Sometimes the Dalmatian, the Ethiopian and myself would sit with one of the trainers, a vampire from Londinium, although I don't think he was British. Just lived there in service to the son of some big shot. Worked as a 'fixer.' What your time calls a private detective. His stories were positively hypnotic.
We'd hole up in the alcoves, little indentations carved out of the rock, back in Etruscan times. Smugglers used to hide things there.... precious stones from Hind... exotic beasts brought up from far beyond the Great African Desert. They say one of the old Etruscan kings had a whole army of pygmy cyclops. But I don't know if he had a whole army.... a century maybe... not a whole army.... And I wonder why we don't see too many pygmy cyclops anymore. What could have happened to them?
It'd get quiet underground, after all the work was done... We'd finish our regimen, eat dinner and relax. Some studied music, the lyre, or the Judean harp. Helvetian timbrels were big too. Others learned calligrafy... in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. But we preferred 'the fixer.' He made il mundi vampirici seem like absolute perfection... arcane mysteries.... hidden magic... untold riches.... deep, dark secrets and sensual enchantments of the rarest kind.
He specialized in the killing of courtesans. Pillow talk can be fatal. Indeed, it is among the most lethal of venereal maladies. Secrets spread contagion and eternal silence is the only cure. So he'd visit them in their catteries.... a handsome, powerful stranger.... free with his gold and quite adept at oral stimulation. But blood can be drawn from many places and this one knew them all.
What energy sparks the cold blue flame? What necromancy makes it happen? At first the body trembles for an instant or two, then suddenly combusts. I'm told the Han in far Cathay have powders that do that. But this is different. And it scares me to this day. Azure fire... large, flaky ashes.... an oily, sticky residue and it's over... No flesh... No bones... No hair.... An instant crematorium ordained by some dark god.... At least that's how it looks to us in Rome....
The fixer killed troublesome politicians too. But when they disappeared, families were left behind..... families with their own vampirici bodyguards. In this way feuds became vendettas and Rome began to fall, drained dry by the teeth of my brethren...
Bet they don't teach that in school???
Tomorrow I cross the River Styx.... Come back and see me off...
(more next time...)
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They had academies for vampirina too.... 'finishing schools' for exotic enamoradas, so to speak. You see, those in charge of the training knew how powerful night-folk can be, but they never shared that information with us. Oh, we were aware of our strengths.... 'the look.'.... 'the grasp.'... 'the bite.'... and all that. Yet few new initiates ever knew how to sublimate, or fly, or effect matter (you'd call it magic) with their minds. Remember, technically, we were slaves and slaves aren't taught how to read...... But intelligent slaves manage to teach themselves.....
Every few days they'd evaluate us, just like dogs in a dog show... posture.... physical presence..... strength.... agility... muscle tone. And there was a certain waist-hips-chest ratio too. We had to conform to that. Height played a part as well. Not that we had to be exceedingly tall, but an imperious, intimidating stance was paramount. They fed us cleansing nectars to purify the skin. Then they waxed us from brow to toe.... Roman physicians were able to achieve a certain rudimentary form of plastic surgery and a small number of nonconforming noses were carefully fractured and reset. In some instances foreskins were restored too. Voice teachers taught us perfect pitch and subtle modulation. Later on, after transformation... after 'passing through the portal,' some became good singers, but that was just an extra added bonus.
We were paired with all types of partners. They watched us perform and took notes. But preferences and stamina change after vampirification, so these tests were only.... well, actually, I don't know what they were for. Perhaps for the stimulation of patricians and nobles invited to witness the proceedings, which always took place in an opulent, little, jewel-box, subterranean theater not far from our below ground academy. You see, even at that stage, we had to be kept out of daylight, for some of our teachers were vampirici...
Oh, we were 'named' upon transformation too. Such rarefied things we were. Aristocrats and potentates doted on us. You see, vampires are sterile and thus unable to pollute the harem, though much more powerful than any eunuch could ever be.... In short, the perfect weapon, or as close to perfect as possible. Betrayals did take place. But, then again, catapults misfire too...
Now excuse me while I dine.... Twins from the Tin Isles... My favorite..... Oh look, the blond one cries.....
(more next time)
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The two huge Dacians spirited me away through an underground labyrinth. Apparently, some young 'worthy' up in the gallery saw something in me...some spark, or ability, or maybe it was just lust. But I was taken to a subterranean 'school' rather like the one in Spartacus, only geared toward the creation and training of vampire body guards.
I was given over to one known as Charon, named for the ferryman charged with taking souls from this world to the next. And the school itself was called Hades...the underworld... a benign 'hell' peopled by the dead.
We toiled in eternal shadow, broken by weak illumination provided by a multitude of small, brass, oil lamps placed in niches scattered about the grotto-like enclosures. First came physical training. No fat vampires here. They drilled us for hours... calisthenics followed by various athletic competitions, such as wrestling or swimming....(in a long forgotten, though still functional pool surviving from the earliest days of The Republic.) I suppose the water was clean enough. Yet what did that matter? For soon we'd be vampires and beyond all earthly contagion.
And we were fed like princelings..... costly eels.... plump, fresh hares... peacocks and peahens... haunch of unicorn and savory pies made from the juiciest of phoenix breast. There were cheeses made from gryphon's milk and good, brown bread baked with exotic Scythian grains. some said they slipped in human tissue from time to time, to stimulate cravings for 'dinners' yet to come.
I fell in with two others, a Dalmatian (human, not canine) from across the Adriatic and a kidnapped Ethiopian sailor, who'd been to Serendip. We formed a 'pack' and for centuries after I did keep in touch with the sailor who rose quite high in service to The Purple Throne (rulers of Byzantium). But the Dalmatian was abducted by a band of Abenaki. And already immortal when it happened. They took him to the stars. I suppose he's out there still.
Now, had I been left unmolested in my Celt-Iberian homeland, what would I have seen?.... Some feasts?... A wife?.... Some children?... Oh, the scenery would have been nice, but for how long... thirty five years... maybe forty? Death comes soon enough. But now I am vampirici and (hopefully) immune to that. And although I speak to you from the second century, A.D., as some call it, a certain prophetess found in a little temple hard by The Forum tells me my 'life' will be long and I too will meet the Abenaki, though in a ship of Earthly devise.
I must leave you now, but only til Fair Luna sails again. Permit me to float amongst my dreams. I will be back...
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I am Janus. We have never spoken before, but I am aware of your place on the space-time continuum and how you smell when frightened. I inhabit the age of the great Marcus Aurelius. Rome governs all. Rome owns all. Rome exploits all.... And I exploit Rome.
This one is 'lamia sanguine'.... a vampire.... a blood thirsty witch. And before I entered this cult of mystery, I dwelt among the Celt-Iberians and was one of them, hunting in the forests of Galicia and dancing to the rhythms of the moon. Clothing was foreign to us, though bodily decoration was not. Some wore tattoos. Some wore torques. Some wore both. Such a sensual way to live.... the comfort of air and sunshine. How I miss that now.
Latin slavers came down from the Acquataine in the southwest part of Gaul. They set snares among the pecan groves and traps in the bushes.... and I was taken... bound in a coffle and marched overland to the port of Marsallia.
They penned us, separating males from females and children from those able to reproduce. Some of the children were sold to speculators for all manner of cruel uses. Others were fed to the pigs. Semi-feral breeds favored by Roman gourmets like a muddy, screaming young one every now and then. A piteous way to end.
I was sent to the vampire pits. They had them then, deep within the darkest reaches of the Subura, a notorious slum worthy of The ripper. Dandies came to wager, winninng and losing thousands of sesterces in these dank, hellish cellars of death.
Twelve scared victims went into the pit armed with daggers and clubs. No armor. No padding. No modesty cloth. Nothing else. Just a knife. Just a club.Then the vampire entered, a wiry wraith with long, lank hair and a loin cloth. He leered at the spectators up above. Why he didn't sublimate... why he didn't leap up into the stands and kill them all, I do not know. Perhaps he was numb to his talents. Some vampirici are. I know you've heard them say - 'the magic settles differently on each and every one.'.....Well it does. That's true. But this one still had teeth and strength and power.
The rich, young bloods yelled 'kill! kill! kill!' And he did, ripping open the throats of his attackers as if the weapons were never there. I tried to make common cause with two others. Dacians I think they were, likely fighters too. But the nature of our surroundings unnerved them. Oh, for a while we did fall back, hugging the blood stained wall, while others met their fate. and he drank it all... the vampire, I mean. Then he turned toward us. The first Dacian shrieked like a little girl, as piss arced from his groin. How the crowd laughed. How they roared. And the vampire, a bit of an actor in his own right, played the part of a lion, stalking his prey with cold, hard dispatch. He lept forward, pinning the man to the wall. I never saw a person tremble so. He looked positively electric, if that is the proper word. I'm not sure. I could hear him whisper - 'no...no...no,' as the night-fiend nuzzled his throat, searching for the right spot. When he found it, death, or rather a dazed condition very close to it, came fast. And the second Dacian suffered a similar end. No, I think he bit the fingers off first, but I'm not sure, for I had troubles of my own to contend with. And the bottom of the pit was quite slippery, what with the greasy residue left after the drained bodies ignite. The crowd roared, as each burst into flame.... a cold blue flame, as happens to all vampire leavings. They yelled - 'Finish it! Finish it!'.... for I think the time taken to complete the carnage had something to do with the pay-out.
The creature turned toward me. I scampered 'round the circular enclosure, hugging the wall all the way and would have kept up the dance for hours, had not the monster tired of my performance. He sprang 'cross the pit and grabbed me, throwing me down onto the slick, putrid mess, as he sniffed 'round my belly, preparing for a heart-bite, more suited to ghouls than vampires.
But then he saw the mark and stopped.... a small tattoo... just above my sternum. He mumbled something in a dialect somewhat like my own, but different. He jumped to his feet yelling - 'Nae! Nae! Nae!.... as the crowd booed and pelted us with chic peas (a favored snack).
Two larger vampires, dressed like tigers, entered the pit and dragged us both away...
Please forgive me for barging into this narrative, but I've never experienced a truth telling place like this and I want to have my say.....
Next time I'll tell you more...
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It's been said that 'cherubs' made The Renaissance. The artist known as Giotto kept two in a golden room lit by the magically preserved 'tails' of Neapolitan fireflies. His plump, gurgling, vampire-like babies (toddlers, actually) bounced off the walls, high on the blood of soon to die plague victims.
Most vampires of moral bent shelter cherubs when they can and shun those responsible for their nativity. Ecclesiastic spies believe they (the cherubs) are linked to over zealous devotees of Mithra and are products of almost orgy-like blood baths. Apparently, white bulls were not always used. Clean, blemish-free humans were occasionally substituted and unbeknownst to believers, incognito vampires often crashed the revels in search of an easy meal... or partial meal, kind of like a tid-bit you'd get at a tapa. And since babysitters were hard to come by in ancient Parthia, over-eager parents often brought the kids.
That's why we have 'cherubs.'
Well, at least that's one explanation. ... There are about four in Philadelphia. Some say the delightful, little darling, known as Marie-Claire (if I have it right) died not too long ago. I will have to ask the caretaker's wife, the one who sits in her snug, little cottage lost amidst the mossy stones of the great Laurel Hill Cemetery. She knits them sweaters and caps, but you already know that.
Cognoscenti of the breed say autumn's the time. Chill, crisp nights enliven the little buggers, who have been known to playfully nip an ear as they swoop low over Center City pedestrians. I love the way they chortle.
As is the case with most vampiric variants, they can tolerate certain liquid refreshment and are particularly fond of Kool Aid, Orange Aid and the like. Cold pitchers left on rooftops make good bait. If rats are a problem, CD's of Walt Disney's DUMBO played on small battery powered CD devices draws them in too.
One hears stories of over-indulged 'cherubs' kept as pets by strange, wealthy foster parents.
Tomorrow I'll tell you one of those...
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It's about time for a picture like ABOUT TIME... Not only have hundreds of thousands of human beans seen the trailer, thousands actually bothered to take the time to click 'like.' And you know how stingy human beans are with their approval.
As always, wanted to post the video up top, but something's wrong with my set-up, or the way I interpret it, so we gotta put the vid down below. Thus this is the part where my night-folk dance around....
Elferino-vamperinos aren't the only unusual creatures extant on the nighttime streets of Philadelphia. Cherubs are out there too. And, yes, they are a branch on the vampire family tree, but a cute, little delicate branch with baby green leaves and fat tushies.
You see (like if you're new to this) 'cherubs' are babies... or rather they were babies at the time of their transformation. Won't go into how wrong that is, but it happens and now we have to deal with it. They gurgle. They coo. They smile and laugh with glee... Eternally innocent creatures who view the world with wide-eyed wonder.
Some say ancients based Eros and Cupid on them, for they never kill, taking only tiny drinks as they flit from sleeper to sleeper, stitching lives together and spreading love... No arrows, just pointy, little tongues with rough, sharp tips used for piercing the skin and freeing the blood.
Have you ever been 'kissed?' .....
(more tomorrow). But the delightful, little 'teaser' below is magical too, so view it and enjoy.
If you'd like to wander through more of our pixilated world, click on ~> 700,000 WORDS OF MAGIC ... and join us on TWITTER at ~> @wilkravitz .... please leave a COMMENT... thank you.
Oh, and another thing... Do you REALLY think TONTO would run around in the searing southwestern summer with THICK grease pain all over his face and a dead, decomposing bird on top of his head??? Bet his KIMOSABI must a had some kind a shorts or khakis too.... Jus' sayin'...
As always, I try to post the trailer first and the narrative second, but the disembodied spirits that do so much to make this blog pixilated and truly paranormal rarely let that happen. And I don't know why. So read what they want me to tell you and know that the video clip of the upcoming Denzel Washington, Mark Wahlberg action thriller will manifest itself down below.
Now to the VAMPIRE WONDERLAND stuff.
The vampire known as Conrad increasingly spends more and more time away from the others. Granted, Jonathon and Sarah have left the Philadelphia 'rookery,' but the juvenile elferino-vamperinos are still here. They ride subways late at night and turn up in quiet nocturnal diners. Mortals intrigue them. They love our tales... our lies and our taste.
Roland, their de facto leader apes bad boys.... a trim, young tough with pointed ears. But the tousled hair hides that. You know what he's like? Picture a fourteen year old delinquent (do they still use that term?) who looks seventeen and gives his maybe thirty year old mother a hard time, yet is devoted to his forty five year old grandmother. 'Cept the last time Roland saw any of his blood relatives was over three hundred years ago.
Tonight he sits in a bus terminal. The one on Thirteenth Street, I think. Plays cards with crack heads. Lets 'em win too. Feels sorry for them, especially considering how putrid they look under the bright florescent glare. Once in a while some real feral crack head follows him out on the street. Figures he's got more money shoved in them tight jean pockets (must be a gigolino... <a junior boy whore> They always got lots a money. 'Specially the new ones, the rogues what ain't got no proper representation.
He pretends like he don't know what's goin' on. Leads 'em down dark alleys... You know... little 'service streets' between big buildings where trucks come to make deliveries and all. Nobody down there 'cept sexy-sexies, cops, pipers, junkies and trashies. Like FRITZ THE CAT, but without the tails or fur... Well, most of 'em anyway.... Waits til they grab him. Then he twirls around and shows his teeth.... They all do the same thing. Go - Damn! What the f#ck?.... Then he (Roland) hiss like a alley cat and bite 'em. Not a big bite. He don't wanna kill 'em, jus' cut 'em up so it sting a little. Does it real fast. Then he vault over their head and bite 'em again from the other side...... That's when they run away.
Roland does other stuff too, like buy cans a cat food from all night bodegas. Zip top ones. guess they all zip top now. Puts 'em out for half wild kitty cats... near dumpsters and all. But he gotta stand there an' make sure no rat or homeless bastid get it first.
'Fore he settle in, just before dawn, stops by a little diner for coffee. Takes it black... no cream... no sugar. Guy don't talk much. He like a Greek, but not a Greek. Like a Albanian, or something. Slips him a doughnut... sometimes a piece a pound cake. Roland nods. Makes like he eats it, but he don't. Puts it in his pocket for the night pigeons.
Then he goes back to the twisty, curvy warrens of Laurel Hill Cemetery. Sleeps in a old mausoleum with the other elferino/elferinas..... Caretaker's wife see him go by. She stays up real late watchin' old movies. Likes them early 'talkies.' Everybody in 'em dead by now, even the little children... Well, maybe one or two a them still breathin'... but not many. Elferinos like her. Cherubs do too, 'cause she knits 'em hats and sweaters when the autumn come. No, I got it wrong. She don't knit 'em. She crochets them. Got nothing against semi-dead folks, 'cause she's not prejudiced. She not like that.
And they can tell......
'Elferino-vampirinos.'..... Bet you see 'em and don't even know...
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