BOHEMIAN RAPSODY

I am so tired. I want to sit in front of the television and doze. It is me, wilkravitz. And I do not even know who is scurrying through my neurons. I cannot tell you who is squatting in my skull. But I will enscribe their tale. Hopefully, they will talk fast. And I will yet be able to nod off during The Larry David Show..

Jonathon and Sarah sat in an old dark study. Two or three sputtering candlles gave out a weak, none to steady light. The old man with the gray beard, the rabbi, was with them. He smiled indulgently to see a female at his table, even a vampire female. But he shook his head  said a prayer and began to speak. ... He said - Those around us were cruel back then, very cruel. It was no crime to kill one of our children, or defile any of our women or to destroy and mutilate the men. But the rulers of the city usually protected us. Not because they felt spiritually compelled to do so, but rather because we paid taxes. Why burn your own fields? Only this timme it was different. Occasional murders we were used to. Strangled toddlers, disemboweled mothers...We endured and we went on. Yet this individual lived for death. Not just any death. Our death. He commandeered a church. Was he a priest? Some said so. He claimed to be. Yet no proof was ever forthcoming. And he drew many followers. They rallied around, cheering every speech and spitting with red hot rage.

Now life was complicated...complicated for everyone. The Turks were on the march. Old Serbia fell. The lands of the Hellenes were absorbed. And storied Budapest kneeled at the foot oof the Purple Throne. Courtiers of the sultan were everywhere. And the word from Istanbul...was 'the word.'..We expected to be invaded at any time.. People were nervous. How could Bohemia prevail against such a foe? Would we (or those of us permitted to bear arms) die in battle?  Does slavery await us? You know many were kidnapped and sold off to the East over the cennturies. Many...countless. Fear gnawed at every heart. All felt helpless...And we of the ghetto were most helpless of all. Some of us did look to the Turks for salvation. They took in refugees from Inquisitional Spain and P:ortugal  after all. Both communities could agree on the Allah Ahkbar...the part about who was and who was not a thoroughly credentialed Heavenly spokesman was a bit problematic...But we could live with that. Their dietary laws and Sabbath customs were also quite familiar. The Land of Israel was in Ottoman hands, yet the Holy Ciity of Safed was thriving. But God would decide. We lived in Prague. And we loved this place.

Still, the misguided 'priest' did not love us. He blamed us for the Turks. He blamed us for the Hapsburg tax collectors. He blamed us for his sharp-tongued, cross eyed sister. And he rallied the coarser element against us. Not a difficult task, to be sure. But he built things to a fever pitch...We had 'money.' They could righteously grab it. We had homes and livelyhoods. They would confiscate them. We had lives. They would crush them. And God would bless them. And that would be the end of it. Isolated perversions had already begun, when we learned of their true plans. A huge massacre, to coincide with their spring Resurrection  Festival. Where could we hide? Nowhere. Who would help us? No one. Even if we did barricade ourselves into the cellars, they'd burn everything anyway. Well, no more killings. No more human torches. I'd heard testamony from survivors of the Chmelnitzki Raids in 'Little Russia.' The same would not befall us here. So I went to work. I 'created' a champion. I shaped and contructed a 'superman' if you will.

How did I know this thing? There was a man, latelly returned from the mystical towns of The Galilee (where Safed is). He was an unlearned sort, but his dealings in those places brought him into contact with true disciples of the Kabbalah, the Road of The Righteous, a traveller' guide into the very heart of God. Yet what he overheard and who he heard it from, I do not know. Was it truth, or was it something else? What did I care? I was desperate. The choice was mine.

So I fashioned a figure, a large figure in the shape of a hulking brute. I used the clay of the Earth and the dust of the field and I made it. Then I said the prayers. I wrote the word. I wrote the most sacred Name of The Lord upon a small piece of parchment, upon a small portion of lambskin. and I pressed it into the figure's mouth. I fed it to the golem (unformed one). After that I stepped back, waiting for him to quicken....But he did not quicken.......The old rabbi fell silent, his eyes resting on Jonathon.....The 'young'  Spanish vampire cleared his throat and took up the thread.....

No, in a manner of speaking he did not. - Jonathon said. But I did. For at that instant, I stepped out of the shadows, a co-religionist of sorts. And I offered you my assistance........Tears dripped from the rabbi's eyes, as the vampire went on.......The blessed magic did work.- he whispered. You said prayers and God sent me...

Did you help him? - asked Sarah.......Yes, - he said.......Did you kill for him?..... He just nodded......And the three souls in the dim study in the Prague which was not Prague, sat there in silence.........

THE GREAT IMPERIAL CITY OF PRAGUE

The life-eater couple left the warm room with the velvet chairs. They had eaten well. Human fare, mortal human fare. And it still tasted good. Jonathon had not so indulged for almost one thousand years. For Sarah the time was shorter. As they walked through the streets of this Other Worldly city, the buildings took on a rich, golden hue and the rooftops all shone red with natural, baked clay tiles. Fine, black iron lamp posts punctualed the gloaming with nebulous clouds of light. Music flowed out from the dwellings. And ornate broughams pulled by matching white horses progressed along the thoroughfares. Then, bit by bit, their physical bodies began to evaporate, til they were naught but moonbeams dancing in the night. Did this thing scare them? No, it felt quite natural. They were still together. They could still communicate. And if the vehicle for their thoughts was more ephemeral than before, the clarity of the conversation, never the less, improved. They spoke soul to soul and that was very pleasant indeed.

Jonathon said - I know this place. I was here........Where are we? - asked Sarah.......In the great, imperial, Hapsburg City of Prague. - said her companion.......She asked if this was the real Prague, or just a spiritual fabrication.....Jonathon laughed and said - I will find out.....So he called to a passing coachman, who saw nothing strange in responding to a disembodied spirit. And when that spirit inquired as to the provenance of the place, just laughed and said - Does it matter?.....The two ghostly life-eaters realized that it did not. They continued on their way...passed a church with a choir chanting beautiful songs....passed a palace lit for a ball...passed a pair of lovers kissing in the shadows...and a tiny tribe of pigeons nibbling pumpernickle crumbs from the cobbles. The streets grew narrow. The path more twisting. The sights more ancient, in a moldering, charming way. And then Jonathon stopped. For he saw it straight ahead, the dark stone Alt-Neu Schule. The Old-New School, the venerable synagogue of Bohemian Jews, a faithful bastion of belief..

He whispered, or rather his soul did, - It was just a genertation or two before my crossing to the New World, an excursion made from London, a chance to clear my head of all that frou-frou Restoration (or practically Restoration) nonsense. For yappy lap dogs and shoulder length wigs of persian lamb can grow exceedingly tiresome. So I drifted over here and learned important things.

The heavy oak door to this place of prayer cracked open, allowing a thin, trickle of light to flicker out beyond. A man stood in the entrance, an old man with a gray beard. He held a square, glass and copper lantern and wore the black robes (such as a judge might wear) of the Hebrew  clergy, his head covered by a dark, satin prayer cap.....And who is that man? - asked Sarah. Did you learn anything from him?.....Yes, I did. - said Jonathon. That worthy, old rabbi  taught me a lot.......

If you are unaccustomed to these tales, search out histories of the Golem. For we venture into Kabbalistic waters and there are certain things you must know.....Go on. I'll wait. You won't get lost.............

COPS AND VAMPIRES

Evelyn called the cops. That Gladys Kravitz (no relation to me, wilkravitz) skinny, nosy, two pound chicken old bitch called the cops. Luck they came after dinner. Can you imagine if they came during the day!? God only knows. Edith answered the door. There were two of them. Big guys. They like playin' cop. Like being bouncers for the city. That's what they looked like with their tight uniforms and their Popeye arms and all. People round here think they especially enjoy stickin' it to the Chestnut Hill crowd. You know - I make sixty thousand a year. You make ten times that. Now get  down on the ground and give me twenty.

One of them says to Edith - Excuse me ma'am, is the owner of the house home?.....She says - Yes. Then her eyes go all crazy, rollin' around and looking side to side. So the other whats-his-name-pro-wrestler-Jericho-wannabe says -  Is it all right if we speak with him? We'd like to ask him a few questions. But Papa is sharp. He spruces up real fast. Comes walking out of the kitchen, doin' his best 'ain't I a cool dad in a movie?' impersonation. Shakes hands with the 5-OH  dudes. Leads 'em into the 'parlor' (no, for real. the vampires actually call it 'the parlor.'). And five heartbeats later (they got me talkin' like them) everybody's sittin' around chewin' the fat. Do I know where he gets the fake I.D.'s from? No, I do not. But he has 'em. One for him. One for Luna. Some kinda paper identifying Little Annie. I am a personal assistant. Edith is a housekeeper. The Red Paints are down in  the sub-basement rec room watching Mrs. Doubtfire with the elves and cherubs. (for some reason, they get along especially well). And everything's honky-dory.

Edith says she wasn't hurt much. She sticks out her thick 'almost an old lady' pasty, white leg and shows them. Vampire blood infusionns work real fast. So except for two small bruises and one tiny, practically healed scrape, she's good as new. Well, not new, just as good as an almost old, pasty, white fat lady can be. You know what I mean? They laugh and laugh  about the crazy nextdoor shrill bitch who feeds her kid shitty pizza. The whole neighborhood knows that story. The kid has a blog about it. No, really. I've seen it. It's caller 'Hi, My Name is (can't say it for legal reasons) and My Mom Feeds Me Shitty Pizza. If I remember right, she's already got thirtytwo hundred hits.. Jeez, they gonna put her on Hoda and Kathy Lee soon....And now our next guest is...the girl whose mom feeds her shitty pizza...

Well, anyway, the Steve Jerichos stand up and get ready to leave. They buy the story that it was just some kid out to steal the patio furniture for scrap or something. She got knocked over. That's it. No big deal. The fact that Edith spiked their High-C with a teeny bit of vampire blood kept in the kitchen for just that purpose didn't hurt either. Everything worked out. We were lucky. Wanna know how lucky? Mrs. Doubtfire ended while the two crew-cuts were still up there. The cherubs start gettin' restless. They start flying around banging into the sub-basement door They wanna go upstairs and get Elmo or something.. You can't control them. The older Red Paint guy almost peed himself. How you gonna explain away four flyin' babies all dressed up in these real glittery, custom made (blame Luna) 'Dancin' With the Stars' tee shirts? Jeez! But even Edith can be shrewd when she has to be. Clicked on the TV real loud. Said she hadda watch American Idol.  Papa walked the boys in blue over to the door. Makes some joke about - Don't you guys have to be off catchin' hoboes with shotguns or something. And that was it.

So now we got Evelyn to worry about......Papa will take care of her....Such is life in the...(what do we call it?)...oh, yeah, ...in the wonderland.

NOW HERE COMES THE EASY TO FOLLOW, HOW TO SET UP YOUR OWN BLOG AND COMMANDEER ALL MEDIA INFORMATION......
1) establish an email account
2) go to blogger.com. If, for some obscure reason that does not work, go to blogspot.com.
3)  click on 'starting your own blog, or whatever the graphics are calling it these days. you CAN'T MISS IT.
4) fill out the quick, short, easy form. EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY FREE AND REMAINS FREE ALWAYS. The whole form only contains about five questions. a) your name, address, phone etc. b) name of blog. c) email address...and that's about it.
5) they'll ask you to click onto your choice of background 'wall papers' and colors. Hey, when I did this I was a complete computer beginner and I had no problem at all. It was scary how easy it was to grab hold of a piece of  the worl-wide media.
6) you'll see a 'dashboard' (control panel that is self explanatory. Just single click onto whatever it is you want to do...New Post (write new material) check your 'stats' (statistics on number of viewers you've had), change backgrounds...it's all easy to understand.
7) then you're 'on the air.' that's it.
8) if you can type on a standard word processor style keyboard or typewriter you're all set. there is no limit to the length of your blog posts. the space provided will grow to accomodate the material
9) if you are on blogger.com...and you probably will be...your link will be http://thenameyoupick.blogspot.com/.    Your name will appear where it says thenameyoupick. I just put that there as an example. remember, no spaces.
10) then stick your link up wherever you can...on your twitter profile page...on facebook...anywhere. ...you need publicity...make comments on other people's blogs. when you sign in, your link goes up automatically. People will start to see your link. Tweet about it often, but don't be too obnoxious...like we all sometimes get, or people will call you a spammer. But don't worry about that. Get going and have fun. Post often or readers will lose interest. Pick a specialty for yourself-----reprint travel deals from other sites...critique TV or movies, or restaurants, or fashions, or sports...whatever. Just DON'T PUT THIS OFF. DO IT. Fame (even just the chance for it) is intoxicating. And while it may take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months to build up a following, stick with it. Big watermelons grow from little seeds. If you know how to post graphics (I'm still learning) so much the better. Now go out there and become a STAR!!!

THE RECKONING OF THE DEAD

Lo, behold. I relate the tale of Jonathon and Sarah. Afloat they were in the Eternal Sky, with no one save each other. Time was not time. And space was not space. Even the 'bottom' sides of clouds gave no clue,  for all were round and rich and full. And the light was not a light, but a radiance, eminating from all points. Their bodies drew it in and gave it off in equal measure.

But then there came a sound, a chord such as a Kashmiri master might have struck upon the royal sitars at the court of a Mogul King. And the universe (or this part of it) was changed. A shadow appeared in the region below our twosome's feet. It spread out, giving birth to a vast plain and the world was real once more. The clouds pulled together and darkened, til a soft rain began to fall.  Fresh growth softened the ground  and people snaked up from the soil, each dressed in a costume from their mortal life.

Sarah and her Andalucian princeling fell down with the droplets, splashing on the surface. They began to walk through this throbbing mass of souls, pushing their way passed knotted throngs of arguing individuals. She wore the clothes of her lifetime. He wore the garments of his, a long, fitted silk tunic, belted at the waist, trim,  riding britches tucked into close-fitting, fine leather boots. A voice began to whisper, a voice only they could hear. And it was the voice of the man with the short white beard.

He said - Witness the Reckoning of the Dead. Each who was wronged confronts the wrong-doer. And most play both roles, for who has not harmed others? ...Why are we not approached? Why are we not approaching others? - asked Jonathon........The voice said - Oh, you will, when your time is  up. But creation still wants you. This is not an end. It is a beginning. And if not of the first act, at least of the second. The same holds true for you too, Sarai (pronouncing the name in the original Hurrian manner.). So watch, observe and tell me what you learn.

They saw fighting and finger pointing and crying and sobbing. They saw denial and excuses and shame and guilt. Some resolved their differences and embraced. They laughed and smiled, walking off toward quieter places. Small children stood watching, wide eyed and fearfull, til claimed by loving relations. Radiant beings progressed through the people, occassionally pausing by hopelessly silent men and women. Angelic hands rested on trembling shoulders. People were lead away.

Where are they going? - asked Jonathon.......To a place of Hard Work. - said the voice. For they have much to do. They have much to make right. And then the plain was empty. All was quiet. But after a heartbeat or two a wind began to blow, scattering  the ashes of  old, forgiven wrongs.

The vampires were instantly transported to a room, a warm place with deep, velvet chairs. They sat before a welcoming hearth. And the man with the short white beard was there. He gave each a cool, silver cup filled with sweet, wine-like nectar. Jonathon hesitated. Sarah did too. The man just smiled and brushed their fears away. You can drink. You can eat. - he said. This is not your world. What you are there does not follow you here. When you were out on the plain, did the sunlight harm you?......Sarah smiled and laughed. And Jonathon saw the truth of it. So they drank and a few heartbeats later, when platters were brought forth , they ate.

What did they learn? Next time we'll find out. But answer me this...What did you learn?.....

BAYLAH WANTS TO TALK

I got the horn tonight. It's me, Baylah. Just got back from the Jersey Shore. Not that cartoon MTV thing. I'm talking about the real deal. Look, I know you know my 'boyfriend' has a nice beach house down there. And I do like to play poker. The restaurants, obviously, hold little charm for me. Oh, sometimes (when my mister) eats, I do take inventory of all the fat asses at the other tables and occassionally pick out 'something' for later. Yes, I stick to the rules. It's always somebody who deserves it. What do you think? But we did see a good Cher impersonator the othe night working one of the lounges. And she did give me the mike, because you know how everyone says I look like Beyonce? Well, the band goes into All the Single Ladies and I belt it out real good. Vampires can do that. We are an extremely talented breed. People were clapping and clapping... But you know what? It's hard at times, because they think we're monsters. I'm not a monster. I have feelings too you know.

Sometimes I walk into maternity hospitals. I go right up to the glass and smile at the new born babies. Nobody stops me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about that vampire 'stink eye' stuff. And sure, maybe that's it...partially. But what I do, is always carry a couple of nice  gifts, stuffed animals (the good kind), or a short stack of high-priced, hard cover children's story books. If they do ask (and they very rarely do), I'm somebody's aunt. I love watching the little ones. It relaxes me. And I do leave the gifts at the nurses' desk. I suppose somebody gets them. Sure I pick up stuff for the cherubs once in a while. That's fun too. Yet if I walk through one of those indoor shopping galleries they got in some of the big money buildings around here and see some pudgy, little cutie in a stroller, I think--- would my baby have looked like that?.....God only knows. I talk about this with my boyfriend. He says I still must have DNA in the middle of all my cells. The only thing is, I don't know if it's 'live' DNA, or just a preserved record of what was once DNA. Who can tell? Maybe one day that will be enough.

Maybe one day humanity will stop being so judgemental and afraid. Maybe then vampires will finally be accepted. Some of us could work in hospitals, providing drops of blood for  otherwise hopeless cases. Bet the docs will try to find a way to bill for that. Other ones might be humane executioners within the prison system. Some might just be pilates instructors. Who the hell cares? Maybe it'd be a good idea to forget about those humane executioners, because in my ideal future, they're not still executing people. Want to hear something funny? Sometimes I actually wonder if we're ever gonna see a vampire president of the United States. Probably have a werewolf president first (if there were werewolves). People like dogs. Ahhhh, I'm just talkin'.....But I would like to see how flowers look in sunlight though.

Papa says they used to love and revere life-eaters when he was comin' up. So what happened? Why does God keep makin' us? We must be good for something. Maybe I'll kill myself a no good rotten bastard tonight. That ought to make me feel better.........

VAHMPEERIGO..la lingua vampirismo

It it strange that no one ever remarked on this before, but vampires do have a dialect of their own. It contains vocabulary, syntax and grammar borrowed from various tongues. This is due to the fact that life-eaters tend to travel about. Most can sublimate or are privy to other rapid means of transportation. In one night they may hear Italian, Croatian and French. Others may flicker between Spanish, Portuguese and Arabic. The Romance languages tend to predominate due to their Latin origoions. Older vampires, who tend to influence the others, still remember Roman times, as well as the middle ages a period when educated individuals only spoke Latin.

I am familiar with Vahmpeerigo, Jonathon's dialect. It is largely an older form of Spanish, with an admixture of Arabic and Hebrew, plus a smattering of Portuguese. French and Italian words have also found their way into the mix.

Vampires from the eastern Mediterranean speak Koine-eeta, a Greek, Aramaic pastiche. Indeed, some scholars now believe that Aramaic itself was originally a life-eater dialect mixing Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, Coptic and other forms. They taught it to the prophets of The Unitarian Testament, in a effort to expand the message and make iit understandable to a wider mix of people.

Other vampire linguistic forms exist in various locales. The regional tongues of Ancient China were married together by 'certain personnages' influential at court,  to become Mandarin. Similar things happened in Slavic speaking areas and among Germanic speakers, as well.

We see a related  thing happening in our own time. Television, the internet and other instantaneous methods of communication blur the lines between seperate, discreet languages. Mass migrations of people does the same thing. English itself, resulted from a mixing of Celtic, Latin, Germanic, and early French forms. In America, we're seeing a facile blending together of English and Spanish which has been going on since 'Wild West' times. Examples = Buckaroo/vaquero...ranch/rancho...pistol/pistola...and everybody knows what loco, rodeo and sombrero mean.

So, in many instances, vampires, due to their familiarity with different peoples and locales, often served as catalysts for progress, expansion and cultural evolution. And while technology fills a similar role today, the debt owed our nocturnal brethren is huge.

Adieus mameejos (adios mi amigos)...(so long, my friends)...Until we meet again. 

WELCOME TO THE WONDERLAND

Jonathon and Sarah walked across the vast, glossy floor, their bare feet padding on the cold, smooth surface. The man with the short, white beard smiled. He shook Jonathon's hand. For Sarah he had a curt, respectful nod.  He said - Well, now it begins. Would you care for any clothing?.......Yes please, - said Sarah. The breeze off the sea is quite chilly........And at that instant they were wrapped in the finest, light woolen, Alexandrian style garments. Snowy tunics fastened at the shoulder, topped by warm, soft cloaks, well made, lace- up sandals. The protection provided was quite comforting. Jonathon looked around the expansive, classic enclosure. Oh, he knew where they were...or where they were supposed to be......The Great Library of Alexandria, am I right? - he said.......Yes - answered the man with the short white beard. We find this space to be quite inspirational. The Ptolemies spent many hours here.........But it burned. There was a fire. It's been gone for over two thousand years? - asked Sarah.......The man just laughed politely and said - Gone? What thing is ever really truly gone.? Come, let us be seated......And they were. The table was long and highly polished. The three of them occupied one end. Sarah fingered the inlaid, Greek chairs. She quietly whispered - What kind of magic is this?......She turned to Jonathon and asked - Can Papa do this?.....But before he could answer, their 'mentor' said - This is not magic.......What is it? - Said Jonathon......This is power. - said the man......And he showed them scrolls filled with secret knowledge. He opened small, silver boxes, freeing the words of ancient philosophers for the two guests to hear. He spoke of  worlds beyond worlds and gestured into space, conjuring up dense, smoky, pale colored images of planets yet unknown.

Where are we? - asked Sarah.... You are in the Hall of the Mountain King - said the man.....And who is that? What is his name?- added Jonathon......But the man with the short white beard just laughed, as the room dripped away leaving them to float in a soft blue sky, powdered with cool, fluffy clouds. They looked down. But there was no down, just air and sky and clouds. The man was not with them, though they could hear his voice. It said - Every place is one place. And all time is but a heartbeat.........They embraced, suspended in that fashion for what felt like many, many heartbeats. Indeed, some might call it an eternitiy.

Space never ends and time is but an illusion. We merely  conceptualize things the way we do to keep from going insane. And now you know. Am I Zebulon? No. Am I Johannan? No. I am....and that is all you need to know. Now go. Click onto other sites. Examine other posts. Talk to your digital friends. But think about things. Think very carefully.....And will I be back?.....Well, perhaps that is not the proper qiestion...For in fact, where would I go?..........And once again...welcome to the wonderland.........