DOCTOR FRANKLIN STOPS A GENII IN ANOTHER 'BOTTLE'... 1/18/13

THE RUSSIAN PRISONER'S SMALL DARK CELL-LIKE ROOM
Two monstrous beings... tall, bullet-headed, naked, beefy things wearing tiny miners' lights on elastic bands 'round their foreheads throw open the door (BAM!) and enter. 

The PRISONER (the haberdasher's assistant), wearing dirty underwear, cowers in a corner. He looks up to behold the faces... smooth, devoid of mouths and noses. Intravenous tubes carry a colorless bubbling fluid from clear, plastic bottles worn on belts 'round the waist up and into tiny round orifices roughly where the mouths would be. Narrow, focused beams from the miners' lights dance about the darkness. 

PRISONER - No! No! No! 

He squirms, kicks and struggles as the Golem-like pair jams an unpeeled orange into his jaws and  drags him to his feet. They bear him out and slam the door.

LARGE CRUMBLING CINDER-BLOCK CHAMBER

DOCTOR FRANKLIN watches as the two monsters manhandle the gagged, terrified prisoner into the room. The pin-heads and other miraculously surviving experimental rejects squeal with delight, in the dim, blue, fluorescent gloom.

The ghost-like spirit of the vampire, Russian, oligarch GRIGORI USIPOV stands off to the side. He's agitated and anxious.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN  - (gestures toward the tight, confining cage) Lock him in!

The bullet-headed monsters drag the PRISONER up the ladder-like metal stairs and wedge him into the torturous contraption. He sweats and shakes. The orange jammed into his mouth blocks all but the weakest moans. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Mister Usipov, prepare yourself.

Two assistants swab the inner surface of the body-sized glass tube just used in the first experiment with Lysol handi-wipes (product placement). Then they lay it down and stand aside. Usipov is apprehensive. He looks to DOCTOR FRANKLIN. The DOCTOR smiles and gestures toward the tube. The ghostly Usipov gingerly straddles it and lays down on his stomach. Then he sublimates through the clear, clean surface. The assistants seal it shut and snap it into place at the other end of the Grand Armonica [scroll back two nights for a description of that huge device]. The pin-heads and their playmates clap, cheer and sing Happy Birthday again.

One of the assistants shoots them an angry look. They shrink back, stop and stare wide-eyed.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN and another assistant ready the room sized, harmonic crystalline  apparatus. 

The thick, transparent discs begin to rotate. Atonal chords fill the air..... The DOCTOR fine tunes things... The sounds blend into a coherent pattern.. We hear a rather calliope sounding rendition of  that seventh inning favorite, Hava Nagillah.

The poor Russian PRISONER thrashes about in the tight, confining space. He starts to bleed.... The harmonic tune morphs into the theme from I Dream of Jeannie. But then it gets faster and FASTER and FASTER.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN can't stop it. The prisoner strains against the bands and bars. He's scraped. He's cut. He bleeds some more. 

USIPOV moans and moans. 

Then, suddenly the head of one of those mouthless, noseless, bullet headed monster things goes BOOM! and explodes, just like a gray, lumpy, jello-filled pinata. The pin-heads clap and cheer. One of them scrambles and lunges for the miners' light as it skitters across the floor. Some other members of the strange audience dip their fingers into bits of brain and taste it. 

The few surviving, weakly flickering fluorescent tubes crackle and go dark. But arcs from the large electro-magnets mounted 'round the room momentarily shock the air with a hard, yellow-white light, providing static glimpses of events as they unfold. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - (yells) GET HIM OUT!

The surviving bullet-headed thing lumbers up to the cage and rips it apart, hoists the PRISONER over his shoulder, climbs down the ladder and lays him out on a marble slabbed platform.

The arcing stops. One lone fluorescent tube hums and weakly flickers back to life.

Assistants wipe the condensation from the glass tube. There's no spirit inside. USIPOV isn't there, so something happened.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN pulls back the lids and examines the eyes..... Nothing.... 

He pounds on the sternum... Nothing...

He gestures toward a weird audience member sitting on the floor sucking brain juice off its finger.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You... Here!

The audience member hurries up. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - You know how to breathe?

Audience member nods.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Then breathe, breathe, breathe down his throat. Go ahead. Do it. Come on. Do it.

The audience member does. The DOCTOR stands over and inhales and exhales with him.  At first nothing, but after a bit the PRISONER'S body begins to cough and draw in air. 

DOCTOR FRANKLIN examines the eyes again, but they appear dilated and fixed. He shews the 'breather' away, claps his hands before the PRISONER'S face.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Usipov! Usipov! (shakes him) Usipov!

No real reaction. But then the PRISONER gasps, suddenly sits up, tentatively reaches out and grabs the DOCTOR by his sweat shirt.

PRISONER - (in a somewhat different voice) I can't see! I can't hear! I can't see! I can't hear!.... Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

But DOCTOR FRANKLIN doesn't seem that concerned...

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JUST ME (BILLY) TALKING. THE PARANORMAL STUFF COMES BACK TOMORROW... 1/18/13

I got these 'doldrums' and can't write so late at night anymore. Probably a winter thing...dark skies.. desiccated (due to heat) interiors... too many chocolate chip cookies in the house. But we had over 110 hits in the last few hours and for me (sigh) that's 'good,' so I figure all the paranormal people can go frolic amongst themselves for a while.

But I still wanna speechify and pontificate (maybe just pre ZZZzzz delirium. That means I got no breaks, so here goes). 

Ever put some really good stuff out there?... You know what I mean. Two hours later after a whole big crab cake dinner it's STILL funny. And nobody notices or remarks at all. But then you see some real plugged-in, connected bastid, who's sold to the masses like Campbell's Soup tweet bout the zit on his back and the world goes crazy... They laugh... They pee... They roll around on the grass... kick their feet in the air like Stepford fans and hit that retweet like it's Morse code..... Not the (what the hell good does THIS do me?) 'favorite' key. I mean the RETWEET key. They ain't hiding nothing. They want all the whole universe to see this sucker.

And you think --- Well, OK, all I have to do is interact (and I mean sincerely) with some well known people and they'll communicate back and that'll do it.. Waa-Laa... semi-fame.... But the sad truth is well known people, for the most part, only see the humanity in other well known people.  Rest of us just big dumb schmucks wit' money in our fists who MIGHT buy a ticket... maybe even like a t-shirt too. 

Oh, there are exceptions and they shine like beacons on a storm-tossed sea. Lights along the way... warm hearths in the night. And I love them like I love all-you-can-eat Chinese style buffets. Can't tell you their names (here) 'cause you'd all jump on 'em and then they'd turn mean like all the others and dump me and I'd get even more neurotic. But if you hang around my  TWITTER thing, you'll find them.

OK, that's it. That's what I want to say...... Oh, but 'fore I collapse, let me spit this little piece out too. What also gets me are all the daytime TV people who never met an impoverished photogenic weepy-eyed soul they didn't want to give a washer-dryer too ( or maybe a van..or maybe a big check <to poor people> or maybe a little Disney... not Mustique, where they go, but Disney good enough for them... they won't know no difference) BUT let one a them cryin' bastids go - Oh, wait, My huzzbin got a scrip' I want you to see... Man, they get gently pushed aside and that smile beam on next one so fast, it'll give you cramps...... They let you have crumbs off the tin, but nobody wanna share the pie... Least most is like that.

OK, I ventilated my spleen a little. Now I can have some iced tea, take my Zantac and go to sleep.

Much thanks to you all. Please comment 'bout your 'pet peas,' or whatever they  call 'em.

'Night... That's it.

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BACK TO THE RESURRECTION OF THE VAMPIRE-OLIGARCH, GRIGORI USIPOV 1/17/13

SCENE: Vast underground chipped cinder-block chamber housing old Stalinist version of Doctor Franklin's Grand Armonica. (harmonic science apparatus). A few miraculously still working, ancient flickering fluorescent tubes bathe all in a weak, blue glow. Strange hybridized creatures gleefully watch from the shadows, as Doctor Benjamin Franklin (indefinitely preserved by his own arcane discoveries & sporting his signature, deep green Eagles sweatsuit) runs about like a crazed alchemist, controlling and fine tuning his huge device. [see previous posting for description]. Watch him race from pillar to post, white hair streaming behind, as he hums and whispers to himself.

A few other 'mortal' humans assist on the periphery. Two or three ape-human mixes (descendants of cruel, Stalinist experiments) shuffle through a door, but some of the assistants (with the aid of cattle prods) shew them away. 

The temporarily 'ghostly' vampire, Russian oligarch known as Grigori Usipov sublimates up through the old, worn, linoleum tiled floor, walks toward Doctor Franklin and stops.

GRIGORI USIPOV - How much longer?

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - Be patient. Be patient, my good man.
(he adjusts a toggle causing a heavy, resonant thrum to fill the room)

Two 'pin-heads' among the outlandish mixes toward the corners cackle maniacally and caper about, as hellish moans seep through the walls from other places within the complex.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - TEST!!!

Assistants lead a chained human-ape thing (wearing a ridiculous pair of Speedos) into the chamber. It's obvious the creature is drugged and scared. They approach the apparatus. Doctor Franklin strokes it reassuringly.

Others carry in a long, glass-like sealed cylinder, containing an ethereal, imprisoned ghost. The ghost seems panicked. He's losing it. But the ape-man thing is beyond caring. And one hundred and forty heartbeats later the apfen -mensch is secured within a confining cage at one end of the apparatus, while the clear cylinder holding the terrified spirit gets locked into its own slot.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - BEGIN!!

Assistants go into their dance, flipping switches, pushing toggles, donning goggles and snug, black, rubber aprons. They offer one to Doctor Franklin. He waves them away.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - No, no, no, I like it. It tickles. 

Then it starts. The immense, heavy, crystal discs begin to rotate 'round the huge, brass-toned axle. Little by little the vast, deep tones start to coalesce into a song... 'The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down' ... and it plays and repeats and grows stronger and deeper and faster.

Off 'round the edges the strange altered humans grow wide eyed and silent, as the ape-man begins to scream and the ghost begins to moan.

Blinding arcs buzz and crackle from large electro-magnets mounted about the room. The tones shift and change. Now it's well known Aida aria Nessun Dorma with a sound that approaches angel-song.

Then we reach the crescendo and it stops...... The very air grows still.... Everyone waits....

Doctor Franklin hauls himself up some ladder-like, metal stairs, the better to examine the ape-thing. He pokes it. It's still. He waits a heartbeat or two and pokes it again. The ape-man stirs. It shudders and trembles. 

The DOCTOR gestures toward the large, glass-like cylinder and snaps his fingers, all the time keeping his eyes on the creature. Two assistants turn to inspect it. Condensation on the inner surface begins to clear. No ghost. It's empty!... They look toward the DOCTOR. He looks toward them, They nod.... He nods. The ape-man opens his eyes.

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - It's alive! He's alive!!

And he laughs in triumph, as the newly imprisoned spirit starts to babble (in Russian) and rant and scream.

The pin-heads clap and sing 'Happy Birthday.'

DOCTOR FRANKLIN - (in a loud voice) Bring in the haberdasher's assistant!..... (that means the Russian prisoner)

The temporarily homeless ghost-like spirit of Grigori Usipov seems pleased.....

One of the few remaining fluorescent lights crackles and goes dark.

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RESURRECTION??.... 1/16/13

A deep subliminal thrum filled the complex. The pin-heads laughed as they dipped their grimy fingers into sixty seven year old jars of irradiated mayonnaise, savoring each big, gloppy mouthful. I don't know who gave it to them. I don't know who opened it. But they gleefully huddled back in a corner, slurping up what looked like mummified lumps of melted elephants' teeth, as they watched Doctor Franklin work.

The old reprobate hopped about, pulling levers and pushing toggles on the ancient control panel. Huge, thick, crystal discs began to turn. The Grand Armonica came to life, filling the underground cavernous chamber with a sound like angels moaning. Sometimes one of the surviving ape-human things peeked through the door. But Usipov's familiars squeamishly shewed them away (then quickly wiped their hands with sheet after sheet of drippy, chemically sweet, imported, Ukrainian Handi-Wipes). Franklin took a swig of some Cyrillic labeled clear liquor. He hoped it was liquor. He hoped it was vodka. Could have been one of them daily 'no scrub' shower sprays. Who knows? They taste like that too, you know.
___________________________________________
CUT! This is Billy, the one who channels the blog. I can't take staying up this late anymore. It gives me restless-leg-syndrome. My knee's bouncin' SO fast, pictures on the wall are vibrating. I wanna go upstairs, get in bed, read a page or two about pre-human, rat-like primates (it's a comedy), stick my ear buds in what hopefully turns out to be the right opening and listen to  the all-alien, all-bigfoot, all-mermaids who killed Kennedy radio call-in show.

So PLEASE understand as I say 'good night.' [the space between these brackets represents when I stumbled into the kitchen to scarf down the remnants of some cold deli meat. I think it's some new kind of turkey-pig cross breed. they can do that now.] Tomorrow we'll go back to what's going on in Russia. .... [he  gets up..turns off the television.. double checks the burglar alarms & cameras and all.. looks at himself in the mirror.. makes his action hero face.. turns off the light and pulls himself up the stairs...... then he runs down again to get a pack of AAA batteries for the little ear-bud radio, so he can hear about how a camera on Mars caught Elaine Stritch thumbin' her nose right at the lens. that Mars is a crazy place.]

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Vampire SPIRIT evicts SOUL and CLAIMS NEW BODY via a GRAND ARMONICA ... 1/15/13

They flew him in from Philadelphia. The vampire-oligarch's 'familiars' I mean. The plane landed at a rickety airport just west of the Urals and a small caravan of Land Rovers brought him in. Most of the Russian handlers spoke a bit of French. Doctor Franklin's, a little bit antiquated to begin with was rusty, but he managed to make himself known and trade a few bon mots. The 'ladies'... the 'ladies'... always the ladies. And a couple of them Natashas thought him the dearest old man they'd ever met. Oh, and he liked the vodka too. Jefferson liked it too. Had it brought into Old Philadelphia courtesy of Prince Potemkin, a court favorite of Catherine the Great. But Jefferson's dead. Been that way since eighteen twenty six and ain't showin' no signs of improvement. Franklin, on the other hand, still lives, due to carefully meted out doses of perfectly calibrated harmonics provided by his eighteenth century masterpiece... the Grand Armonica. A small scale model of that device is on exhibit in his old house in Philadelphia. Tourists think it's the real thing... Little do they know. But certain cognoscenti, ever since the first days of The Junto (his scientific, fraternal, society) have been privy to something else. They've seen and even worked on the real thing down in his vast complex under the Navy Yard. Some long time readers know this. But I'll provide a quick run down for those who don't.

THE GRAND ARMONICA ~~~>
A horizontal axis, forty feet long and eighteen inches wide. A rod wrought from a copper alloy similar to a brass/bronze mixture but fundamentally different. It rests on two massive triangular iron supports, each twenty feet high and eight feet wide. Arranged on this rod are thirty two huge, crystal discs, ranging in diameter from two feet to approximately twenty four feet. Each disc is fourteen point two inches thick. The smaller ones resemble massive 'wedding rings' more than discs. Powerful, somewhat steam-punk looking electro-magnets placed about the chamber interact with the mechanism via impressive, though essentially harmless, lightning bolt-like arcs. A long, narrow zinc tub... a bath filled with some sort of secret oil-water suspension runs beneath the discs, rising to a height just beneath the bronze-like axel so that each of them (the discs) pass completely through the mixture as they rotate. Controls are accessed via an organ-like console located by what would be the 'south pole' of the massive contraption. Each disc can be rotated independently, or in concert and at varying speeds. The chords, vibrations and harmonics produced are quite unique and capable of effecting matter in many strange and unusual ways.

In this manner will the unfortunate soul of the young Russian haberdasher's assistant, known as Ivan Stephanovich vacate his still living body so that the temporarily homeless shade of the oligarch-vampire, named Grigori Usipov can take possession.  Granted, conditions and facilities at the 'abandoned' Russian complex did not match what was under the Navy Yard in Philadelphia, but the outcome should still be quite successful. A soul manifests itself in our world as energy. And the Grand Armonica can certainly handle that. 

The few pin-head specimens still in residence, wandering about the endless, dark passageways (descendants of the original four) were giddy. They knew the device was being readied. Vibrations resonated through the very structure. And the small number of living ape-human mixes shuffling through the shadows vocalized incessantly, while the Greek chorus of ghosts simply floated about and watched.

Doctor Franklin liked the ghosts. He found them very urbane. And the spirit of Grigori Usipov, strictly speaking. was no ghost, for he had never ever really died. 

Soon all would be ready. The 'music' would commence. Til then they left the poor haberdasher's assistant alone. He sat in his small room on his not too soiled mattress, in darkness broken only by feeble candlelight and thin, almost tinny music from an old, barely functioning cassette player.... A CHORUS LINE I think it was.... I think they gave him some of the irradiated, canned food too

Achhh, he hummed pathetically....

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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah..this is how it was in the beginning... more brutal... more visceral and dark... 1/14/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: This time it is Sarah. As you know, I culled my first victim last night. The experience changed me. I felt a cleansing energy pass through m... This is how it was in the early days, when Sarah was first created (she has yet to reach her true potential) and the simple, forlorn vampire known as 'Bob' was still alive. PLEASE just don't look at this. Click onto that 'Book of Sarah' phrase up at the top of this post. And scroll around when you get there. We got a good 'elf' post right after this one. Back in these nights, Little Bastid Annie was among us. Edith was called the Pow-Wow Woman... and 'Papa' (trapped in a clandestine pit in Rome) ventured out in spiritual form as 'The Shaky Hand Man.'

So let me say it again...PLEASE click on this and wander around. Go to NEWER POSTS and OLDER POSTS. Excavate a little. See who you can dig up... <o> <o>

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The Disembodied Spirit known as Iago Della Fortuna, Speaks... 1/13/14

Ciao, amici. I am he who was known as Iago Della Fortuna, late of Portofino and many other places on, or near the Italian and French Rivieras. Originally a Neapolitan impresario responsible for bringing grand opera to the Papal States, The Kingdom of The Two Sicilies and various Tuscan and Piedmontese princerinos to the north. My earthly nativity dates to sixteen ninety four, but one night on a pleasure barge just off Capri during Carnival I lay down with a noble vampirina ( Donna Livia de Lorenza, Baronessa Cortina) and for the next two hundred and eighty years lived the life of a carefree vampirino. Our Mediterranean milieu was quite the welcoming place back then. Which is strange considering the brutal fires of The Inquisition still burned throughout the land, but... that's how it was.

My operas, for I still functioned as an impresario, played Salzburg and Vienna and Torino, Milano, Napoli,  Prague... everywhere. And tiny droplets of the magic elixir that was my blood kept many a new castrato alive through the botched ministrations of wine addled surgeons. Quite the lover I was. A princess of Serbia (vassal to the Turks) threw herself under a huge military caisson over me. Such clothes I had... countless pairs of satin knee-britches... coats made in the ateliers of Venice... lace from Brussels... shoes from London and jewels smuggled out  from the Grand Seraglio itself. Life, or whatever it was that I had, was good. I fed on plump, nubile peasants from the hill country. Any age... Any shape...Any gender... Poxed or not... I didn't care. And when times were bad, their papas even sold them to me. Two ducats was the going price... about the same as veal. Don't feel sorry for them. Death came as a balm. And you do believe in The Afterlife, do you not? So they are well taken care of. 

I survived Napolioni Buonoparte. I believe they called him something different among the French... and Garabaldi... Austria-Hungary ... IL Duce and various sundry mafiosi. But last night I was destroyed. That is why I come to you as a disembodied spirit now. Tomorrow I narrate the demise of the poor, Muscovite prisoner and former haberdasher's assistant, Ivan Stephanovich (I think it is). But I thought you'd like to know a bit about me.

It happened like this. I lay on my bier in a dark, deep chamber far beneath my stronghold, just outside of Rome. You can see the castle-like mansione from the ruins of la Via Appia, off among the trees and isolated monuments. How I loved it there.

But as I dozed 'it' found me. Some force... some thing... some entity in the guise of a huge, repulsive fly took shape within my resting place. It scurried 'cross the polished stone floor, stepped up to the ledge and hopped onto my bed, pinning me with a hot, dense, crushing force. I saw the large, glass-like reflective eyes... the monstrous 'face'... the lancet tipped proboscis and the blue-black loathsome carapace.... fairy wings it had, but every other part screamed nightmare. And the loud electric buzz of its abdomen 'gainst my body made me retch. The fly just lapped it up. Then it thrust the hellish proboscis down my throat, flooding me with acid til even the bones dissolved. I couldn't scream. And in my present ghostly form still taste it.

Tomorrow the Russian prisoner has his own ordeal. Please know that I will be there to relate it.

Death is not easy...

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