These things must be done delicately. There's a reason alchemists always worked in the shadows. People crave power and magic IS power. Do you think a real life 'Darrin' would forbid his Samantha to use 'witch-craft?' Screw Gladys Kravitz (no relation to that Billy Kravitz fellow). They'd be out shaking their tushie and conjuring up stuff right on the front lawn. Come on, if your partner, or ANYBODY you were close to, told you they could overcome all barriers... No frustration... No stress... No work. Enjoy life. Have things. Go places. Meet people, BIG PEOPLE. Dine with the upper crust. Trade ideas with Spielbergs, Scorceses ... even Shakespeares. Live how you want, where you want, for as long as you want. And necromancy, or 'evilness' had nothing to do with it. What? You expect me to believe you'd say 'no?' Magic is just an ability, a way to focus energy. Some people can lift heavy weights, others control the universe. And if I'm exaggerating... if they can't control the universe, they can at least manipulate the part they inhabit.
I was born in New England, right after the Salem Witch Trials. People in Boston still remembered. They pointed at folks on the street and whispered - There goes Mary Parson's girl. No wonder her hens are so fat... the witch- daughter probably fixes things. Probably has her mother's book of skrails (spells). .... Then they'd tut-tut, clutch their market baskets close beneath their bosoms and hurry home in the rain. Umbrellas were still suspect, don't you know... a violation of God's will... Everyone was a Christian Scientist. People died when God told them to.... Might nibble on some folk remedy behind closed doors. Might sip a potion concocted by some old woman. They had midwives, but no physicians. I know. I've seen a lot. In case you do not know, it is I, Doctor Franklin, talking.
Luna and Sarah are resting. I minister to them in my way. They lay suspended in a bed of harmonics. The vibrations heal their wounds. Look to the previous posting, if you want to know the details. Tomas is resting too. He mumbles. He whispers. Doesn't want to go back... to being a vampire, I mean. Wants to be mortal. Wants to pick up where he was all those centuries ago. Wants to study faith and The Scriptures. All the old venerable European Academies are gone, burnt by the Nazis decades ago. But there are even older ones in The Galilee, in the holy city of Safed and other places.... Mystical assemblages of students lost in God's Teachings... and, in a sense, alchemists of 'The Word.' .... Tomas wants to go there. His allies here in town, his 'familiars' work to make that possible. ... Best they get him away from all this.
The streets aren't safe. Rival bands of witches and magic folk fight for the ascendancy. Government functionaries arrest overt practitioners. Black Marias glide through midnight lanes once again. And the huge 'lead room' under construction in Old Fort Mifflin nears completion.
A new Inquisition fights 'magic' in it's own way. But this inquisition is a hypocritical affair, bent on stealing secrets and commandeering 'adepts' for their own purposes.
Edith gathers friends about her. They'll take to the tunnels far beneath the city and hide with The Mole Folk. They've done so before.
Those with special abilities are all about us. Open your eyes and 'see' what you know you see.
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Sarah crashed through the doors. Almost sublimated through some skinny little thing in a white lab coat. Vampires kill that way. Rips up the meat. Shatters the bones. Tissue rains down on the floor like a chunky flesh smoothie. When it happens outside the rats like it. Shoved a bunch a scientific assholes out of her way. Grabbed Luna by the shoulders, spun her 'round and yelled - Get your bony claws off him, you blood sucking, quack doctor, vampire bitch!!
Luna jumped back. Everybody froze. Tomas II was still out of it, all blue and cold and shivering with tubes snaking out of him. Think he had a catheter in too. And I have to admit, that dead-actor-vampire-replacement body looked just like him. Sarah looked down and cried. She reached out to touch him. Luna said - Don't.... She hesitated. No one made a sound. Then she whispered - He's not a vampire anymore? Oh, God, look at him... Luna sneered, tossed her hair back and said - Not yet, anyway..... as she ran her tongue across her sharp, white teeth. ...... Sarah said - You leave him alone. Get out of here! Tomas, wake up! Tomas! Tomas!..... A few of the lesser functionaries snickered...... Luna said - Listen, you road company, nineteen eighties Susan Sarandon ( to others) Look at her. Only vampire in creation can't buy herself a good brassiere......( Uh, oh, that hurt ) You want him to live? Then get the hell out of my way, you 'goody-two-fangs-you....... as she shoved her aside..... Sarah momentarily acquiesced out of concern for her partially resurrected consort. She stood there in a daze, as Luna bit her lip and leaned over the exposed and vulnerable 'patient.' A rich, red, jewel-like orb prepared to drop from her sensual mouth, right into the slightly opened lips of the just barely breathing former vampire..... And then he twitched. Sarah saw that. At the last instant her hand shot out, caught the drop, closed 'round it and in a smooth arc came up to smash the quack-doctor-vampire-bitch (or whatever she was) right in her cold, hard, Elizabeth Hurley face. Blood spewed from the ruined nose. Vampirinas heal, but still that has got to be a serious provocation. Luna froze, eyes burning. Then she 'pulsed,' blasting the clothes right off her body. Sarah did the same. It's like a vampire reflex. She couldn't help it. They circled like panthers, leaning in, down low, each waiting for an opportunity. Everyone fell back. A few ran out. Somebody said 'Get Doctor Franklin.' But once they got started, what could he do? The Bureau did have vampire tranquilizing darts, however they were under lock and key. Filling the vials, arming the pistols... that would take time.
Whoa! Luna just went berserk, shrieking and screaming like a manic baboon. Drew first blood too. Bit Sarah right on the shoulder. Blood ran down like sergeant's stripes. Sarah lunged, grabbed Luna's arm, brought the hand up to her mouth and tore the thumb right out from the roots. Vampirina red ran everywhere, as they fell to the floor, twisting breasts, scratching nether parts and generally creating all kinds of naked-vampire-cat-fight mayhem. Can't be too graphic 'cause vampire children read our stuff too, you know.
Some researcher said - We ought to document this... and proceeded to record every thrust and parry on his phone. Vampire fights are a rare thing and this one would be a valuable addition to the archives.
Sarah, crazed like a rabid demon, crashed down on Luna's shoulders, pinning her to the floor, as she pummeled her already ruined face like a delirious Honolulu granny making poi.
But Luna arched her back, whipped her legs up off the floor and locked her feet 'round Sarah's neck, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing til the vampire-doctor's face was two shades north of eggplant.
Then every piece of glass in the place began to shatter. Pulses, I guess. They rolled across the shards. Like mud wrestling, it was. 'Cept it looked more like Bertoli Spaghetti Sauce wrestling due to the consistency of vampire blood once it leaves the body.
Tomas was covered in it. And you know some found its way passed his tongue. Luna's? Sarah's? Who knew. Not enough to make him vampire. Not nearly enough for that, but enough to fortify him. Enough to save him. He shot up. Jumped off the gurney, ripped out the tubes, even (gulp) the catheter and screamed for them to stop. But you know Tomas. When he gets nervous, he motor-mouths in Spanish. 'Sides, they were too worked up, all hot and sweaty. Train can't stop on no dime, you know. Them two top paramours of his could a killed him in his weakened, mortal state.
Finally, some guy from 'creature control' runs in. Darts 'em both right in the ass. Eye lids flutter. Legs go limp. Sprawl all over the floor, flopping 'round like fish. Lady parts all exposed. You KNOW they got that on video.
Six heartbeats later, Franklin (with his wispy hair flying in the wind) tools in on that electric scooter thing he has, eyes the carnage and goes - Jesus Christ! Clean this shit the hell up!
And just like that it was over.
'Least Tomas was OK.
But out on the streets, let me tell you, it wasn't over... and out on the streets it wasn't OK....
<please know if you read this prior to 11:55PM on 7/10/14 you read my immediate, eyewitness reportage, which was a teensy bit rough...went back and cleaned it up a little...can't help it...sometimes I just get SO excited!>.... <went back at 12:38PM and cleaned up some more>...And you think on Fallon when Jimmy and Dana played that 'impressions' game, they were purposely supplied with choices each could do? Wheels were just props, just devices. No way they could fail... Look, it's HOT and that's what I saw... 8^)
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We have to whisper (thus the small print), 'cause covert operatives are everywhere. Government forces want to put a lid on things... all the paranormal activity, I mean. Eye witnesses claim at least seven or eight genuine Jersey Devils (supposedly two family groups) slaughtered in park behind The Philadelphia Museum of Art (the 'Rocky' building). Witches, mostly of the 'trained' variety, conjuring spirits in Washington Square Park. Local vampires in hiding. That includes elferinos/elferinas and other varieties. Some low level non-decomposing zombie activity, but they're always opportunistic feeders.
It's been reported that look-alikes from the BEYOND TOP SECRET federal 'Doppelganger' program are now functioning as Philadelphia's mayor, police commissioner and I don't know who else. They say the program, first started during the Roosevelt years, has hundreds of carefully trained and indoctrinated 'twins' ready for insertion at moment's notice. Most fitted with 'choke collar' chips guaranteeing unerring cooperation. However the identity of the Ultimate Puppet Master is as yet unknown.
Philadelphia's top vampirina, the fortunately (for us) saintly, Sarah, sublimated through usual Anti-Enchantment Bureau barriers to be reunited with her espoused, Tomas, in the 'clean room.'... Some staffers know her. Most, obviously, know of her. Those present for the vampiric resurrection broke ranks and parted, affording her clear access to Doctor Franklin (still fiddling with controls) up by the Grand Armonica. The old reprobate never turned around, but when she drew near simply said - He's not here. They're working on him..... Where is he? - she said. What, does Luna have him?...... Franklin sighed and nodded. She turned and walked off.... Franklin said - Don't start anything. Not this time. Not with all the 'men in black' bastards running around. You want to get locked in a lead coffin? You want to get planted in The Marianas Trench? I'm telling you, Sarah. Listen to me..... But she'd already left. Before she could track Tomas by scent, but he had a different body now. It looked like him, but it was different. Couldn't even key into his brainwaves, 'cause his thoughts were relayed through a different brain. So she grabbed some skinny intern playing a back-in-the-day pinball game in a lounge down the hall and said - You know where Luna works?... The kid saw the fangs and nodded. She said - Then shut your God damned mouth and stop farting. Take me there, you dumb, son or a bitch (Sarah never talks like this).. Three heartbeats later he lead her down the bright, sterile maze-like hallways toward an express bank of elevators, scanned his palm (the old technology).. the door opened. They got in and WHOOSH.. they were there.
Now Sarah hates Luna. She'd never put it that way, but she does. They fought over Tomas once, back when the vampires were squatting in the basement storerooms of The Penn Museum... You know -- where all the mummies live. That's why the university made them leave. Mummy dust hung in the air for weeks. Little kids on school trips up above breathed it in and threw up all over the place. A regular asthma-rama it was...... And you ever see a vampirina cat-fight?.... More like two spiders than kitties.... Climbing up walls... Bouncing off ceilings.. sucking out eyeballs... Renn and Stimpie on steroids. Used to be some anonymous video (originally an old film) of two World War I era vampire bitches tearing it up on You Tube, but they moved it and now I can't find it. You know World War I era women didn't wear no bras? Corsets made like a little shelf. That held 'em up. Learned it from the film.
Feel bad about them slaughtered Jersey Devils, though... Horsey Skeezix cried when he heard. Three were his cousins.
And now they say government guys building a lead room (a big one) down by Old Fort Mifflin'
This is turning into something...
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When it was over, these cute, little chimes went off, just like the ones that play when an LG washer or dryer completes a cycle. Those in attendance politely applauded. Doctor Franklin turned and bowed. The effort made him fart a little, but he didn't care. A faint pressure wave emanated from the polished, bronze box. Everyone felt it. The 'clean room' was infused with a subtle, organic, 'human' scent.... rather like those low cost musky colognes from the nineteen seventies.
Doctor Franklin said - Open the box. Get him out!..... But after hearing all that Old Castillian mumbling and all, everyone expected a successful outcome. Two functionaries (I guess they were technicians) fussed with the clasps. A pin light shot down from above, hitting the shiny box and highlighting this second nativity. Franklin loves special effects and theatrical gestures, you know. He poised for a portrait in a raccoon skin cap eons before Davy Crockett. A regular eighteenth century Will Rogers he was, though with a knife-like, white-hot cunning.
And when the 'new' Tomas popped up out of the box, it was The Rocky Horror Show all over again. People cheered. They waved tiny American flags (Fourth of July weekend, you know) locked elbows and danced little jigs. ....
So similar to the original Tomas. That agency was good. They really found an unbelievable lookalike. Too bad he 'died' for the part. Not his flesh. Just his 'everything else.' When they helped him climb out of the polished, bronze box he trembled. He blinked. He stumbled.
What's his body temperature? - yelled Franklin...... Technician Number One made a quick scan and said - Thirty four degrees Celsius, sir. - he said.... Now normal Celsius human body temperature is thirty seven degrees. Three degrees discrepancy is a big thing, maybe just over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. and apparently it was dropping.
Franklin yelled - Luna! Go get him! ....... With that, his vampire-physician protege pushed through the crowd and ran up on the platform followed by her own cadre of medics. They wrapped him in a pliable metallic membrane and carefully passed him down onto a gurney. He looked gray. His eyes fluttered. But he whispered something. Tomas, also known as Jonathon, whispered something. He called the attractive, vampire-physician over, pulled her close and said - Vampirido? Estoy vampirido? Si, o no? ( Vampire? Am I vampire? Yes, or no?)........ Luna sighed, shook her head and said - No....... And he laughed and laughed and laughed.
Photographers shouldered close to snap pictures. I don't know who sent them, or how they got in. But they were there and with today's digital technology the images would go viral in no time.
Tomas put up his hand and said - No, not like this. Not now. Please... please... please..........
Ever the vain gentleman. Al Andalus dies hard...... But the pictures were posted before they wheeled him out of the room. Young people, magical types, gathered at venues throughout Center City, saw the images on their smart phones and cheered.
Somebody told Doctor Franklin and he went - Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
I don't know what happened to the picture takers. A guy next to me said one was a robot, a human-like robot, developed in Japan.... Who knows? But if that's true, what the hell did he need a phone for? Wouldn't they build that circuitry right into his eye?
Meanwhile, Sarah, Tomas' rather saintly, vampire consort, raced toward the Bureau, as a genuine Jersey Devil swooped above the crowd in Washington Square with commercial grade sparklers in his hands...
Independence Day, 2014..... More next time.....
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I am drawn as if by celestial magnates. Those dear to me in this place fade away. I hear voices, some from this world, some from yours. They mumble. They whisper. They laugh. They cry. I discern no words. There is no solid surface. I plunge through space. But not a dark, cosmic void embedded with stars, planets and other isolated points of light. Mine is an endless daylight sky... a late afternoon sky, to be exact... maybe even early evening... vivid blues... white clouds tinged with purple. sunlight streams in from a low angle, but WHERE?... I see no sun. And the clouds are huge... or perhaps I am very small?
My body begins to solidify. I feel 'denser.'..... Off in the far, far distance I see storm clouds illuminated by tiny, fleeting shards of soundless lightning. I look for others, but see none. I am alone in an endless space. In God's omniverse there are many discrete infinities.
Silent 'echoes' pulse through my being.... rhythmic and strong.....
Am I moving, or is everything else rushing through me?
{while back in the 'clean room' at Doctor Franklin's Anti-Enchantment-Bureau }
The Grand Armonica gives forth with an almost operatic crescendo. All is as it was during the goat experiment. The 'Lords Of The Sea'... the great whales, must have really sent over a whole shit load of ambergris. And instead of a goat, the polished bronze casket (actually, to me it looks like The Lost Ark Of The Covenant, only there's a matching 'Ark' all the way down at the other end and I don't think relics wrought by The Hand Of God come in pairs, unless you count certain highly sought after examples of designer footwear, but I believe He does those under assumed names for professional reasons, so they don't count) imprisons some model guy sent over by an agency under false pretenses... Thought he was gonna be in a fall fashion 'editorial' framed on tree-lined cobbled streets and all that. Doctor Franklin saw his head shot and resume in a book. A doppelganger for Tomas he was. Cut a real big check to the agency and the rest will soon be history... At least the model-boy will be. They'll say he disappeared under mysterious pretenses (true). An aunt out in Cleveland will also get a big check. She never liked him anyway. Big checks are like potato chips around here. You think our vampires are rich?..... Franklin is richer.
If you listen real hard you can hear him moaning. When he gets tired of that he chatters incoherently. The model, I mean. All the science people and technicians here swear it doesn't hurt, but they just want to see what happens. You see that squadron of ridiculously well groomed people watching from the corner? Invited guests they are..... Invited to pay fifty thousand dollars a head for the privilege. Kind of like the people who payed ten thousand dollars to hear our elferina, Marianne, recount her adventures and other worldly nativity in that posh Society Hill townhouse a while back. But this is different. Franklin's selling the immortality angle. And you know when they package that puppy, rich folks gonna go first, after they get back from Richard Branson's one time trampoline bounce up to space.
Best case scenario is model-boy survives... as a ghost. Well, they call it 'a ghost.' He'll be a coherent energy/spirit mass, hopefully in the image of his original physical self... like the 'ghost' goat they got bleating 'round The Bureau now. Worst case scenario?.... Eh, who cares? It's only a hobby.
Should take maybe forty five, sixty minutes more. We'll have either a resurrected, much loved vampire and a spectral model, or one dead fashionisto and a steaming mound of pricey whale-phlegm. Well, that's what ambergris really is.
Wait a minute. Keep quiet. Maybe I'm wrong. Could be it won't take that long. Two guys wearing headphones down by the other end just mouthed something.... called Franklin over. You could see from his face how important it was. The Old Patriot instantly stopped schmoozing all them potential immortality customers, turned his electric scooter around and tooled over for a look-see.
Tall guy with the headphones leans over and whispers - I hear old, classic Castillian. He's... he's saying something.......
That, it seems, is a very good sign, for the Old Reprobate smiles...
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thank you for coming. please COMMENT. talk about your sites too if you want. (but please no 'X-rated' stuff. some nice kids read this too). from time to time we tell you how we only pretend this is fiction. that's why I have to stop now. want to run down to the other end (the Grand Armonica is BIG) and see what's going on. I want Tomas, also known as Jonathon, back too.
He had a few of the ranking scientists in attendance over for chilled gin concoctions and conversation. Those in the speculative arts love to talk. And scientists are steeped in speculation. Indeed, the scientific theory itself demands it. Theory comes first and in a very real sense governs each and every subsequent step. We find what we set out to find, whether gun powder or God.
They sat in an eighteenth century salon.... brocade chairs... formal settees ... fine, fruitwood tables... handmade woolen rugs on oiled oak floors. A few are familiar with the place. Doctor Franklin's commodious residence beneath his storied 'Anti-Enchantment-Bureau is whispered about throughout the scientific/investigative world. Hitler sought alliance as early as '33, but the 'Bureau' ever a bulwark of new ideas and tolerance, only fed him lies. Most outsiders get half truths at best. Doctor Franklin was and is extremely particular that way.
He said - They're chanting along The Parkway. Some think it's a tie-in to Welcome America Week and all the Independence Day observances. But the young girls gathering outside the townhouse, beating ancient Celtic bodhrans and strumming classic Hebrew Harps are quite another thing. They drone on and on. They go - Tomas-Jonathon, Tomas-Jonathon, Tomas-Jonathon........... Another scientist went - Rah, rah, rah!........ Doctor Franklin said - No, this isn't funny. We have scientifically unacknowledged hominid primates roaming the streets. We have self described and in all honesty fairly effective witches working wonders outside coffee bars. And I don't know what those Red Paint People are doing. You know how many out of town press people we have here this week?......... A different guest asked - Then why are you doing this? All the Grand Armonica posturing, entertaining as it is and all?........ Doctor Franklin sighed, thought for a moment and said - Because it's time. Because I want to. Look, I pressed for it in '47 during Roswell and all, but Truman wouldn't let me. Can you imagine, they 'changed' the story to a weather balloon!? I threatened to tell the Russians, or the French, anybody. But we didn't have our own dedicated reactors back then and he said he'd pull the plug. No, it's time. They have to know. Humanity, I mean. We inhabit a tiny part of an unbelievably immense cosmos. And not only that, we have abilities certain factions are desperate to stifle. No, this thing happens here. Extra, extra, read all about it, as they say....... Didn't you start that phrase back in your newspaper days? - someone asked.... Doctor Franklin studied him for a heartbeat or two and said -I started everything. Merlin to Washington's Arthur, if you will. There's a reason my picture's on the one hundred dollar bill. Those dumb bastards! Those God damned assholes! I should have been 'it!' I should have been the first!..... The Old Reprobate can get quite loud, bitter and vindictive at times.
No one said a word. A few nodded. Thank God for those chilled gin drinks. After a bit, a comely young girl, sent down from The Curtis Institute of Music began to play sprightly tunes on an authentic, hand painted harpsichord. Endearing Young Charms, I think it was. That calmed him down and he continued - Mortality is an illusion. We are all dead for eternity. We all live for eternity. Do you think when people pass to The World To Come, their still 'living' children aren't there with them, or that young, doomed children move on to a parentless reward? No, the Once and Only Diety responsible for all this is not so mean as that. Everything that is, was, or ever will be swirls through creation right now. We experience it sequentially because we're made that way.
Look, is your vampire friend, Tomas, really gonna come back? - a guest asked.... Franklin seemed to sink into himself. Then he nodded, grasped the arms of his chair and said - Yes. Maybe not in the same form. Maybe not in the same body. I don't know. How could I know? The basic principle is valid. You all saw the experiment with the goat. But I can't disregard the variables. You know his friend, the Piney 'witchy-woman' named Edith, says what I do here isn't even necessary. And she doesn't mean any disrespect. Just sure of her own talents and the talents of those around her. That's all. Magic-like science meets scientific magic. Come, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. Let's down these spirits and make for the 'clean room' ( large experimental space housing The Grand Armonica). We've a 'raising' to do.
So they did. The commodious salon was abandoned. The young girl at the harpsichord quietly gathered her sheet music and left. The domestic staff made quick work of any remaining spirits.
And the vampire, Tomas, also known as Jonathon, was already on his way...
<more next time>
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Please excuse my clerical skills. But I was never good with the ordenadoras or computadoras or whatever name you use to refer to them. That is why I got the Billy Kravitz to facilitate our communications with you. Besides, I am currently, legally within a heavenly state, or perhaps the vestabule one enters before passing on to the true heavenly state.
The singularities of my spiritual being begin to tingle. I feel like a shaken bottle of Clicquot Club. The Old Woman used to drink it. Do any of you remember her? She hated Sarah, but loved Annie. But who cares, for she is dead now too (and permanently, I fear). I see her here dishing out hot lunches behind a steam table to formerly homeless dead gentlemen, who still apparently relish those things. She makes like she doesn't know me. I say - Hello, do you remember our chill, North Atlantic passage all those generations ago? Snow covered deck chairs by icy moon glow... how positively surreal..... She (who looks like Mrs. Beazley, the lunch lady in Archie comics) just chews the same huge wad of gum she's been working since she died and ignores me. Scooping out Beefaroni for eternity. My God, her apron's filthy.
I suppose, when the time comes and I re gain my mortal coil I won't be a life-eater (vampire) anymore. If so. If I am right, the first thing I'll do is go to one of those all-you-can-eat Chinese Style buffets and see what Billy Kravitz was always talking about.
I hope they put me in a nice body and would very much appreciate it if the flesh in question still wears the same size clothes as I. Edith has them. They're packed away in the townhouse.
Why are they allowing me to return? It feels like they are. Am I worthy? Is this a punishment, or a gift? Whenever I pass close to an angel and ask, they just stare off into the distance and smile.
Sometimes the thought of donning new flesh scares me... Sometimes I want to stay here, learn Sanskrit and become personal human relations muse to Angelina Jolie.
Sometimes I don't even know what I want...
<more next time>
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