of rolled parchment, bearing some holy writ and a reminder to the householders that believers live  within. You know the Biblical passage that goes - Bind them (God's blessings and teachings) to the door posts of your house...? This is that. The 'young' vampire garped when he saw it, for he remembered the day his grandfather put it up. But how could that be? Silver ages. It tarnishes and ultimately wears away. Yet it was still here. He turned to the guide for explanation. The quiet man said one word - Reproduction.....And Jonathon understood. He saw the small, brass plaque off to the side and  read the words.....Tenth century villa. Jewish Quarter, Old Granada. Open for inspection 10am to 4pm weekdays...His home was a museum, a frozen representation of Spanish life long gone. He looked up. The same rounded mediterranean tiles graced the roofline, softly reflecting moonlight as they did on nights gone by......He spoke - There used to be a little cage, not so little actually, that hung by the door. My mother always kept some exotic bird in there. It was a very...Andalician 'thing.'.....I suppose the caretakers never got around to that. And during the day, the quarter was always cool. The narrow, carefully paved public streets never let down too much sun. That was reserved for our interior plaza. There was a fountain in the middle. Is it still there?...The guide nodded and said - Almost everything is as it was. Would you like to go in?........How can I? - asked Jonathon. It's late. They're closed.......Sublimate - said the man....Jonathon sighed and whispered - I'd actually forgotten the last one thousand years........Go - said the guide. and fear not, for the watchman is one of us. Probably dozing at that. Go. I will wait......So Jonathon reached out for Sarah's hand. And together they disappeared into a glittering aura and stepped back into the proud, Iberian past.......They condensed. His vampire eyes sliced through  the gloom. Tiny, dim, orange electric lights, made to resemble candles, rested here and there. Huge clay pots held thick, green palms and other cooling specimens. Water trickled down the multi-layered fountain. Heavy, rustic benches and lounges provided respite. During the day they were covered with thick, plush, colorful pillows. And a monkey or two used to scamper about....No, that was then, not now....Sarah whispered - It's beautiful...It's, It's like something out of Aladdin......You mean the Arabian Nights fable? - he said.......No, like the Disney movie.- she responded......He laughed. And she appoligized for saying the wrong thing. But he hugged her and was grateful..  They walked through opulent chambers and historic galleries. Sure enough, the old watchman was sleeping, snug against an alabaster pillar, fashioned in a spiral style known as 'Solomonica.' ....Then Jonathon quietly said - Come, there's something I'd like to show you........

A SILVER FOX STEPS OUT

It is quiet here. Let me see. Who do we have? There's Annie, the enchanted children, a few drab human familiars and Luna. Of course I am here too. 'Papa' endures. I hear the tick, tick, tick of the tall, wooden time keeping device. I see recordings of some 'Ellen' person dancing around and playing games with manic, screaming women. Sometimes I hunt the mice, just to keep sharp. No, I do not eat them. But two cats frequenting our trash cans seem very pleased with my donations.

Luna usually goes out alone. She has this routine. She'll get all tarted up, go to the door, then turn around and say - Well, gotta go scratch my itch.....And then she's off. I think she's got sublimation figured out. That's how she gets down into Center City. Edith, our human telepath, thinks she has her own familiars. You want to know something? I don't care. Just so she's there in our sleeping cabinet when I want to play a little slap and tickle . I still have my appetites after all.

Is Luna beginning to pile up her own wealth stash? Who the hell cares. Let her do what she wants. I hear those pathetic pseudo Vatican bastards are still poking around. I hope they find her. Let them throw a net over her. Lock her up in some oozing dungeon. Maybe she'll like that? Maybe that'll scratch her itch.

Annie, I think, is completely insane. You should see the little vignettes she sets up with her Barbie dolls and these huge, shiny, black roaches she finds down in the furnace room. Boy, I would hate to be one of her Ken dolls. They work hard for the outfits and plastic beach 'scuffies' she gives 'em. I will tell you that.

Speaking of outfits, I think I'm gonna pull this fine, sleek frame of mine together and go out onto Germantown Avenue. Those cozy, little multi-paned shops stay open late enough. Maybe I'll indulge in some stylish new haberdashery (is that the way they spell it?....I don't really care). Now tell me...what color form fitting, silk shirt goes best with salt and pepper hair? And short sleeved, or long, with the cuffs rolled up?  You know what? Think I'm gonna poke my head into McNullty's. See if I can't temp some frisky, little post grad into joining me. Maybe I'll teach her a bit about the 'Old World' way of doing things. Make her 'sing' a little. And, as many of you know, I am quite the proficient teacher.