THE RESURRECTED JOHN LENNON, YUSEF ISLAM (Cat Stevens) AND BOB DYLAN GET TOGETHER

I didn't even know we could do this, but a vampire woman from Australia (in town to visit her ailing, mortal mother----- it seems the woman wants to expire within sight of the Garden Tomb) showed me how. Granted, true magic depends not on hokkus-pokkus, or other extravagant fandangos. You know that. We've discussed it already. Real power is just that...power. No toads. No chants. No dramatic hand gestures. You just imagines it and it happens. True, the focusing part can be a bit difficult, but certain simple mind exercises help with that (staring into a flame, or stroking a dog, or knitting a sweater even).

We met in the lobby of a hotel. I went in to buy a copy of Vogue for my consort and the latest issue of GQ for myself. It is I, Jonathon talking. And you know how much I desire to 'cut' a fashionable figure, what with my fine, black leather bootkins and all the rest. Blame it on my formative (human) years in Al-Andaluz (the south of Spain to the uninitiated). Do you think a culture responsible for the production of  'trajes de luz' and castanets could do otherwise? Maybe it comes from being here, in Israel, deep within the busom of a completely Mediterranean environment? Sixty percent of the Hebrew population stems from Sephardic roots. They are the children of exiled Spaniards, filtered through the fine, filigree artwork of Moorish lands. The Russians, Ukrainians, Poles and Germans get all the publicity, but the heart of The Homeland comes  from us.

But permit me to get back to the Australian woman. She was very new, maybe three or four years spent in darkness at the most, though her magical abilities were older than that. I'm told she has Aboriginal blood. I'm told she's wandered through the 'dream-time' with deeply talented shamans in the Northern Territories. Some here in town claim she's turned away hurricaines (please don't ask me what they call them in the antipodes) and peered through the eyes of salt water crocodiles.

She came over to my table in the coffee shop. I often linger over a cup, not for the hot, flavorful liquid within, but rather for the intoxicating aroma tickling its way up into the ether. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Very selfconfident, these Aussies. I looked up from a piece on grooming for the executive suite and met her gaze. She smiled, drawing me into her smoky eyes and binding my soul (for a while, at least) to her own.  She knew of our labors and of our meetings with other Holy Land life-eaters. She knew of our efforts on behalf of Israel and Ishmael and  our hopes for The Great Reconciliation. Two distinct, kindred principalities shining out from The Land Of Abraham. And she had an idea. I followed her lead and looked down into my cup. And there, swimming (or treading 'water' actually would be more like it) were three tiny individuals. One was the resurrected John Lennon. One was Yusef Islam. One was Bob Dylan. It was hard to recognize them at first with their hair all slicked back from the thankfully now rather tepid brew, but the Australian 'adept' helped me. I saw what she saw. I knew what she knew. So when she took the stylish ceramic vessel in her hands and walked out of the carefully decorated place, I followed , careful to throw a hundred shekels or so to the teenaged cashier before exiting into the soft, fragrant Judean night.

I had secrets to learn, inborn abilities to discover and miracles to perform.......

<if you like this portal, please click NEWER POST at bottom of entry or simply scroll down, if your page is set up that way> THE GREAT RECONCILIATION...two kindred principalities. Wouldn't that make their father (Abraham) happy... and his Father too?>

BLACKIE MAKES A MIDNIGHT DISCOVERY

So we gotta be tellin you bout two streams a the same river. One trickle gonna be bout Jonathon and the other Save the World life-eaters over in the Promised Land. The other one gonna drip through the mossy, leafy mellowness of Philadelphia's finer suburbs, as witnessed by that sexy, little vampirino dude known as Blackie (or Blacky...we disembodied spirits do not spend to much time worryin' bout New World spelling conventions).

By now we know that Jonathon has made a little side trip back a few millenium to witness the placing of the True Ark of The Covenant into a crypt-like vault far beneath the surface of The Temple Mount. OK, so maybe he was only there in spirit form, but he seen it just the same. And you wanna know what IT looks like? Well, go click onto some site showing the movie, 'cause it appears that Speilberg's prop designer got it exactly right.......and it is STILL there, glowing with a rich, gold light, under aeons of dust and debris.

Now it  would be mighty simple for him to round up a group a relic-diggin fellas (I think they calls em archeologists) and juss go dig it up (he is back in our time, after all). But true religion ain't always as straight forward as that. Moslem fellas are also lookin for The Hoofprint of the Steed, left by the blessed horse charged with bearing The Prophet Mohammed up to Heaven from the self-same spot. Trinitarian searchers (some of em anyway) hope to find a few cups and serving pieces left over from the Last Supper stashed away in some first century c.e. china closet. And a bunch a spiritual treasure hunters might destroy one divine gift just to find another.

The Resurrected John Lennon said (when he heard about it) - Why can't they all consider their relics to be 'found' and call it a day? What do they want, a bunch a knick-kacks and decorative items, or ideas? ...........That sentiment did not go over with the various religious leaders, for a trophy is a trophy after all....and maybe sometimes a little bit of an idol too.

But  the vampires gathered in Jerusalem are kept busy raising souls from near-death (via tiny blood gifts) and are quite happy to do so, even if about a dozen or two ersatz messiahs are swooshin' around town (homespun robes swoosh quite nicely) takin' the credit. You may have seen a few of em on Night Line and other fine programs. Still, people ain't dyin' in the Name a God and that, in itself, is a good thing. All this attention has also boosted sales of exported hummis quite a bit, so look for some at a supermarket near you...

Meanwhile, back in some cozy, red-brick, jewel box of a shopping district on The Main Line, Blackie is doing the naked macarena with a little, nubile young thing in a 'pocket park' behind a Yankee Candle outlet. She doesn't know he's a vampire, although she does think he's a bit strange, like maybe a Canadian, or a Jehovah's Witness or something........But what's so unusual about that? He plays games like that almost every night....The only thing is...at the end...after the big pay-off...when he went to bite her (a little), what came out was not human blood.....Well, not exactly anyway...

SHUT UP AND CALL ME 'BLACKIE"

I don't WANT you to know too much about me, but I felt like contacting you just the same. Your 'friends' from Philadelphia are still on their Magical Mystery Tour over in Jerusalem. Who knows? Maybe they will manage to save the world? Me, I'm a bit more pragmatic. Gimme a plump, juicy arse to bite and a tight, little pice a pussy-cat to have fun with when I'm done. That's all I ask. Who am I? How old am I? who 'turned' me? The hell with that crap. Who the hell cares? I goes where I wants to go and I slurps up what I wants to slurp up.

Don't expect to find me in Center City, Philadelphia. Them what circles around Jonathon and 'Papa' don't exactly fancy me, so I stays outside the city proper, haunting the older, leafier, mellow suburbs. If you're ever out that way, give a look in the wee hours up and down some disserted, l'il, red-brick shopping district. You know, like the one they got over on Germantown Avenue near where the 'Papa' tribe camps out. (but I can't go there, 'cause them digs is in the city).

It's not hard scaring up a meal. All I gotta do is make with the silent howl and pull in a dinner. Some sleepy, little sweet birdie comes shufflin' down the lane, clutchin' her coat over her scanties and I got me my main course. Like callin' out for dilevery! Does I kill 'em? Well, that's for me to know and you to find out. So mind your own bees-wax  and just be glad I don't give you the little touch. (although, them that lives do tend to like my little touch)

Still, that Jonathon and his lot did share some spot on information. We of the 'night watch' can make with the crotch tango whenever the fancy hits. All parts are exquisitely preserved. All parts are in proper working order. So keep an orb peeled for a firm, little Elvis-haired, rocker boy who tends to frequent out of the way bennches and dark doorways. Sometimes I whistles 'I Can't Help Falling In Love With You.'......And I usually, sorta, really, kinda mean it too. Only seven and a half weeks till fall. I likes the fall...long nights...chilly breezes...lonely goth girls (remember Morticia?) searchin' for a bit a magic. Lucky for them, I am quite the magician.......

So, watch the moon and smell the breeze....

See the leaves fall off the trees.

Hear the geese tear 'cross the sky

Come to play, to dance, or die.

Ooooh.....I can smell you already......

Tell me about yourself. Leave a comment. Ask a question. Share a secret.....Shhhh.....Shhhhh.....Shhhhhh

VAMPIRES AND ALIENS

Just as our magnetic field protects us from cosmic radiation, our native contingent of vampires protects us from aliens. those pesky off-world low lifes have been trying to mess with hoomin beans forever. But the vampires resent that, since they're the ones with a God given right to pester us. I suppose they view those bug-eyed fiends as cattle rustlers or something. I mean nobody likes a neighbor dippin' his net into their koi pond.

So the next time you see a vampire, thank him, because, as we all know...HOW TO SERVE MAN is a cookbook!!

Also, the vampires don't want me to post anything tonight, because you ain't readin' it. They used to draw between 150 and 500 hits/day (one day 1,350!!!) but now it's down to ....well, I can't say it, because they're lookin' at me and I don't want 'em to cry. Boy are they emotional. But see for yourself. Look at the 'hit counter' at the top of this page. It's registered over 14,300 page views.....They think an evil enemy threw a hoo-doo on us. Doctor Franklin and his crew at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau are looking into it.

Even such reliable vampire allies as 'the princes of the seas'....(the great whales) are concerned. Only the mermaid hag (currently a guest of Doctor Franklin's) is happy, but she crazy to begin with.

Come on. when  you were kids you clapped for Tinkerbell. Throw a little love our way. Click onto a few posts. Get your little buddies to click on too.

We know it's July and everybody's on vacation, but leave them Eastern European - summer-workin' gals ('specially in shore towns) alone for a minute and say hello to some old friends.

And since it is obvious that you are saying 'hello,' or you couldn't be reading this...say 'hello' a few more times and hit some more pages........Thank you for your support

EVEN VAMPIRES FEEL THE HEAT...and the 'end' of the world and all that

The sweat glands of the average life-eater still function. Every part of their bodies operates just as it did at the instant of their transformation. Each tiny cell does its duty. True, oxygen is no longer an addiction. Now it's just a habit. That's why the elves and the cherubs are presently swimming  with the fishes in Philadelphia's surprizingly clean, Delaware River. The cool dark water feels so good. And so what if a weird guy on the thirtieth floor of Society Hill Towers snaps pictures through his telescope of strannge, white, naked children cavorting amongst the wavelets? Who the hell cares about that? Every public fountain has morphed into  a defacto wet t-shirt contest. And somme a those 'contests' ain't even using t-shirts.

Doctor Franklin had the guys over at The Anti-Enchantment Bureau up the air conditioning in the Bigfoot and Jersey Devil habitats. I don't have to tell you how those hairy bastids stink in the heat.

Back at the house (vampire central) in Chestnut Hill, Papa and Luna put off their monthly feeding (which happened to be synchronized this month), because the thought of a stomach full of ninety-eight point six, streaming human blood loses a bit of its allure when the sheets start to get damp.They can kill a few nasty humans next week. What's the big deal?

And over in Jerusalem? Well, let's just say that a certain 'king' of all relics  does not rest hidden away in an immense governmental warehouse like we all thought. Remember Indiana Jones? Imagine, the only artifact wrought by the Hand of God.....and it's genuine too...

Maybe that's what's causing Doctor Franklin's Great Armonica to hum like that?

What's that day they're all talking about...March 21, 2012?.....Well, all I have to say is Scotosh Beedosh, y'all...

RAIDERS OF THE NOT SO LOST ARK OF THE COVENANT...or WHAT THE VAMPIRES FOUND

We are back in Jerusalem and I am telling you about the old man and Jonathon and the French knight, just like I told you I would last night. The three enchanted beings left the old garret and climbed down the stairs to the street. The night market was winding down. A few vendors hawked religious trinkets and reconditioned electronic devices. The old man (a vampire too) broke into crazy, manic laughter everytime he set eyes on any type of religious artifact. He'd yell --- FAKE! FAKE FAKE! LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! I have seen the truth! I have breathed the Dust Dinine!.....Then he'd just thrash about and scream until someone dragged him away. So Jean-Michel (the French knight vampire) took special pains to distract him. He whispered little gossipy tidbits in his ear, superficial things about others in the Jerusalem vampiric community, causing the old man to chuckle with delight. Jonathon, being Jonathon, couldn't resist ducking into a certain brightly lit stall to purchase a pair of hand tooled, fine dark red leather slippers. (you know how he is when it comes to trim, smart, well fitting shoes) But the whole transaction took less than three minutes and it's not that his heart wasn't in the right place, for it was (just beneath his sternum), but rather that even after one thousand years, he still often thinks with the brain of an eighteen year old.......Charming.

They snaked through a series of narrow, casbah-like thoroughfares, finally emerging into a large square abutting the fabled Western Wall of The Great Temple of Jerusalem......Well, not actually of the Temple, but of the huge, stone platform built to support the Temple. Small knots of the faithful, lost in prayer, petitioned God for all manner of things....peace and brotherhood.....the coming of the Messiah.....a cure for cancer..... a new Toyota Prius..... Bright spotlights bathed the politically sensative area 24/7 and spruce duos of IDF personel patrolled the sacred ground.

Some hasidic types were bowing and praying right up by the base of The Wall. The old man stopped a few feet away, took out his prayer cap, slapped it on his head and began to communicate with The Lord. Jonathon, recognising the liturgy, joined in. Jean-Michel stood respectfully nearby. Then, after a few dozen heartbeats, the old man impatiently gestured for them all to hold hands. They did. He led then round and round in a little dance, throwing back his head and laughing like a little child. The hasids (cherishing acts of spontaneous rapture) stood 'round them, smiling and clapping their hands.....Jerusalem fever....You know how it is.

After a time they began to spin faster and faster. The old man added a rythmic STOMP every now and then. They could feel a powerful intent, flow out from his body and enter their own. Then, after perhaps three dozen heartbeats more, they began to sublimate through the ether until they disappeared.....I don't know what the hasids though. But a couple of Israeli intelligence officers watching the scene on  a bank of security monitors saw the whole thing and feverishly began to call in to their superiors at the Bureau of Miraculous Occurances.

A fraction of a heartbeat later, they (our vampiric threesome) reclaimed solid form (well...spirit-form would be more like it) deep within  the shadows of a secret, rough hewn chamber far beneath the foundations of the Temple Mount, just as a group of Levites (a lower Order of the Priesthood) reverently placed a large, golden relic into a sacred niche. Jonathon caught a glimpse of the two guardian seraphim kneeling upon the lid. He saw it. and he knew what it was..........

A VAMPIRINA HELPS AN OLD TROOPER

Before we get back to the old man in Jerusalem, I have to tell you what Baylah did. See, this is why vampires are a necessary part of the human condition. It was late at night. She was back from her feeding (that time of the month) and HGTV didn't have any of the shows she liked, just a bunch of ordinary, middle class couples looking for plain econo-ranch houses in drab, start-up suburban neighborhoods. Like who the hell cares? So she sat there next to her financier boyfriend. He, at least, could eat a bowl of butter pecan ice cream, but Baylah, being a vampirina, could not. So she pulled her 'Lucky' jeans back on and went out to cruise the nearly deserted streets.

Most parts of Margate, New Jersey are straight out of a picture book. If Speilberg made a movie set in a cozy-posh seashore town, he'd shoot it there. Mayberry meets Malibu, but with good delicatessens and capuccino bars. It's also doggie heaven. No, for real. It is. I think it says so in the Bible.But when Baylah went out it was already real late. No cars. All the Mercedes and Jaguars were safely bedded down in  their embossed concrete driveways. Save for the hum of countless central air conditioning units, all was quiet. Even the sea gulls were done shitting for the night.

Nothing much to see except stylish, well manicured properties (artfully high lighted with professionally placed exterior illumination). So our Baylah (a beautiful girl. looks just like beyonce knowles), decides to sublimate herself through the vapor and go see what's doing in Atlantic City. She combusts back into the material world on a nice (but dewy wet) bench on the Boardwalk right outside the Hilton Hotel and Casino. An aged woman, kind of like a pot-bellied Cloris Leachman, but on a bad day, was sittting there. She was frazzled. Her white canvas cheap knock-off sneakers had seen better days. And I think there was a pee-pee stain just around the bend from the crotch of her pull-on pants. She was sad. Her gambling money was all gone. All she had left was her troubles.

They started talking. Turned out she used to be a kiddie birthday clown. Pickles, they all called her. She had two white doves trained to nest in her brassiere, a nice orange wig and everything. Got threehundred dollars a pop too. All she had to do was tell a lot of 'poop' jokes, roll her eyes, blow up some balloons, make fart noises and she was Buddy Hackett and Lady GaGa all rolled up into one. Shoulda seen her when she forgot to take her insulin.  Then the show was really something special.

But one day, during an intermission (the kid couldn't wait to rip open his quota of Toys R Us crap), some gassy little ice cream smeared bastid with a dairy problem barges in on her sittin' on the toilet. Suit down around her knees. Belly hangin' out. Magic, dove-less bra all undone. Smokin' a stink weed, but still sportin'  a full face of clown grease paint and her orange wig. I think she was takin' a swig from a little flask of Jack Daniels too.

She and the kid make eye contact, only they don't say nothin'. Tick tock, tick, tock, tick tock...about thirty seconds go by. Then (tryin' to be friendly, I guess), she holds out the flask and says ---Hey kid, you want some?

Guess it wasn't his brand. 'Cause the little bastid goes tearin' out of there (fartin' all the way), racin' back to the party yellin'----Help! Help! She ain't no clown! She ain't no clown! She just a drunken old lady!!

After that, she never worked the b'day circuit again......Just a drunken, old lady sittin' on a bench, late at night, out front of a heartless casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The doves (which she freed) could at least hustle tourists for polly seeds over by the entrance to the Steel Pier. Boy did she need a drink Baylah felt sorry for her. So she bit into her wrist and offered her some of her magical, life-preserving blood. The old woman asked if she was crazy. Baylah said --- No, just a vampire.......I guess that made it all right, 'cause the gnarled old thing took a few swigs. Hey, not Jack Daniels, but what the hell.....So her life was saved. Baylah felt good. And two days later, the old bitch got a job as an assistant bingo hall shill in training. Won about fifteen games a night......Ain't life grand?

Come back tomorrow. I'll tell ya what happened with Jonathon and that French guy in Jerusalem.......