We took in three homeless people during the storm. Two, we knew... the lady with the little girl who dumpster dives in the alley behind the corner with the Dunkin Donuts. Jonathon often leaves fat wallets there for her to find. Don't worry. He watches. He knows. She always finds them. The third was a guy who sleeps in the loggia fronting the Main Library on The Parkway.
Edith set them up in the basement. The rooms are finished off... storage... laundry... a little den... a sewing room... a wine room. The sofa in the den opens up, so the lady with the little girl slept there. The guy from the library got a roll out cot in the wine room, which worked out great, because he is a wino. Jonathon opened a bottle of Mosel for him. Edith gave him a nice big tuna hoagie and a pack of TastyKake chocolate cup cakes.. The other two got heaping plates of rigatoni and meatballs from upstairs. Edith does cook for me (Billy) and her, you know. There's also a tiled bath down there. The lady with the little girl went first.... Then the ghost boy, who always haunts down there and the little girl watch kiddie shows on sprout. Jonathon introduced them all, so nobody felt funny, or was scared. The lady said ghosts don't bother her, because all her favorite relatives were dead. She asked the boy if he ever came across her Uncle Scooter, but he said - no. The wino leafed through some gourmet/wine magazines and went to bed.
Doctor Franklin was supposed to come over, but with the blizzard and all he couldn't. He wanted to discuss the 'talking in tongues' children. Said he found a reference to similar occurrence in eighteenth century Denmark and seventeenth century Mexico. The Danish children were called 'the potato boys' since they roamed the potato fields in the moonlight quietly singing hymns in an unknown tongue and no one died during the three months this went on. In Mexico, it was a little girl, grandchild to an Aztec lord. She'd walk up to people in the Zocalo, never make eye contact and recite what sounded like a poem in some mysterious language.... if it was a language. Who could tell?
Vampires, being paranormal beings aren't surprised by all this. Jonathon says such children show up all the time, but usually just one or two. What we have now appears to be the beginning of an epidemic.
He sits in the library reading an old volume of Henry James... The Turn Of The Screw, I believe. Now when I say 'library' I mean the small, cozy, traditional room with the bay window fronting the street. There's a larger more formal space upstairs, but everyone from the little ghost boy on up prefers the one with the bay window. It's like a special cocoon. Jonathon liked Henry James. Few did ghost stories as well. The house was quiet. Sarah and Edith were already upstairs. I am too, only not sleeping because I have to channel this. Jonathon 'sends' it to me. He's not conscious he's doing it. Just lets me feel his thoughts and I type, up in my room, under the dormers, just below where the ghoul, Johnny Jump Up once prowled.... When downstairs, someone knocks on the library door.... a quiet, small sound... Jonathon whispers - Yes?.... The door opens and the little girl enters wearing the long, flannel gown Edith laid out on the sofa bed. Her chin high. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Jonathon didn't say a word. He just watched. The girl moved to the middle of the snug chamber and stood there in the light from a small table lamp (vampires prefer it dim). He knew what was coming. Every molecule in the room seemed to jump. Then she spoke in a low throaty voice. The vampire couldn't understand what she said. At first he thought it might be some dialect from The Caucuses, or Old Persian. But only at first. He picked up a pen lying on the side table and wrote her words phonetically on the last page of his book, till she was done. For a while she remained there, her eyes closed. Then she shook with strong, silent laughter. He blacked out. When he woke she was gone.
The only way he knew it wasn't a dream was by the little piece of blue, flannel fuzz sticking to his pants.
He picked it off, studied it, closed the light and went to bed. The little ghost boy, standing by the foot of the stairs watched him go up.
<more next time>
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I am the disembodied spirit narrator known as Zebulon. Many know me from before. I was a thirteen year old boy stoned to death for consorting with Assyrian witches, or at least they said they were Assyrian witches. Stoning was very rarely used. I guess I was the lucky one.
Now to our tale~~~
Doctor Franklin called our reverent vampire friend. He had Jonathon's special number. Not many did... maybe a few high ranking 'familiars' and people like that. But Doctor Franklin was a special case. They'd known each other since the 1720's, when Franklin established The Junto. Was a vampire rare in a fraternal organization based on mutual assistance and scientific inquiry? Sure, but this was Old Philadelphia and before anything happened anywhere, everything happened here.
Anyway, Doctor Franklin had some information about those 'talking in tongues' children. It seems, unofficially, tests were done and each of them shared a certain set of genetic markers. That's all he said. But he wants to retest Jonathon too. And another thing, incase you're new to all this, Doctor Franklin is not a vampire, or in any way paranormal. He's preserved via regular 'harmonic' treatments and realignments on his Grand Armonica. If you're familiar with the naughty statesman, you'll know he carried out extensive sound wave investigations on various incarnations of 'armonicas' and 'grand armonicas' and all sorts of contraptions..... Some say he tapped into The Heavenly Choir itself. Sound is a very visceral thing.
That's why Glenn Frey's music was so basic to this 'age.' I think the song up above might owe more to Don Henley, but the basic 'vibe' is the same and what can you expect from me, a two thousand year old Judean soul who used to run with Assyrian witches? My 'spirit' head STILL hurts where that first rock hit me.
I'll let you know what happens with Jonathon's genetic retesting and anything else I hear about those 'talking in tongues' kids.
Maybe Jonathon himself, or Doctor Franklin will chime in?
Sound is energy. It can break glass. It can give birth to symphonies. It can hurl curses. It can heal.
If you've ever cradled a purring cat you know that.
<more later>
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now I have to finish watching Henry Gates and FINDING YOUR ROOTS. I LOVE that show.
I mentioned 'prophesy' a few posts back and you saw an inkling of the miraculous when I opened 'the book' (La Ciencia Vampirismo), but now it starts.
'The Voice' never stops. It isn't loud or intrusive. It's just 'there.' Some call it a muse, or a conscience, or a devil, or an angel. If you're not too particular, it can be all those things, but to the true of heart it is always The Voice of God. It is always there, but we don't always listen.
Edith says humanity needs more music lessons. She says that when children all took trumpet, or violin, or piano lessons life was quieter. I said - Were the 1930's and 1940's quieter? People took a lot of music lessons back then.... She makes like she doesn't hear and goes back to her dulcimer. They play dulcimers in The Pines. Banjos are the main thing, but they have parlor guitars and mandolins too. Dulcimers are old. Everybody used to have dulcimers. In the 1600's and 1700's dulcimers were the pianos. Every goodwife had her repertoire... Christmas music... hymns... Old English folk songs. Listen to the video up at the top. They had a nice sound... still do.
A little girl walked into a town in the Golan Heights. Nobody knows her name, or where she came from. She speaks in a language all her own. At first they could not understand her. Then a woman from a university (I don't know which one.)... a linguist, figured it out. Every fourth word was Hebrew. Every fourth word was Arabic. Every fourth word was Aramaic and every fourth word was Farsi. They want to give her one of those cheek swab tests to reveal her genetic make up, but haven't done it yet.
I didn't 'get' this through any vampire ability. I got it on the computer, a little Mideast news feed I subscribe to.... a real small organization... sort of coded too. The name has nothing to do with the region, or the people, or the politics and they change it all the time too. But it's sure an interesting feed. They say the 'Girl Of Four Languages' talks about 'others'..... children from other places. No one knows who they are, or where they're from. They print rumors. They admit it's only hearsay. One story says Putin picked up a similar child, a boy who speaks Old Slavonic and I don't know what else. There's supposed to be a little Tibetan girl and a Bolivian Indian boy who speaks Quechua (Old Incan type language), Spanish and Portuguese. I read about another one in Africa. I read a lot of things.
But all of these things fit with my prediction. I knew. I still know. It's not over. It's just starting..... People are beginning to 'hear.' They're aware. Not everyone, but enough. They know the way we live now has to change. That's why we have all those radical 'fundamentalist' groups. They know it too and they're scared.... 'Brighten The Corner Where You Are' and all that. But when all the corners are brightened, where are they gonna hide?
Baylah says she has dreams in Tuareg now. She still spends most of her time at the Jersey Shore with her rich, mortal gentlemen friend, but we speak. I call her. She calls me.
I study people on the street all the time. I look at the children. Stores are open till nine or ten o'clock. Apparently small children have no set bedtime now. I keep expecting one of them to start talking like that little Golan Heights girl. I keep expecting a lot of things.
The Vampire Revels are coming up. I told you about that 'get together' a fortnight ago. Still don't know if I'll attend. Sarah can do without it. That I know.....
(It's 5AM now. Jonathon closes his laptop and gets up. He knows how to type. Billy still does everything else and he doesn't know that much either.... Our vampire tells Edith he's 'retiring.' She nods, waits for him to leave then clicks on HGTV. Edith loves that network. She turns it down low and watches for maybe thirty minutes, then she goes up too.The den is quiet. The house is quiet, save for the periodic sound of the furnace, or tiny little noises made by the dear little ghost boy in the library. Sarah bought him a new set of Legos, pirates, I think it is. He plays with them on the thick Turkey rug in the small pool of illumination that washes in through the slightly open draperies, from the streetlamp near the corner.
That's how it is... life in the townhouse.....
Now please allow this disembodied, spirit, narrator to say good night, or good morning, whatever the case may be...
<more next time>
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The book known as La Ciencia Vampirismo speaks for itself. The strain now known as 'vampires' has been embedded in humanity since the beginning. Indeed, there is a life-eater saying that goes - I am but a link in the chain going back to the beginning. May no man know its source. Some have seen 'gnome' vampires [here the book refers to Neanderthal vampires] and other varieties of forest folk. The chain is very long..... Since the inception of language, or at least languages that can be deciphered, we have been called 'the demi-angelic host.' In no way were we allied with evil. In no way were we cut off from Divinity. Indeed, our task has always been to combat evil. We stop it and we consume it. As people developed cultures, forming clans and tribes, we became holy men and holy women and shamans. [when La Ciencia Vampirismo was first written and compiled, fourteen recognized 'lines of descent' were still acknowledged]... Existing lines, stemming from illustrious ancient shamans are ~~ 1) Prism 2) Luna 3) HeartsBlood 4) Dacians 5)HollyBough 6) Ursus 7)BaughBaugh 8) Ospreys 9)Vulpines 10) Leonids 11)Serpents 12) Stone 13) Star 14)RamsGate The book goes on detailing rather physical information about the vampire world.... preferred shelters... safe levels of dusk and dawn light..... methods of sublimation.... differences between classic vampires, cherubs, elferinos and imps.... skin shedding among the new born..... preserving mortal lines if possible.... the gathering of 'familiars' to help with various chores. Then it gets interesting.... 'Thought Throwing' [what we might call telepathy].... 'Thought Lifting' [what we might call telekinetics]..... 'Talking to Dieties' [well, that's self-explanatory]... Increasing your inner power.....Interacting with Merfolk.... Lies Alchemists Tell... Undergarments for Unicorns and How To Sniff Out Rancid Ladies... Plus countless other arcane essays and additions..... The last chapter is 'Practical Prophesy.' Most night-folk go right to that one. Knowledge is power, after all. And in case you didn't know, hand copied and illuminated books, especially on vellum, or some other natural skin, develop 'souls' of their own. Jonathon's copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo calls itself 'Cumis.' ... To be truthful. There is no way to tell if this post is due to Cumis, or some other disembodied spirit-narrator. Cumis likes being wrapped in clean, soft, Spanish Merino cloths. Cumis likes quiet libraries, low light and cozy, though not overly warm temperatures. Cumis likes the smell of fine wood and bees wax. Whether these things are beneficial to Cumis is immaterial. Old, vellum books have minds of their own. Next time we'll go into Prophesy. <to be continued> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click SILVERWARE ... to see all episodes of Vampire Wonderland... click GRILLED JUICY STEAKS ... to join me on Twitter... please COMMENT. thank you.
David Bowie lost his physical form. Is he still here? I am Jonathon. I am a vampire. What do you think I'll say? Of course he's here. Flesh and by that I mean offal too, is a very friable thing. Energy is forever. All of you, everyone reading this are already dead... are yet to be born... are young... are old... are experiencing 'existence' at every possible singularity. Time is an illusion. Time is a mathematical conceit. You know that thing we say at the top of every post... Everything is everywhere?.... Well, it is. I see that in 'the book.' I see that in La Ciencia Vampirismo. We do not create new things so much as we (individually) become aware of what is already there. The 'spice rack' is full, but perhaps... just perhaps... there are combinations of flavors yet to be discovered. And maybe there will always be bottles yet to be opened? Eternity is terra incognita and we are in (vampires too) very small boats. I should tell you that 'La Ciencia...' is not a collection of all vampiric knowledge. How could it be? It is merely a collection of compass points... each bit pointing toward a different horizon. Would you like to learn the best possible scenario vampirically speaking? It is that the need for vampires will decrease as humanity spiritually evolves. After eons of contemplation intellects greater than mine agree. We are here to cull the wicked. We are a physical tool wielded by a spiritual hand... 'pinking shears' for Creation meant to snip off errant threads.... Those of you familiar with our tale know that. We parrot it enough. But it's not just a slogan. It's the truth. We get those 'vision' and that's who we kill... 'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog.'.... Needless to say, we're the sheepdogs. What can I tell you in a single episode? All true philosophies come down to one thing... be righteous...... Why is that so hard to understand? And when humanity achieves that state, what will become of us? Will we exist in abeyance, like farm tools in the city?... Will we be mute observers, or do we have an as yet unexplored additional purpose? Will we forever be that point where the spirit meets the flesh? Will new duties appear? Heal the sick.... We do that too. I do it, not every day, but I do it. I give tiny vials of my blood to 'familiars' with sick children and not just children. Those few drops make them well. Those few drops... not enough to make them like us... but enough to make them whole. It always comes back to the same thing... Do what you can, where you can, when you can. It's three o'clock in the morning. The book is closed. I sit in the snug, little library and I 'hear' the city... Not sounds... Not words, or noise... Maybe I feel it. That happens all the time. I get up and sublimate right through the wall. It's cold. I'm on the street. Our narrow, little side street is empty, but I hear traffic nearby. If I continue, if I walk through the city... if I pass through knots of humanity, they'll notice. They'll say - Who is this man without a coat?..... I don't need that, so I sublimate back into the townhouse and bundle up. Comfort counts too, you know. Then I leave through the front door, lest Mrs. Jackson, down the street is out on her step with Pepe, her little dog. She must think we're drug pushers, coming and going at all hours. Sometimes she smiles and waves. I wave back. Sarah waves back. Edith does. Conrad does. We all do. I send her a nice gift every Christmas... 'summer' chocolates on Mothers' Day.... little toys and goodies for Pepe.... Our own Gladys Kravitz (sorry, Billy). I head for a coffee shop. You've seen that Edward Hopper painting, Night Hawks? Wee hour city life takes place in coffee shops. There's a waitress. She sits in a booth far from the window. She holds her cup of tea. She cries. A little child is sick... her child and doctors charge so much money. I give her a vial... For the little girl - I say.... She understands. They always understand. Like they pick it up from me. Then I give her some money. Two 'flats' of one hundred dollar bills... five thousand in each flat.... I say put it away. She stows it in her pocket. The money's not for the doctor. What's in the vial will take care of that. Maybe she'll fix up the apartment a little? Who knows?.... She doesn't get off work till seven in the morning. It'll be light by then and I'll be home, snug in the sleep cabinet with Sarah. Then I dream. I see the little girl as an adult. Does she do great things? Is that all you care about? Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn't. But her line goes on . Maybe a descendant does great things?... And who's to say what's 'great?' Tomorrow night I'll read some more. No part of this book is new to me, but every time I read it I find something. Look, maybe you like illusions? Maybe you like the vampires they write about in paperbacks?... But I thought you'd like to see a bit of the truth... I've shared things like this before. And I've helped some of you out there too Let me bid you adieu. And as night-folk say --- May you never know fear. May you never know pain. And may you hide from death, now and for forever, or until that time when all doubt slips away... Good night.... Jonathon ben Macabi <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click THIS ... to see more episodes of Vampire Wonderland... click THAT ... to join me on Twitter... please comment. thank you.
Jonathon takes the book, puts it on a small desk and gently runs his hands over the ancient, hand tooled surface. Then he quietly closes and locks the door, turns off the little overhead fixture and sits down to read by the focused light of a boudoir sized table lamp. He loves the warm, confines of the space. The library is his favorite room. And La Ciencia Vampirismo is his most treasured volume, a medieval text compiled in Spain during the last days of La Convivencia , that special time when Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together in something approaching harmony.
He whispered a prayer and opened it. Some say he made this copy, or contributed toward its creation. The calligraphy, in Old Castilian, Hebrew and Arabic is quite beautiful and the illuminated border of flowers and vines (with tiny, little black and gold bees) is, after all these centuries, incredibly vivid and alive.
Jonathon likes bees. Nocturnal creatures rarely see them, but he remembers. They had an apiary when he was little.... three hives to be exact, stocked with plump, furry honey-makers from up in Galicia. Gentle creatures they were... an old strain dating back to the Romans. Stings were few and far between. Jonathon brought them flowers. Not that they couldn't find their own, but his blooms, in small clay pots, had a sweet, fresh perfume and lots of thick, amber nectar. Rina, the kitchen girl, said the bees used it to bake tiny cakes for their young ones.... Can they do that? - he asked. For the idea of industrious, insect bakers seemed like magic to him. Rina said that they could and forever after Jonathon believed in the fantastic..... more than believed. He lived it.
Odd, the recollections a vampire has. But La Ciencia Vampirismo is an unusual text and readers often see words that are not there.
Jonathon turned the page (fine, creamy vellum). Where the former sheet had the title surrounded by that famous border, this one featured a large, stylized number one, drawn in a more or less Arabic manner, though at the same time favoring a stylized flamingo. Whether those birds were known in the Iberia of that day is a mystery, but they were in 'La Ciencia...' Beneath the bird-one was a phrase --- Never be defined by thine enemies..... A line, considering the times and the first inkling of organized, inquisitional sentiment and thought, obviously penned by a vampire. Some of you may know that up until The Inquisition, vampires were often seen as tragic, positive creatures. A base, judgmental age changed that, fashioning a more evil and gothic 'Doctor Polidori' take on those beings.
Soon the enchantment would start. Soon the book would work its famous magic. Insights would float up from the page. Jonathon would see things and gain knowledge. His feelings of impending prophesy from a few episodes ago, would be fleshed out and he'd know what was coming.
Sunday nights... late nights, I mean, are very peaceful and special in the townhouse. Edith softly knocked. Jonathon, cognizant of her rhythms said - Come in.... she brought him tea. He rose from the desk and sat down on one of the settees to drink it, lest it spill and ruin the book.
But he looked at the opened tome resting there on the desk in that small pool of light and saw tiny, diaphanous figures rise up from the page and dance about. Some favored Berber mountain girls, others eastern odalisques... a few suggested birds that quickly flew off and disappeared.
That's when he fell asleep and began to dream....
In the beginning, he was a toddler eating honey cakes made with honey from their very own bees and making a sticky mess.....
<more next time>
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Jonathon speaks..... I come from a lyrical time. 'Human' speech had rhythm and cadence. All languages had a 'Shakespearean' quality. In my mind, I equate this graciousness with my youth. Do I still crave that homeland? I suppose, but I could never give up on this place. Philadelphia is mine too. It has a style not often seen in New World cities. Buenos Aires has it. Quebec City, Boston, New Orleans, Charleston. Other places too, I suppose.... Still, have you ever seen the delicate architectural details of Granada? Have you ever attended oud recitals in The Alhambra? Tasted the light, seafood based cuisine of Spain's southern coast, or sailed the moonlit waters of the Baleric Islands? Granted, the food has not been mine since that fateful night in Provence, but the memories are mine, as is so much else. Maybe a trip to the 'Revels' will suffice? There was an announcement. A large, creamy, heavy, ivory envelope came. We get them from the Antiquities Registry, an organization that chronicles and regulates activities in the vampire world. The language, while strictly speaking not coded, is couched in terms unfamiliar to mortal ears. According to that latest epistle, a convocation is to take place this February... Not a full formal event, but a convocation none the less. You've heard us liken them to Bilderberg occasions? Google that. Google the Bilderberg Conference for an example. Well, perhaps I'll go. I like the mountains, though never much of as skier, I can handle myself if I have to. But riding through snowy, starlit, alpine meadows is sublime. Percheron mounts are the best. Just shy of Clydesdales. We pound through the powder. It flies like sugar. If humans, or post-human beings like us, ever want to feel like centaurs, that is it. I'll let you in on the location as soon as I know. They release these things little by little. Most high ranking night-folk can pick up and leave quickly. 'Familiars' run everything anyway. Odd, when you think about it, but we function like preternatural corporations. I don't know who the shareholders are, yet we do have our hangers-on. We do have people who depend on us. I myself give quite substantial sums to various museums throughout the city. If you know our story, I'll bet you can guess which ones they are. Not to mention the work we do with Doctor Franklin and his people at The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Additional details will be provided next time. My beloved ancient hand illuminated copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo has arrived.... And I'd like to retire with that book... Thank you for forgiving the eccentricity of this unusual post... As always, I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. And I appreciate your affection and support.
This is but a coming attraction to tomorrow's post. Could not blog tonight. #FF duties on Twitter and all that. But please, listen to the song and come back tomorrow for the story.
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