They had to part before sun up. Jonathon went up to join Sarah in their sleeping chamber. The entity spent the day floating around with teachers, parents and grade school kids visiting The Philadelphia Museum of Art. The one with the ROCKY steps, in case you don't know. There are other art museums. That's the big one. The gift shop's to die for.... Ali Baba's cave in facsimile.... tasteful too. Three of the little kids cried, because they 'forgot' to bring money for the 'toy store.'.... Yeah, they got a 'toy store' too.... a separate souvenir shop just for kids. Try and pass it without going in. The docents will kill you. They train them for that. Scratch you with their rings and everything. But being completely telepathic, plus having what amounts to x-ray vision that radiates out globularly in three dimensions, the entity stepped in to help them. He 'whispered' in the little girl's ear - Somebody lost a wallet behind the bust of Amelia Earhart. Look behind the white plinth. It's on the floor...... The girl didn't know what any of that meant on a verbal level, but the entity really knew how to communicate. You know how dogs know what's going on with their limited vocabulary? You know how they just 'get it' on a fundamental level? Well, little kids yearning for toys can do that too. She couldn't tell you why, but for some reason she stepped away from 'somebody's mommy' who was watching them and peeked behind the glossy, white, rectangular platform holding the bust of the famed aviatrix. There it was... a black, leather, man's wallet. She picked it up and looked. It held seven twenty dollar bills. She called her friend. No one noticed. This was a rest break. Everybody sat on heavy, varnished oak benches and went to pee in groups of five. Kids got up. They talked. They sat down. A few spun around and got dizzy. As long as the adults manned the perimeters it was all right. Two children, off in a corner, with their heads together chatting were invisible. They knew numbers. Second graders can count to one hundred. That's why they decided to give forty dollars to a little boy they liked. One hundred dollars they could understand. Beyond that, they just giggled. So three kids went home with beautiful pleather cased art kits filled with neatly arranged paint pens, colored pencils, water colors, exquisite sheets of artist grade paper and everything else nascent creative souls could possibly need.... with enough left over for many, many trips to the dollar store. Maybe the entity clouded adult minds too? He must have, because no one asked any questions. That afternoon, as the sun went down, the ageless spirit-thing 'thought' itself back to the townhouse. Edith knew it was there. The small, flat-screen television in the kitchen fizzed into static during a cable mockumentary about merfolk (if they only knew) and the gas powered fireplace in the den crackled and popped, something it was not supposed to do..... Edith lowered the shades, drew the curtains and turned on the lights... Not bright... Not glaring... Just enough so 'special' folk could see. A bit later, Jonathon came down. Sarah came with him. They entered the den, sat on the sofa.... he in his black jeans and leather bootkins.... she in her soft sweaters and fine slacks. Across from them sat the broken, nineteen thirties era, Groucho Marx, effigy figure thing kidnapped from a wax museum. They watched as the entity reclaimed it. The glass eyes rolled. The broken limbs (remember, the figure was originally meant to stand) creaked. The jaw, by this time, hung slack and unsupported, as the thing began to 'speak,' or at least create words in the minds of our vampires. Edith, from her place in the kitchen, heard nothing. She just sat there, leafing through her PEOPLE magazine and watching from the corner of her eye, as it all transpired. The thing 'said' - If you do this for me, if you dress my soul in flesh, you shall see wondrous things. For I have read your dreams and weighed your heart and know that which you, yourself have yet to recognize. What are those 'wondrous things?' - asked Jonathon. I shall raise up a prince in Israel... not a king, for I know your Earthly faiths and it is not the time for that. Lord of The Galilee, or Sea of Harps, as it was called... Lord of The Negev... Protector of the Plain of Sharon... Defender of the Peace of Jerusalem... Great Steward of The Messianic Throne... Prince of Israel... Do you like that? Jonathon swallowed and nodded. Sarah took his hand, for she knew how strong he believed.... The entity said - Good, because I just made it up. And if not the Temple... The Tabernacle. I know the politics involved in these things. Irresponsible, I am not. Two principalities I shall raise.... The House of Israel and The House of Ishmael. And they shall achieve together and there shall be peace, just as there was between Israel and Phoenicia under a younger sun..... Well? Shall we do this? When Edith saw him cry, she knew something was up and silently crept in to see things first hand. Though for the longest time nothing happened. Jonathon sobbed. Sarah held him and that was it. The Groucho thing just sat there, slumped in its chair, like a life size, ruined doll. <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ learn more.... google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you click... ad a word... ANY word... THEN click... see where you wind up. click CONVERSATION ... to join me on Twitter. please leave a COMMENT down below. if you like this different 'take' on the genre, kindly tell others. thank you for any support you're willing to give.
Jonathon feels thing. He really feels things. Many 'noble' vampires do. He's not unique that way. You know how religious he is. And I don't mean ritualistic, although our boy from old Al Andalus is not adverse to the sustaining continuity of it all. A vampire who attends services for The Biblical New Year and Passover Time. He sits in the back (Sarah often goes with him) and he cries. Oh, not theatrically... not so anyone would notice. But he tears up to the point where facial tissue is a necessity.
So he sits there and he listens to a strange guest... an ageless spirit squatting in a broken wax figure of a nineteen thirties Groucho Marx. Edith tip toes in with a bit of cold, flavored vodka for Jonathon. She gives a nervous, little smile to the grotesque 'Pinocchio' seated a few feet away. He can't smile back. The broken armature under the wax won't let him. But from somewhere deep inside the kidnapped 'Captain Spaulding' come a quiet, 'hullo.'...... Edith nods. How many people get to trade social niceties with a witness to 'creation?'.... Well, if not to the universe, at least to the galaxy.
The entity addressed Jonathon and said - Do you know how I see things?..... Jonathon shook his head.... The thing said - Everything is grey. Not the same shade. But it's all grey. Dense material is darker. More nebulous things have a lighter shade. There are countless shades of grey, though I rarely see true white, for even space is not an absolute vacuum. And I rarely see true black. Even entities such as I fear black holes. When I look at you, I see the bones within your body. I see the keys in your pocket, the zipper on your pants. I see old, thick beams in the walls. And oddly enough, windows look dark to me. Glass is fairly dense. You have a very well-formed skull. Did you know that?..... Jonathon whispered - No...... The spirit went on - Your sun is a charcoal disc on a white sky. Shades of Grey... that's all I see. But my field of vision is complete... three hundred and sixty degrees, you might say. I see through the floor, down through the basement and into the soil and rocks beyond. It never stops. I see everything and nothing. ... Sound is like that too. Don't ask me to go into it.
The thing stopped. It was quiet. Jonathon just sat there. He sipped his drink. Vampires, as you know, can tolerate clear, or almost clear, liquids...... The entity said - I can see the organs and structures move in your throat when you do that. Will you help me? I've been like this forever. My kind never changes. I can't adapt. I don't even know why I'm here.
What do you want me to do? - asked Jonathon.
Liberate me - said the thing. Help me see the sun and sky... help me see the world as it is. Stop the teeming storm I live in now.
Then it jerked the 'Groucho' hands up to it's face, and sobbed.... But all these physical manifestations were merely for effect. The wax figure was just a puppet. Jonathon knew that.
Truly disembodies spirits... entities that have never been flesh, suffer spells. They crave bodies. They need freedom. They drift among the stars. It never ends.
Why is it in our material world at all?
Enjoy the sunshine and all the pretty colors.
<more next time>
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see more Vampire Wonderland..... google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you click... ad a word... ANY word... then click... see where it takes you... be surprised.
I scared you last time. Should never have come at you in that place and definitely not as a cadaverous child. Forgive me my excesses. But I have seen so many things and have a taste for drama - said the entity. Jonathon simply sat in his chair and did not say a word. He just looked at the 'thing' seated across from him.... a wax facsimile of a nineteen thirties Groucho Marx. Apparently the entity filched it from a Madame Tussaud's somewhere... a slight parlor trick for one so powerful as he. But the joints were all broken now. That's how he was able to sit in the chair. Did he walk through the streets like that, all jingly and jangly like a puppet, or did he materialize by the door?... Edith let him in. You know she's something of a telepath. Unexpected spirit beings are nothing new to her. Then the thing said - Please, I have had the floor long enough. Tell me of the mysteries you have seen. I'd like to learn more about you..... Jonathon inhaled. He hated watching it. The jaw... the lower mandible, barely moved. It just creaked up and down a bit, as words escaped into the ether. Apparently the interior armature supporting this classic, American comedian was metallic and not designed for speech. Jonathon studied the fire and thought for a few heartbeats. Then he said - I have encountered beings, creatures more or less like myself, miles beneath the surface of the sea. We go there for the darkness, you know. And these immortal individuals communicate with no one, nor do they move. In some remote parts of the abyss they litter the seabed like statues... bleached white and motionless... naked images of what was once human. I see them only with the magic of vampire eyes. God knows what they see. Some lay with their faces in the sand... others haven't opened their eyes in centuries. Small white crabs scuttle over them, picking off errant barnacles and other trespassers. A few still need blood. On this world, our kind has an arrangement with the princes of the sea. And I speak not of merfolk, but of the cetacean nobility... From time to time a prince comes down... a huge sperm whale, perhaps eighty feet long. How gentle they can be... a living 'submarine' carefully hovering just above the teeth of a needy vampire. They could crush the thing, but they don't. And the blood drinker gets a meal, equal in volume to a full human life, but not as satisfying, for no death takes place. Imagine what transpires down in that icy, crushing darkness. The krakken (giant squid) hunts there too, you and merfolk search for huge, white pearls, big as baby's skulls. How poetic - said the entity. Do you stay there long?..... No - said Jonathon. I don't. But I do go down from time to time...... Does it trouble you, the black, cold, isolation, I mean? - asked the Groucho thing...... Jonathon nodded..... My, how 'human' you are. How mortal. I like that. I can sense it. (and then, in a slightly more guttural tone) I need it. Will you help me? Jonathon looked at the fire (the only light in the room) and didn't say a word. Strange sounds emanated from the Groucho thing. Our Philadelphia vampirino looked up to see tears dripping from the dead glass eyes. The entity was crying. Neither moved... Such a strange tableau... a trim, dark haired vampire and a broken, kidnapped wax figure, brushed by the glow of a pre-dawn fire. Outside the city slept, trapped under a thin, cold shell of ice... as were so many other waiting things..... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ sail through other seas... google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you click... ad a word... ANY word... then click... see where the wind takes you... click HEARTH LIGHT to join me on Twitter. please leave a COMMENT down below. if you like my story, kindly tell your friends. thank you.
~~~ a continuation of the life renewing ritual from two nights ago... please scroll back, or click OLDER POST at bottom.. thank you. They used straight razors and made cuts all over the front side of the poor serf's body. He was silent the whole time, though he did tremble. They sliced into the undersides of his arms... his belly... the pectoral muscles... the front of his thighs... shins, to a depth of perhaps one half inch. Then, a scattering of quick, tiny cuts on all parts of his external genitals.. They did slip something between his lips. I suppose it was some sort of narcotic, or pain killer. It was like a lozenge... Some type of gelled honey, or plant resin. Ancient peoples of the north countries used honey and plant sap to bind many things. Next, they stretched the first body... the one with the spirit to be revived.... out on the floor... arms perpendicular to the ribs and legs spread wide. Then they laid the second victim down on the first, face to face, binding them together with narrow, linen ribbons. They believed the spirit of the recently departed, gained strength from the first victim and more readily passed into the body of the second. Sometimes there'd be a whole chain. Sometimes they used four or five victims. Often it doesn't work. When that happens, the souls of the slaughtered serfs accompany the dead noble to heaven. I know rites like this go against the formal scriptures of the place, but at that time and in those parts, formal religion was just for show. Folk ways and pagan beliefs held sway. However, that time it did work. The baron's son came back. The second victim shuddered, spit up blood and spoke in a manner not suited for lowly serfs, so they knew. There was no doubt, for any serf foolish enough to speak above his station was immediately paillard (split throat to groin, broke open and cleaned) before being smoked for the crows. Kept them from the crops, you know. They gave the second victim to some lay brothers who carried it to the abbey, where the cuts and wounds were dressed and bound in strips from old discarded altar cloths. The first victim was fed to the lampreys, primitive, loathsome, worm-like fish much esteemed in that place and raised in deep, stone vats down in the darkness, beneath the dungeons. Occasionally live serfs, or even less fortunate tradesmen were fed to them too. Certain recipes required that. Well, the entity trailing Jonathon knew that 'magic.' It's not known if 'he' saw it here, on Earth, or somewhere else.... but 'he' knew. He'd tasted it and he wanted it. Maybe he'd been encased in bodies before, but he sought incarnation again. Entities always do....... Stay away from entities... if you can... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ see more stories --- google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you click on it... ad a word... ANY word... then click... see where you wind up... explore... it's like a game. your destinations are limitless. click KILLER CLOWNS to join me on Twitter. please leave a COMMENT for good luck. thank you.
A being of flesh, with no spirit, would be a sea squirt, or perhaps a mushroom. While a being of spirit, minus flesh, would be naught but an on-going dream. A combination of the two is necessary, at least in our material world and spirits have sought out flesh since the beginning. Jonathon has attracted such an entity. Some call them hungry ghosts. Indeed, Johnny Jump Up, our resident ghoul, was one such manifestation. But he is gone, or as gone as disembodied souls can be. While the other one is not. Imagine life with no sensation. Well, there is sight, or something like it. But even hearing is compromised. What comes through is more a knowledge of the sound in question, rather than the actual frequency. Would you like to have vivid, detailed dreams about char-broiled steaks without ever eating one? Spirits are everywhere. Most are departed human souls desperate to come back. Others are something else. Beings get lost. There are rips in the fabric of creation. And if they quickly disappear, there's still that instant when they're there. That's when things fall through. Often they pass from one spiritual realm to another. But sometimes they wind up here... and then we have to deal with them. Let me share a story from the past. A noble family from Normandy, or Brittany, or some such place, possessed of three stout castles, each on its own rich barony, had a son. And when he was of an age to learn the knightly arts they placed him with a neighboring landholder, who gave him, as squire, to a truly chivalrous knight, so that he might learn. Things went well for the first three fortnights. The boy had a good grasp of armory and how to care for it. And he was quite adept at mucking out stalls. Horse turds are not merely discarded, but must be carefully gathered and set aside to feed all manner of vegetables and corn (medieval word for 'grain'). The noble youth had a special talent for doing that. But one day, as he greased his mentor's broadsword, he was cut... a rather deep wound right by the second knuckle of his second finger, on the side where it meets the first. Please know I speak of the left hand. And as he'd earlier been shit sorting, his hands were none to sweet. Therein lies the rub, for it is well known that shit and blood don't mix. The former comes from God, while the later belongs to Satan. Four nights hence the youth was dead. Well the fleshly parts were dead, but the spirit part lived on. Indeed, it beat the meaty parts home by two days. One night, as the baron tarried with his concubines (there was no accepted term for them, but that's what they were) a shade appeared by the bed. The plump, naked girl eeked like a mouse and cowered beneath the coarse, rough sheets. But her master knew the ghost-thing standing there and sat up. He blinked. He stammered. He said - Geoffrey, is that you?..... For nine heartbeats there was nothing. Remember, this was a new ghost and new ghosts take time to draw themselves up... though, finally, the ghost said - Aye, father. I am dead. Laid low by Shit-In-Blood disease.... Then the ghost just stood there..... His father shuttered, and whispered - I will make you whole..... Within minutes, a serf was brought forth... a second son, for even the lowly deserve an heir. The castle alchemist quickly dispatched him with three deft thrusts... one to the groin... one to the spleen... one to the neck. And as he lay dying, the father said - Make haste, Geoff. Inhabit the wretch!... So the ghostly youth, familiar with this country remedy, slipped into the bloody innards. And even for a spirit, divorced from actual sensation, that which came through, by whatever means was far from pleasant. The alchemist sprinkled the ninety nine percent dead serf boy (maybe one hundred percent... who knew?) with a vial of the finest aquavite (Scots whiskey) brought all the way from Cawdor, as he mumbled old, Pictish incantations. All the while, the father screamed - MOVE, boy! DO SOMETHING! Show us YOUR PRESENCE!... They all waited... the father... the plump, naked concubine... the alchemist... plus a few nervous men-at-arms. Maybe there was a wench (servant girl) or two moving among them. That, I do not know. But presently the ruined corpse began to move... not much, though subtle differences were detected. The quiver of a lip... A trembling foot... A soft, oily fart. The father rose from the bed, wrapped in its sheets, the better to preserve his baronial dignity (though leaving the naked concubine quite exposed) and knelt by the mess on the floor. The alchemist cleared his throat and said - Master, we must get on..... The baron nodded. Then the in-house 'scientist' yelled - Bring in 'the host!'..... Eight heartbeats later another terrified serf was produced (I suppose he'd been waiting all this time). They tore off his rags and threw him down on the cold, stone floor..... The incarnation would go on..... < this passage was included to illustrate the rich lore of spirits and what might be done to 're-house' them... more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ learn more... google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but first, before you click, ad a word... ANY word... then click... see where it takes you.... bon voyage. click ANCIENT TALES to join me on Twitter. please COMMENT. tell others and thank you for your support.
Sarah spent her nights in the bookshop. She liked Philadelphia After Dark. Why not? She created it. Oh, don't think she leave and wander about. But she always goes back. Helps straighten up the place. Dusts what has to be dusted and all that. She visits the hospitals around 11PM. They change shifts then. It's easier to slip in and slip out. You know how they dim the lights after visiting hours. Staff retreats to the nurses' stations. Docs pretend to be so engrossed in paperwork. Some are. Others play act. God forbid some concerned family member tries to ask them a question. I mean... how do they bill for that? Sarah silently glides into darkened rooms leaving droplets of her healing blood upon the lips of drugged and dying people. She bites into a fingertip and lets the magic drip down. Most so blessed get better. Their people thank the doctors. Should a nurse come in and catch her there, she sublimates. Sarah's good at that. She 'disappears' through a wall, usually an exterior wall, and floats down toward the pavement, or perhaps a tiny, landscaped garden. Sometimes her victims, the souls she culls, never know she was there. Female vampires, vampirinas, are often like that. They come upon the victim while they sleep. Evil people rest too, you know. It doesn't take long. She drinks the life, waits for the 'cool' blue flame and leaves. Did you think vampires drag victims around and leave them in dumpsters? Only in stories... not in real life. The blue flame doesn't leave much. Sometimes a bit of bone... a left over toe... some greasy residue..... If you've been with us for a while, you know. 'Spontaneous Human Combustion'-- that's what they call it.... But there's no such thing as that. Night-folk made it up. Makes things so much easier. Well, that's how Sarah does it. She's neat, clean and discreet. Actually, most vampires are like that. Gory, dripping, lurid fangs and snarling lips are just in stories too. God, what they say about vampires. Tomas lives a fairly regular existence too. Though occasionally things happen. This night he went into an old hotel... a shuttered building waiting to be demolished. A decrepit flop house actually... creaking, sagging floors... cracked plaster... barren, empty rooms.... and darker than you can ever imagine. People go in looking for shelter. Most stay near a door, or window. Fast escapes are pivotal. Tomas distributes silver dollars. I mean real silver dollars. They're easy to sell. Most go for fifteen or sixteen times face value. And no one bothers him. They don't even talk. People know him. Not that they know what he is. They just know he's different. Hell, the place is sticky with ghosts. But the homeless have their own demons. There's 'Orange Eyes.'..... Two reflective, wide open, expressionless eyes that just peer out from pitch black rooms. 'Laughing Man' is another one.... Low sinister, manic sounds. No one's ever seen him, but some have felt the bites. Vampires are intrigued with spirits and ghosts of all types. Not that they run after them. But they're curious. The night has many secrets. Tomas makes his way down a narrow interior passage. A bit of light fans out from an open door. There are no window shades on this floor. People take them for the plastic. They spread what blankets they have and bed down on it. Keeps out the cold. He stops and looks in the room. The light is ambient light... city light... from everywhere and nowhere... A dull, grey, winter wash from the sky. He sees a small dead body in the corner. It has to be dead. No living thing could lay broken and twisted like that... A child perhaps? Homeless children suffer terribly. Then he hears scuffing against the floor, as the feet begin to move. The arms stiffen. He hears bone grind against bone. The think sits up. Is it staring at him? Hard to tell. Then it rises to its feet, as if pulled by strings. Indeed, it walks much like a marionette... stumbling... trembling.... The mouth hangs slack and open. Tomas knows he can get away. He knows he can sublimate through the place, out into the open air, but yet he doesn't.... The thing points at him.... a withered, almost fleshless arm... Lank hair hangs from the skull.... A voice, not a child's voice, but a voice, emanates from just behind the corpse... It says - Kiss me. Moisten my lips. Share the blood... Share the blood... Share the blood.... then it lunges toward him. He recoils and pulls away, backing out into the passageway. The thing bobs, bounces and jerks after him, passing from blackest shadow to somewhat less gradations of darkness. Tomas rises up, his black, leather bootkins inches from the floor and glides back down the hall. The thing trips and falls, but keeps racing toward him, as if scraped along the floorboards by a giant hand....He still hears the words - Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me..... Then he slams against the wall, desperately trying to keep his feet from the dead things grasp. He screams. Seconds later, his body instinctively sublimates through the plaster and masonry, exiting six stories up over the street. For a moment he hangs suspended, then crashes down upon the roof of a Nissan Altima, killing the driver before scrambling off and disappearing down an alley. But the thing knew him now. It had his scent and felt his resonance. 'Laughing Man' begins to cackle.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ explore our part of the forest. google - Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz.... but before you click... ad a work... ANY word... see where it takes you... find something new... click WRAITH to join me on Twitter. thank you. please COMMENT. your support is greatly appreciated.
I am eternal, at least as far as I can tell. Perhaps I was floating through this space when your star system appeared? Maybe the light caught my attention? Maybe the swirling shapes, or charged particles? It's difficult to say. I had no language then. Everything was nebulous and visceral and fleeting. I remained in place as the various physical forms condensed around me. And think not that you were the first worthy minds to inhabit the place. There were others and they were proud too. The second world, the one you call 'Venus' had some beings that intrigued me. I'd snake through that civilization and witness things. Did I have sight? I don't know... but I saw and I heard and I tasted. Death puzzled me. Where did the 'Venus' folk go? One moment they were here, beings brought forth from the ether and then they were gone. I was undone. How can things change so fast? Does not the rock last for eons? And is the water flowing now but continuous manifestations of the first water ever to be? Why is life different? What happens when it ends? What manner of 'regime' ordains such a thing? Permit me to move on. The loss of my 'Venus' friends pains me. And then we come to you, descendants of a strange, sea worm swimming six hundred million planetary revolutions ago. Such elastic creatures you are, throwing off old forms like worn clothing.... Water breathers... Air breathers... Notochords ... backbones.... Egg layers... Live births... Mousy things... Monkeys and You. Such variety. I must admit you keep me entertained. I play and I learn. Believe me, I learn. But this time I'll be more disciplined. Not like with the 'Venus' people. I'd make them do things...At first little things, like dip grandma in molten lead. I have an hypnotic way with material beings. I plant things in their minds. Like puppets they are... No offense. First twenty five percent of them exposed themselves on town squares. Just like that. They went 'wheee!' The cops didn't know who to grab first. But twenty five percent of them were doing it too. ... Oh, I laughed and laughed, or as much as anyone without a physical diaphragm can laugh. Then (this was a few of their years later) I had them crush the heads of whoever happened to be right next to them. Let me tell you, buses were not the place to be, especially if some nut up front decided to crush the driver. But one time I went too far. I never thought they'd do it, but they did. I said - Everybody swallow a child... They had big mouths... more like the lids on your step-on, stainless steel waste baskets... but with little shark style teeth around the top and the bottom. So they could really do it... and they did... That was the end. Look, I'd fix it so the next day, within one planetary rotation, they'd forget... And they always did. But this time was different. I don't think they remembered all the details. Still, they must have wondered who all the kiddie clothes belonged to and whose pictures were on top of the piano. I don't know. After that they just didn't care. See, the thing is (and I'm talking about entities like myself) we have to remember they're living creatures.... That's why I want to be one too.... A living flesh and blood creature I mean. I've been watching that 'Jonathon.' In truth, I first noticed him after his visit to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn House in London. Never paid attention to vampires before. I don't know why. I just never did. But now I see him as a bridge... a conduit between the physical and whatever it is I am. Maybe vampires are embryonic 'entities?'... Maybe the one they call 'Papa' is just farther along? Perhaps I was a vampire? That must have been billions of years ago. I should have been farther along than this. Maybe I've regressed? Maybe I was not a vampire? Maybe I'm wrong. You see, I question. I probe. I experiment. And I've never come across another such as I. Do you know what that's like? <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ wander through the wonderland... google Vampire Wonderland by Billy Kravitz... but before you click, ad a word... ANY word... then click... see where it takes you... explore. click IMAGINE to join me on Twitter. please leave a COMMENT down below. thank you.
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