SOMEONE SHAPE SHIFTED OUR GRAPHICS AND PUT ALL OUR GOOD GADGETS ALL THE WAY DOWN AT THE BOTTOM. DAMN IT! AND I WORK SO HARD. THE VAMPIRES DON'T CARE. THEY JUST LAFF AND LAFF.

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This is still wilkravitz. I know I planned to blog again later last night, but those coffee bar witches did something funny to my venti. whether on purpose or by accident, I do not know. But my stomach is a lot better now. Other stressed-out body parts are improving too. And one a them eggs was actually a double-yolker. That made me, at least, feel a little better.  Edith took a picture of it. If we knew what we were doing with this computer, we'd post it on You Tube. But as it stands, all we can do is make Xerox copies at the Office Max and shove 'em under the windshield wipers of cars in the parking lot.. Still, I'm not sure how proficient those witches are. One was carrying a dog-earred, yellow trade paperback called Witchcraft for Dummies and the other one had a light, little, mousy colored dusting of hair on her upper lip. I figure any real witch would at least know how to get rid of that. I mean can't she at least melt some wax in that cauldron? How hard can that be? I'm still gonna give them the benefit of the doubt, 'cause I thought they liked me. Who knows? Maybe the eggs were meant as a gift?

Edith fried up a batch. I wouldn't eat 'em. But the two Red Paint guys we got living here tucked right in. Said they had a certain rich quality, like duck eggs, or goose eggs. Hey, you know, one of my great-great uncles was a butter and egg man. Maybe it's in the family?

Jonathon is attempting to get through to me. It's hard what with him on an all-expense-paid tour of Heaven and all. I understand that. When the guy who always fixed our roof was dying, he said he'd try to reach out to us from the 'other side.' Ran out to Toys R Us for a Ouija board and everything. But after two hours of scrunchin' up our faces and carefully dangling our fingers over that little plastic sliding piece, all we got was a new steady leak over the diningroom table (our seance/talkin' to dead folks chamber) and a damp stain in the ceiling plaster shaped like Buddy Hackett. The dead roofer's son DID come over to fix it, though. Only charged us sixhundred and fifty dollars too, even without the coupon. I guess THAT was something. But every year, on the anniversary of the late roofer's passing, that Buddy Hackett stain reappears. Some of us thought it was a miracle...others, just cheap primer.

But I think he's trying to tell me to look for 'the dream' to start spreading around in this country (America) too.  So if you, or your friends have had it, please contact us and leave a comment. Also comment if you know the language that 'scotosh beedosh...' comes from. They say the Red Paint Folks know something about that. Only the ones I met don't talk much, kinda like taller versions of that little guy from Penn and Teller. One  a the R.P. guys we got here claims he was 'smacked in the head' by lightning seven times. One ear does look a little crazy, so who knows?

Oh, and one more thing... Lailah wants to make her father into a life-eater too. Hasn't done anything yet, but she's thinkin' about it.....I guess she's lonely. I guess she's havin' second thoughts. Maybe she shoulda picked a different 'major"? Maybe being a vampire ain't for her? Shame, too, because she's so damn good at it.......

Oh, jeez!!! Look, you're gonna have to excuse me. But I hafta go. I hafta run out to that pile a blankets we got in the garage. An egg is comin'.....I can feel it! I can feel it! I can feel it!!!

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remember. scroll down to the bottom. that's where some son-of-a-bitch banished  all our best gadgets. and we don't know how to get 'em back..... gotta get me some 'click and drag' lessons...

STRANGE, COMELY WITCHES TICKLE THE ETHER IN A CHESTNUT HILL COFFEE BAR

this is not a regular post. It's me, wilkravitz. I am tapping this out in a coffee bar on Germantown Avenue, the trendy, cobbled, neo-colonial commercial spine of  Chestnut Hill. All is copasetic back at the Glen Gary Road house. Maybe we should not  name the street all the time, but what difference is it going to make? Most of you go right on believing we're just fiction no matter what we say. maybe it's better that way.

Although, some of the locals know better. younger readers sommetimes know who I am. they recognise me. How? not sure. I think a few of them are witches. Like the one sitting near the stone fireplace (first flame this season). Always takes her coffee black. Sprinkles some kind of dried, crumbled leaves in it. And she wears this talisman around her neck. Don't know what it is. Looks like a naked Barbara Walters holding up a plate of spaghetti. Not sure. But I don't want to stare.

she sees me. she nods. I nod back. Everybody else sits bent over their magic keyboards. no one so much as looks up. I think they live here. another twenty-something female quietly enters and joins the might-be-witch. they exchange greetings in some unknown tongue. The onne with the naked barbara walters around her neck laughs.

But here's the funny part. I could swear I ate all of my big oatmeal-raisin cookie (quite the toothsome treat). Yet upon glancing down at the small white plate, I discovered that was not so, for a complete, unviolated fragrant one was staring  right up at me (two of the raisins looked just like eyes). then, when I picked it up to take a bite, the witches began to giggle. Plus, the sound system, or Surius, or whatever they got, started playing Days of future Past (or is it Passed? I can never remember)...one of my favorites.  Best of all, this big, painful zit I had commandeering the left side of my nose was miraculosly gone. I could feel it. I was healed.

the witches gave me a knowing look........I nodded and mouthed a quick 'thank you.' .....they nodded back, gathered up their things (fine, tooled, leather satchels...thin, wool chalis scarves... you know, 'witchy stuff'). But as they exited out into the chill, gray afternoon, a rogue gust of wind...a  tiny, whip-like tongue, blew a scrap of paper up from their table and sent it swirling and dancing over to  me. It came down right over the third button on the fly of my vintage Levis blue jeans. I picked it up. there was a phone number and one short sentence. it said - take us to your leader..........No, two short sentences. there was something on the back...it said - call us...........

I told you this wan't a real post. that will probably come later. and I don't know who I'll be channeling. but I just thought I'd fill you in on what was happening. you know, give a little bit of the 'back story.'

Let me finish my cookie. We'll talk some more tonight............

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please excuse my erratic typing. the experience left me a bit 'aggitated.'  please leave comments, plus a link where we can get back to you.........thank you, wilkravitz

LAILAH IS IN THIS....ERIC CLAPTON IS NOT.......JIM MORRISON (temporarily dead) STILL WANTS TO BE....SAM COOK MAY BE

Why did Roland do it? Why did he share the 'night kiss' with Lailah? To what purpose? He had never done the like before. Did Papa send him? Could it have been Renate? No...not her. She was more like a benevolent observer. She rarely plays around with humans. So whay's she doing running around with three iconic singer songwriters from the 1960's, one of whome was temporarily dead? I do not know. This one (an unmaned spirit) only shares those bits of the akoshic record made known to me.....They (whoever 'they' are) do not show me much. That's why we're compelled to deal this out soap opera style.......Ooooh! A clue! why did I say soap opera? I do not know. Could it be that this one was once a player in a company of soap opera performers? I do remember a certain recurring Dreft commercial. And this one seems to remember being spoken to on the radio by some human organism called Cindy Adams.......I wonder if she could be related to Morticia?....No....'they' spell it with two d's.

Lailah's been dispatching victims on a regular basis. Claims she has the visions. Who am I to judge.......Oooh! There's another word......'judge.'........I think I served on a panel  with a bunch of desperately insecure, lesser known actors and political hopefuls. I think we were responsible for chosing a new Miss America.....Such a heavy burden. I hope and pray the nation prospered under her moral direction.

She hunts in a diverse manner. One time it's the marketplace. Another time, a hotel lobby. It's hard for her to gain entry to the bars they usually have there, since she's chained inside the body (her own) of a fifteen year old girl. Soon, with more experience, she'll develope the ability. She'll be able to make 'vampire eyes' at them. Then our little Lailah will be able to go anywhere she wants, Her modus operendi is still the light, almost painfree kiss. True, there might be a slight pinching, or tugging of the flesh, as she breaks the skin, but so what? Didn't you ever apply pressure to an especially stubborn pimple?....Well, then you know what I mean. The 'pop' that comes after makes it all worth while. I'm told the guilty organisms she (and other 'noble' vampires, as well) dines on experience a certain karmic release when they die. No more guilt. No more responsibilities. Lay it all in the Lap of The Lord and let Him deal with it....Does he ever burn them in an eternal Lake of Fire?......Well, I've never detected it.....From what I can piece together, it's all a matter of tit for tat.....Reap what you sow and all that. Eat all the pain you've caused in the world. Die with each of your victims. Experience the torment till you've paid it all back.....Then, I don't know what they do with you. Maybe send you back into the flesh, or if not that, a spiritual muse to inspire the living. My cousin wanted to be the tooth fairy, but they just laughed and told him he was crazy. So now he's a muse. Whispers in the ears of butt sculpting 'doctors' and permanent boobie vendors. You see his work in New York and Philly mostly. Somebody else does it in L.A., but I do not know who that is.

Jerusalem, especially the Old City and the immediately surrounding districts, is a small place. Lailah often spots people from her old congregation. Some of them even approach her. Her distraught father hasn't told everybody. Most of them probably think she's still alive. Girls don't wander the streets much in their culture, especially at night, so how many times could they have seen her anyway? A few after dinner visits, maybe? Yet they'll come over to her. They address her by name. They speak to her. Usually, she just turns away and walks off, leaving them to wonder if they've made a mistake. Sometimes she feigns ignorance. Her dress is still modest and dark. What worked for the daughter of an Armenian Orthodox cleric, works for a vampire too. Maybe it's good she still remembers all those prayers, because she cries and shakes a lot after every kill. Mouthing the old liturgy over and over seems to comfort her....Who knows? Maybe she's just hypnotized?

She sleeps in a lot of different places now. Dark cellars mostly.  And yes, the insects and rodents still scare her. Jean-Michel wants to do something. You know how he has some type of subliminal relationship with her father (go back and wander the tale). He feels responsible. But give her time. I'm sure she'll construct a more comfortable 'life' for herself. She's smart. She'll learn the ropes. Maybe then, they'll get together. After all...she must have been created for a reason?.....Right?

Maybe Jonathon will find out.......

A VAMPIRE APPROACHING HEAVEN MEETS AN OLD TEACHER.....zsa-zsa gabor and eddie fisher make quick, cameo appearances too

Oh, so he was stoned when he was only thirteen years old! So what!? I died in a fire at the hands of barbarian Crusaders. And it did not happen quickly. Not that I like to brag, but I endured that ultimate torment for what latter generations would call fortyfive minutes. True, there were periods of numbness (more or less), but only  till a fresh new layer of nerve cells could be accessed . Then the danse macabre started anew. And it all went on till my skull exploded. The mingled screams of eight score innocent souls, many just children,  still echoes through the firmamment, though their blessed spirits swirl  'round the Throne of God.

Come on. You must recall my name. I am Johannan, guardian servant to the young Jonathon at the time of his ordeal. And I stand close behind him as he climbs the Heavenly Stairs. How is he Here? I do not really know. Why is he Here? The complete truth of it eludes me. I think it has something to do with 'The Dream,' a Message sown by the one you all call Papa, though The Seeds belong to Someone Greater still.

It is spreading. Fibers of understanding weave through Creation, binding tight the whole. Some hear clearly. Others detect only muffled bits. They gather in the squares and meeting places, hungering for something better. You saw it in Fostat...no, ecuse me...Cairo...and in the American Empire, as concerned individuals came together for 'tea.' We (those of us Up Here, I mean) can smell it everywhere. The World that is Earth approaches a New Age...... Call it Aquarius......Call it the Post 2012 Improved Edition.......or maybe One of  The Comings.....First or Second.....take  your pick...................For it is true that The Great Carver is vain, but not that way.

A man comes down to greet my young charge. He is dressed in the clerical garb of a Great Teacher. And Jonathon encounters the Esteemed Rashi, as he was meant to do all those many lifetimes ago...

While down among mortals the dance still goes on. Twelve nights and days till the Scriptural New Year. A like period of time  till the Leader of the Near At Hand Ishmaelites speaks to The Peoplehood of Nations.
So much opportunity. So much work to do. Cut the pattern. Stitch it tight.....Just be sure you get it right.

Johannon waxes poetic. For before the fire, I had a bit of  'the bard' in me too.

Oooh1 Look! There by the star-gilt balustrade! Zsa-Zsa Gabor...and Eddie Fisher!!  Quick, let me get their autographs!

Come back on the morrow, to learn of Lailah and her sorrow.....

There now...Wasn't it nicer visiting with me, instead of that troublesome, little, false-prince, Zebulon?

SHALOM YELEDIM

DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S SCIENCE WAS AHEAD OF ITS TIME....the arcane mysteries of an old city

We sublimated through this material almost a year ago, but people still ask about these things, so here's a quick review. Benjamin Franklin did, in fact, construct an armonica. The original is not a huge contraption, like the Grand Armonica in out narrative. It's about three feet high and four feet long. Finely polished crystal discs, each with a hole drilled in the middle, are carefully mounted on a horizontal, bronze bar resting on a sawhorse-like  support. The discs, arranged in size order, can freely spin when 'played' by human (or maybe our killer monkey could do it too, I suppose) hands.

The instrment, an early tool in the study of harmonics, produces ethereal sounds akin to choirs of angels singing in Heaven. I said 'produces' instead of produced, because it still works. You can see it in the subterranean remnants of Franklin's Market Street  home. The great inventor suspected that the 'vibrations' produced (what later generations would call frequencies) could tap into other 'planes of existence.'  Indeed, urban legend claims that the accomplished nation builder never really 'died,' in the true sense, but was instead  'sublimated' into one of these parallel realities with the help of his intricate, glistening creation.

True, there is an old style 'slab' grave in an iron fenced, Society Hill church yard, but who knows what lies within. However, each dawn, when the light returns, early risers report seeing bright, copper pennies sprinkled on the site. How do they get there? The security camera shows nothing. Another old Philadelphia story, or something else?

And if you ever go wandering through our venerable municipality, know this, the large, busy and rather Norman French, castle-like City Hall Courtyard, rests upon the old hanging field. The granite and bronze compass rose inlaid into the pavers marks the 'drop.'  X marks the actual spot where n'er do wells and pie thieves met their Maker. I wonder if the capuccino laden  masses hurrying into work even know that? Thar be ghosties here.

The vampires and their other unusual friends will shimmer back into our realm tomorrow. Please take this opportunity to pierce the veil and wander through our 346 testimonies.. A pixilated magic awaits.

SHOT-UP STARS GET EARTH-SIDE PASSES in the pixilated universe of the VAMPIRES

Edith is real mad. Some bitchie-poo knocked a clean, white bakery box sheltering a rich and satisfying, butter cream birthday cake right out of her hands. It went boom, splat, futz, all over the catefully swept brick pavers of Germantown Avenue. She hardly ever shops there. Can't stand the posturing phonies pretending to be boarderline 'society.' Them girdled in Mrs. Drysdales make her sick. And this one just  kept right on going. Rubbin' her thighs together like Eskimo blubber sand paper. Hope she prickly heated herself to death.

Our well meaning, rather demure and motherly, Piney Woman considerately scooped up the debris and dumped it down behind a bush (they got lots a mini-parks 'rounnd here) for some bums, starlings and rabbits. It was not anyone's birthday. And Papa doesn't eat cake. Neither do the elves. Only she thought it would look nice as a centerpiece, right there in the middle of their never used diningroom table. All that fine Henredon veneer must be good for something. You know, make 'em feel like a normal family.  She gets that way sometimes. Papa feels bad for her. He actually talks to her more often than Bob (I think that's his name), her husband, who is off right now fishing and crabbin' in some New Jersey, tidal estuary.

Papa could taste the sadness in her. Made him feel bad too. So he splashed a tiny bit a magic on that ersatz Miz Drysdale. Gave her a hot case a the Volga Shitskies.....right in the middle of the first row at the Kimmel Center...right in the middle of the Grand, Triumphal March, from Aida. Yep, she went marchin' all right. Trottin' would be more like it. Gave her pink domed, slack-jawed, mumblin' bastid of a husband a good excuse to crab his way out of the jammed,  rarified splendor of the main auditorium, knock on the portal to the bastion of the ladies, collect his wilted (and slightly stained) big-boned flower and haul ass home just in time to watch the market report. Lucky he had a copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer in the back seat, 'cause he made her sit on that. The Nicaraguan, whoever she was, could clean it all  up in the morning.

Later, after doing his good deed, Papa settled back in his favorite leather club chair (thank God for central air-conditioning.....although vampires hardly ever really sweat) and  got that far away look on his face, as he sublimated into Jonathon. Now, of course you know I am speaking about his soul. The rest of him stayed right where it was, off to the side of our 'family room.' nestled deep in the wilds of old and semi-old money Chestnut Hill. I think he had on the market report too, since the 'Phightin's' (that means the Phillies) were unbelievably allowing the Houston Astros to win a game. I guess they must have been bored.

The vampire 'father' (looking out through his 'son's' eyes) saw everything. And he rose up with him, climbing the alabaster and moonbeam staircase we call Jacob's Ladder. Stars danced all about them. They passed through nebulas and long, empty voids. Acapella choirs produced breathy resonances in the distance. Chubby toddlers (another species of 'cherub') gave forth with that warm, chocolatey laughter known only to the very young.

Pious, reverent Hindu women, not to mmention truly spiritual aliens of all sorts traveled with them, for the righteous of all groups shall share in the World To Come. even the fifty-six eyed, bouncing, ice-cream head goonies from that place with the giant, fire breathing Yorkshire Terriers. They do make a good pizza on that world, though, I must say. But don't ask me what's in the pepperoni, because you would not want to know.

I'll desribe more of the sights in transit next time. Just know that Jonathon was soon to enncounter a very disgruntled Elvis and a pouting, heavy breathin' Jim Morrison. Seems they wanted to be resurrected along with Lennon. But God works in mysterious ways. That's why they had to stay behind up here, teaching three-legged shimmy-faced, hairy people how to do the hula......Ellvis remembered a little from Blue Hawaii ....Morrison just improvised some moves based on his 'obscene' gyrations in Miami, or someplace like that.  But Sam Cook was happy, 'cause he was the next one goin' down.......

JONATHON, the 'eightteen' year old vampire of a thousand suns, GOES KNOCKING ON HEAVEN'S DOOR

Jonathon felt the pull, like a tide rushing through his body. He was walking along an outlying lane beyond the city walls. It was an attractive district of old villas. Most were built by wealthy German vintners who made 'aliyah' during the mid to late nineteenth century. They helped raise synagogues and schools, contributing greatly toward the rebiirth of spoken Hebrew.

He heard their voices. He heard whispers moving through the atmosphere. Innvisible fingers pulled at his clothing and tugged his hair. And then the sublimation happened. His body crackled with a clean, white charge, tickling his molecules and freeing his essence. The soul that is Jonathon's moved through solid walls and leafy gardens. He saw lovers embracing deep within cool, dark shadows. He drank in the perfum of roses and orange blossoms.

And then he was back within the sacred walls, rising up to the Temple Mount and finding rest upon it. A man came forth to meet him, his face hidded by a cloak wrapped 'round his head. No words were spoken. None were needed. The identity of his guide was unimportant. His mortal or immortal state even less so. For are we not all immortal? And is not the flesh and bone supporting your true self little more that the trappings of a coach, useful for a time, but eventually breaking down and wearing away.

So they walked, if you'd like to visualize it as walking. They passed stalwart guards, upright in the moonlight and noble sanctuaries constructed by men. Then they flowed down through the rock, into a huge cavern known to exist beneath the anciennt foundation. Smooth and deep. Rather like the interior of a rough hewn egg. Soul-like wraiths swirled all about them. Some called out their names. Some said prayers. Others just laughed. A caretaker, attired in the robes of a desert sheik, trembled as they approached, quickly disappearing through a secret door.

Then the man with the hidden face stopped. He pionted at Jonathon and he stopped too. All forms of artificial illunimation trickling down from the shrine above evaporated. And the moon shone down through the miraculously transparent layers of human toil.

Then he knew. Then Jonathon knew. This is the Well of Souls. Hark unto my words! Think not that we are discussing that ficticious charade constructed on the gloaming shore of the New World's northern isle. For we are not in Tanis. This is not a nurse's tale. We speak not to the innocent, but to the profane. For they need it most. So open your ears, as well as  your soul. Bind yourself to our traveller and progress with him toward this midnight rondevous.

Our bodies pass through stone. Our ' hearts' as well. Look about and see. We are there, assembled at the foot of God's Great Skyway.... Take a breath. Move forward. Hold on. Have faith. Look up. Look up and see! Hold fast to Jonathon , as he ascends Jacob's Ladder..........

Fear not.........for it is written that.........

THE RIGHTEOUS OF ALL NATIONS SHALL SHARE IN THE WORLD TO COME..................

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A vampire stripling, originally meant for the earthly court of the great Rashi, rises up to knock on Heaven's Door.....................................................And boy, was Dylan jealous (read the episodes...you'll know), but Lennon just laughed and Islam just prayed.........
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please leave a comment...please tell others.....the vampires sincerely welcome you.