SOME INSIGHTS INTO SURVIVING, OLD WORLD, VAMPIRE-HUMAN INTERACTIONS

First of all, we must agree that what comes next is fiction.... Some of you obviously remember that sentence. We used to begin each early post with it, in an effort to obfuscate the truth from those who'd do us harm. 


In light of what we are about to tell you now, we must return to that practice. Your understanding and cooperation is greatly appreciated. 


Old World power brokers have formed alliances with life-eaters since ancient times. Cheops, first historically recorded king of Kemet (Coptic for Egypt) imported vampire functionaries from Sumer, in far off Mesopotamia. Indeed, one such blood drinker even followed him into the tomb in an effort to revive his mummy. But the chemical and surgical mutilation of the body prevented that. So the vampire in question rallied all her powers of sublimation and 'resonated' through many tons of sandstone. I believe she exists to this very day, operating a small string of boutiques in Palm Beach, Heritage Park and The Philadelphia Main Line.


We've touched on it before, but Hitler understood the value of paranormal assistance. He maintained a select stable of vampires, stolen from ranking families throughout the Continent. Their blood helped him and his ghouls survive many trials. Who knows what would have happened if The Red Army hadn't 'liberated' them in the last weeks of the war.


Stalin made use of them. Some say he never died, but rather passed over into the night world rather than succumb to an inconvenient 'romantic' malady. Aparatchniks (well connected, Soviet 'nobles') nurtured this exotic band, spoiling them with fine bijoux and  lavish quarters in meticulously maintained Czarist palaces, in return for timely infusions of  life-enhancing blood.


They survived the fall of  The Communist Dynasty very much intact. A few fell in with the new Russian 'nobles,' the Oligarchs... but an even smaller number grabbed power in their own right. 


One such illustrious gentleman goes by the name of Grigori Usipov...... He has billions, controlling vast seams of iron ore throughout the frigid wastes of Sibir (Siberia), plus (it is rumored) a majority interest in a huge, North American entertainment/communications complex. Perhaps you've been to his parks?


Papa and the 'old bones' are streaking 'cross the ocean in Usipov's newest toy, a wide bodied, custom finished Airbus A340 reported to cost five hundred million American Dollars. Jules Verne never dreamt of such sky-borne opulence. Don't believe me? Ask him. The venerable Frenchman, always queer  for something new, converted to the night world ages ago. I believe he works for George Lucas now. He's very proud of Star Wars.


The 'old bones' just sits there, staring out into the night. Papa, pretty much at home just about anyplace, frolics with a squadron of nubile, though statuesque 'Natashas,' as they bathe, groom and pamper every part of his body in a gyroscopically stabilized, amber-lined spa.


It's good to be a vampire...............


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EDITH 'FORESEES' A VAMPIRIC VISITOR

Annie was playin' with her BARBIE'S DREAM HOUSE. Looked like a crib for little, plastic whores, the way she had it all done up. She still wanna go to California. Made Conrad, her brand new, 'bout forty year old, vampire-baby-man go out and boost her a copy a LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE. Seein' as she only seven years old, he gotta help her wit the words. But that California book doan use no big words anyway. Now she know who got the bes' bars an' what it like to see some bastid throw theyself under a train. 


But Edith say she better put that trip off a while. Papa comin' back an' he bringin' company. Annie say - Who he bringin'? Can't bring no mermaid. Can't bring no merman, 'cause we ain't got no baff tub. And I seed how they gotta use a wheelchair from a old, lady, red-haired-singer movie......... Edith know a lot. She a real good Piney-Witchy-Woman, but she doan know who it is...or what it is.


They stayin'  in Baylah's place, up on top a the piano bar. An' she ain't got too many 'resting cubicles.' Actually, they closets, but ain't no vampire gonna say he sleep in a closet. So what they  do is push all the clothes over to the side and curl up on the shoes. Tomas (when he there) doan like it. But Sarah say - Oh, why can't you jus' shet up!? You got a quilt, don't you!?....... Sometime they go sleep in a hotel. He got friends what let him in. But he not like to be no pig about it. Vampires got manners, don't 'chu know...


Baylah still in Atlantic City wit' her rich boyfriend. They waitin' for a big poker tournament. She like poker. I think some a the casino hosts know she vampire, but that ain't nuttin' big to them. Can't comp her wit' no food or nothin' (he eats. she don't), so they give her han'bags. She got all them fancy, disgustin' over-priced, twenty-two-hundred dollar han'bags. Ain't like she gotta put Kotex in 'em or nuthin'........ She used to look jus' like Beyonce, but now Beyonce a little, very much too curve-acious, so now she look like a skinny Beyonce. Not real skinny, but you know what I mean. 


Papa not wanna  come home plastered on a back a no whale (no offense, whales), so he 'rrange for a vampire buddy in Moscow to fly 'em over in a air plane. Wonder what that 'old bones' goomer gonna think 'bout that. Prob'ly gonna piss himself, that is if Neanderthal vampires still can piss themself.


I tellin' you. You gotta keep up ev'ry night, or you gonna miss a lot. Vampire doan sit still for nothin'.


This is Zebulon, your two thousand year old disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old Judean boy what got stoned to death, signing off. I wanna go look through that LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE, if Edith ain't got it all stunk up from the toilet... So, yadda, yadda, yadda...That's all. Good night.


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An Approximately Fourteen Thousand Year Old and One Two or three times as Old as That Converse

They came together. Papa wafted into the tight, little, narrow niche. I believe he was still in a state of sublimation. The atoms of his body smeared across the ether like a manic, abstract painting. The 'old bones' knew he was there. He felt a history not his own and tasted different songs. And being rather hospitable, arranged a pile of his softest furs so Papa could sit down....... as soon as his ass condensed, that is. 


The Son of Renate (Papa's 'mother') blew through the rock-bound chamber, incorporating microscopic bits of all he found there into his being. And then he materialized. The 'old bones' acknowledged his presence with a tiny nod. Papa smiled, a closed mouth smile, for dental displays signal aggression among Neanderthals. Then he arranged his still un-attired form (having just come from the Mer-folk) on the soft, furry mound. I believe it was primarily sable.


The 'old bones' dropped some aromatic chips into the fire, breathed in the vapors and began a low, polyphonic, 'throat song.'  But that's not how he communicated. Words, images, feelings, came through the air. Neanderthals were quite adept at telepathy...... vampire Neanderthals even more so. 


He spoke of mundane things....... 'What is this 'batman' cacophony clogging all the ether? Do they not know it is mothman? Batman? There is no batman. Who are these mortals? I can smell them. I can feel them. I can identify the repulsive odor of their shit, but I do not understand them. Please think not that I refer to my loyal retainers. I speak not of my servants. They are good and they are true. These 'words' build images of those who live beyond the cold, dark woods. And they have 'magic.' How did they get it? It's all so new. It's all so strange. Twenty six hundred moons ago they had no such capabilities, but now they touch the stars and bring dogs back from death. I want to see a 'movie.' Can you take me to a movie? And I want to kill a few of them. I want to drink their blood, cull their lives and know their essence. Are such things allowed? Can they be arranged? Will their 'strong-men' permit it? Are their females good at sex? You may find it hard to believe, but I have never coupled with any of them. There are two genders, am I right?.... among the people beyond the woods, I mean. For I have never been there.....and now I want to go....... Will you be my guide? 


I will. I am honored. - said Papa...... The 'old bones' heard him and he smiled, taking care to keep his lips completely closed.


Now he might have spoken of finer things, spiritual things, eternal things, but this night he did not.


And Papa got him ready for the 'trip' to Philadelphia.


'Yum-yum...eat 'em up.'


Do you know what I mean?


Oh, you little rascals, you!


:-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)


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Papa Takes a Slight, Quantum, 'Jug Handle' On His Way Back To Philadelphia and Visits With An Old, Old, Old Vampire Friend

Luna went on ahead. Papa sent her off through the ether on her own. Look, if he can banish souls to featureless, gun-metal, celestial orbs rotating under homogenized, heavy gray skies, zapping a comely, vampirina-doctor back  to her place in Philadelphia is no big woof.


But he, himself, made a little side trip, in response to certain 'tingles' coming to him from a remote cave deep in the wildest wilderness, where the tundra meets the forest. You won't find it on a map. But I can tell you where it's supposed to be. Travel north from the shoreline of a beautiful huge, fresh water sea decorating the planet from amidst Siberia's heartland. The reindeer know the way. Follow them. 


You'll see a small, little, narrow, dark niche beckoning into a cliff-side . The Tunguska Event (Google it) happened nearby. Go inside. Don't be scared, or at least try not to be. Listen for the eerie vibrato of Native Mongolian throat singing. A most special being inhabits that place. Is he a vampire? Yes, but not like any we've encountered thus far. This one is an 'old bones'..... an ancient one.....even older that the illustrious Renate. And what do we mean by 'old bones'?...... His build....His structure....His skeleton.... His physical being. For this life-eater is a Neanderthal, stocky and muscular, like a gymnast on steroids. And don't stare at the noble brow, or the strong nose, or the small (though finely chiseled) chin. He knows he's striking...So don't make a big thing out of it.


Papa likes spending time with this one. Words are few. They communicate via a multitude of distinct, guttural vibrations ..... an organic language; visceral in every way. Just be quiet and sit there. Melt into the dim, orange glow from the fire... and breath in an original, pristine truth.


Oh, he'll know you're there. And he can 'crack' your body to him in an instant...... They'll say - Where's Larry? Where's Dylan? Where's Brianna? Where's Bam-Bam?....... But you won't be there. The chair in the basement will be empty. The monitor will still flicker...but you'll be gone.


So DON'T MAKE HIM MAD.


Come back tomorrow. No, really. I mean it. If you behave, everything will be OK...


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