The cold felt good. As of late she had been hot, unbearably hot. Her blood had been boiling under her flesh, coursing her veins at speeds unimaginable. It was his fault, she knew. He was the cause of that fever that burned her. The days of late she felt she had a heart problem.

No, he never spoke to her directly. A friend of a friend, if you will. Hate coursed through the complex system of veins. He reminded her of another who so long ago caused a lifetime of hurts to her. It was their eyes then, very similar. Her hatred was so strong it dared not hide in the depths of her soul. No, instead it wanted to scream and shout out loud what it was. For that reason words were never exchanged between them.

Oh why was her friend so blind to the hostility between them? Why did she insist they all get together, watch movies, eat dinner, and eat ice cream? Each fated meeting made her blood boil. She could take it no more as her flesh began to roast. The fever, she called it. Every time his name escaped from her friend’s lips, every time plans were broken so she could be with him, and when plans were met he was there. Every time anything to do with him came up her flesh heated.

She was on fire.

Then they were alone. A phone call pulled away his lover, her friend. Fingers glided against the rim of the glass, like a figure skater on ice. The silence was quickly growing awkward. He made a noise, her gaze flickered to him. There went that fever again in rare form, stronger than it ever had been. He looked away. Ha, her hatred crushing him. Another minute passed and he made another noise. Another glance, another victory. He blew out heavily, and then with some resolve he spoke.

“You’re always so quiet.” She looked at him then back at the glass. Her finger dove from the rim and into the water inside. The cold felt good. “So it’s me then.” The glass rose and she sipped from it. “What the hell is your problem? I haven‘t done a thing to you.”
She looked at him around the glass. The fire was consuming her. Did her eyes convey the flames that threatened to consume her?

“Bitch.” He muttered. The clang of the glass against the table thundered. A pestilent smile stretched her features.

“If I am…It’s because of no good guys like you.” She spoke.  She stood.  She grabbed her purse.

“You don’t even know me. Didn‘t try to know me.”

“You bring the fever. Enough said.” She walked away. Waving a quick farewell to her friend, now confused by the sudden departure, but dared not follow because he  was deserted at the table.

So there she was. Alone in her bedroom; lying on a cloud of white. The second hand roared in her ear, her eyes focused, but not focused on the light fixture above her bed. Moisture slipped from her eyes drawing wet paths to her ears. One hand on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath. She almost wanted to sob, almost. To wail out the sadness that lay within her but the flames burned them before they could surface.

Words suck. Words of love, words of need, words of desire; all of them quickly turn to words of hatred. Words meant to soothe turn to blades that cut and sear the soul. Words suck. His words hurt the most, especially since she can’t forget them. Like a song set on repeat. Once they end, they start again. “Abort it! Just abort it!” “My wife can’t know!” “I won’t let you ruin my life!” “You’re amazing.” “I need you.” “My wife is out of the picture.” “I love you…”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” She finally screamed grabbing a pillow and covering her head but the words didn’t cease. She pressed her face into it hope to suffocate the words that suffocated her daily.

“Abort it! Just abort it! It would ruin both our lives if it lives.”

Like a fool she listened and ended a life before it could begin. She was a murderer because he and those eyes asked her to, pleaded her to. Like a fool, she listened to those words, he became her favorite singer. He knew all the love songs that would reach her heart. Knew the bridges that would take him to places she’d never let anyone get to before. Once he plundered her secret places over and over making it all feel so good, the fever began.

White flames devoured her.

The thought of that person who had so willingly caught that disease made her sick metaphorically, but armed with the knowledge that she was the one her fed that cold, she was now physically sick.  A blur and she was soon paying homage to the porcelain god once more. Now void physically and spiritually, she lay on the floor.

A broken doll. That’s how she felt with her face pressed into the cold tile of her bathroom floor. Her left hand prickled, alerting her to fact that the blood wasn’t reaching it. Her body was crushing the arm attached. Her gaze fixed on her right hand that sat in the middle of a ceramic square. Her hair splayed behind her. More tears trudged to the floor, congregating in a puddle against her cheek.

They’d all look like him, she knew, for a long time. Each of them bringing the fever in their own way. Bitch they would call her, others would coin the term crazy. Why don’t they ever realize that its good-for-nothing pigs that breed the evil bitches in this world? In any case, that’s how this one was born.

Though I know there are some people who are disappointed because it’s nothing like his older albums it’s still a good album.  Well, I think so at least but I’m a long time fan of his so you’ll have to listen and decide for yourself.  I’m going to warn you not to walk in thinking to expect anything like his old work because you would most likely be disappointed.  If anything the style of the music is more like his last album Eat Me, Drink Me I guess I can say.  It’s very hard for me to explain this new album so just go listen to it!

One thing I think he’s doing is trying out new styles of music to bring in more people because not as many people care for Industrial as others care for let’s say Pop that I know of.  Manson has always been unique with his music; which is one of the things that attracted me to his music and to him as well.  I think that he’s a very intelligent and creative person who has been misunderstood from his appearance, works, and such. From my experience from people I have met who don’t like him are usually small minded individuals who will believe whatever the media like MTV says about another instead of finding out about the person themselves.  Sometime they remind me of mindless drones who need to be told what to think.

Manson and his music have changed dramatically though the years and this is just the newest part of him. So I decided not to write much about this because I just want you to go listen to the album.  The best place I know of to hear his music other than buying the album is on YouTube.  Here’s a list of the songs to look for and time lengths:

Devour – 3:45 mins

Pretty as a ($) – 2:45 mins

Leave a Scar – 3:54 mins

Four Rusted Horses – 5:00 mins

Arma-Godd**n-Motherf**kin-Geddon – 3:39 mins

Blank and White – 4:27 mins

Running to the Edge of the World – 6:25 mins

I Want to Kill You Like They Do in the Movies – 9:00 mins

Wow – 4:55 mins

Wight Spider – 5:32 mins

Unkillable Monster – 3:43 mins

We’re from America – 5:04 mins

I Have to Look Up Just to See Hell – 4:11 mins

Into the Fire – 5:14 mins

15 – 4:20 mins

I personally like/love all of these songs and hope that you can enjoy them as well.

Photo courtesy of Morton Rich

New Jersey poet Susanna Rich roused an array of emotions in her one-woman audience interactive show, Television Daddy, at Ridgewood Library on June 4, 2009.

Ranging from hilarious to heart-wrenching, the poetry from her chapbook is inventive and meticulous – the performance, even more so. Stills from classic television shows, sound clips, and even a hiphop backbeat accompanied Rich in her poetic production. She had viewers “Snap! Snap!” like Morticia in The Thing – a poem that features the ultimate clan of eccentrics, The Addams Family. She also sings snippets of Beatles songs in Imagine – where a young girl fantasizes about the Fab Four whisking her away.

A multiple-attendee who has seen the show on a few occasions, I can suggest that the show never stops affecting you – every performance is like seeing it for the first time. Susanna Rich leaves an imprint on her viewers – attaching tangible, lasting emotions and memories of the poems to the songs and media she implements.

Still revved after a rest stop in Ridgewood, Rich slides behind the wheel for The Drive Home.

Photo courtesy of Morton Rich

It was described by poet BJ Ward as “…opening the front door to a house party. Patti Smith is blasting on the stereo and William Carlos Williams is in the kitchen discussing how fast cars should go with Sharon Olds”. Diane Lockward also stated, “Whether in a Prius, Pontiac, Chevy, or Ford, Susanna Rich skillfully navigates the ‘hard road of life’ … In carefully honed lines and stanzas, she combines humor with utter seriousness and blasphemy with reverance for all things human.”

With multi-faceted themes of cars and driving, Rich once again captures and embraces human experience with raw emotion and honesty. Poet Charlotte Mandel commented, “She [Rich] is fearless in her willingness to engage themes beyond surface comfort – a terrorist’s hands, a daughter’s rebellion, societal cruelties – and the redemption of love.”

In Rich’s own words, “In the tradition of On the Road, My Mother the Car, and Thelma and Louise, The Drive Home puts us in the driver’s seat.  Poem after poem makes the car a faithful companion and symbol for the journey of finding what’s most genuine in life—love, belonging, and laughs along the way. This book is about family, freedom, power, and the poignancy of never being quite at home. ”

The Drive Home is available for presale through Finishing Line Press (http://www.finishinglinepress.com/) – it is well worth reading, whether you’re a poetry connoisseur or just looking to explore the genre - Susanna Rich is a poet that makes her writing accessible to nearly anyone and inspires others to take risks in their own work.

Reviews featured on the chapbook – courtesy of Susanna Rich

Photos courtesy of Morton Rich

Yeah yeah real funny. Today i’m here to talk about one of my many addictions…. Web comics! oh they’re fun, they’re interesting and i have more than 10 i read every week, some of them everyday and they cater to all types.  since i’ll be summarizing them I’ll break up in posts. Here is Post 1. If you don’t read ‘em already READ i tell you!!!

1)Khaos Komix

http://www.khaoskomix.com/home.html
Khaos is gay… says so itself… Lol i love it its one of my favs that touch the sunject of GLBT… There are several characters in Khaos and each has a story that intertwines with another. There’s a gay couple, a lesbian couple a F2M a M2F, and i’m sure more fun stuff on the way.

Pros: Amazing Characters, Cute little romances, the reader sees all sides to the story at hand and some things are planned well you understand little hints later when someone else tells the story.

Cons: It updates only on Mondays! I guess it takes the edge off Mondays. Also everyone’s story ends up with a somewhat sweet ending… i’m waiting for someone to have a true hard time..

Overall: As far as WebComics go… this one i stay glued to.

2) Keeping in the GLBT community  YU+ME

http://rosalarian.com/yume/

I got into this series for the cuteness of the title. Yume is the Japanese word for dream (pronounce You-may) Whereas broken up Yu+Me (You + Me). Well if you couldn’t guess from the Japanese word of it all this one is about the dream of a girl named Fiona who lives a pretty ordinary life as a Catholic school girl. She get bullied, and picked on and talked about to the other students… the typical geek story. Till she meets the love of her life, Lia. So as to not give up too much of the story things get pretty hectic when prom rolls around and thus an amazing story.

Pros: The Art. Int he beginning it’s pretty basic and ordinary, signs of the artist starting out but once the story changes so does her art and it changes continuously then its amaizing.-And Megan is AMAZING with her attention to detail and oh! I’m so jealous I wish i had that ability! -It updates Mon, Wed, and Fri!!! YAY!!!

Cons: I have yet to find any. I mean the story is amazing enough to keep you guessing and wanting more.

Overall: I love it! I showed it to a a guy friend who got pretty interested in it, past the superficiality of “oooh! Lesbians!” GO! Read! Now!

Okay no need to over load you all… have fun read on i’ll be back with 2 more later!

I am the middle of three children. Well we came out together on the same day but I am the middle child. I am completely detached from my two sisters and blend into the background very well. Some people find that a problem, I rather enjoy it. One’s a princess the other’s well… Amity is Amity. But no matter what, I was always the good child. The worst my parents ever had to hear from me is my schooling; well of course those problems didn’t show up until junior high school.
I never really wanted much in my life. I just wanted to live for today, I mean after all tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone so thinking too hard about plans for the future is stupid, its man’s way of trying to defy death. If I make my plans for ten years from now I’ll get there. Funny how people never think that despite all the planning in the world tomorrow you could walk out the door and the paper boy might hit you in the head the wrong way, so you fall and hit your head on a rock. It could be a minor concussion but you’re rushed to the emergency room and some rookie X-ray technician mixed up your file with someone else’s with a head injury so then you find yourself whipped into surgery that isn’t needed and something goes wrong and you flat line it. So much for your ten year plan now!
Oops. Guess I got a little carried away there. But the logic behind it still stands. Strange things happen in life that ruin these ten years from now plans. My thinking like this infuriated my mother. “You get that from your father! Don‘t be like him! A good for nothing!” She would screech before Amity would do something and the attention was off me again.
My father… to this day I never could understand what she saw in that man. He went to work came home grabbed his dinner and sat in front of the TV and that was that. No, wait unless it was Friday then he’d spend his weekend inebriated and if it was football season, a household full of drunken men who would hit on me, once my tits showed up, I mean.
I swear it was like the titty fairy came in the middle of the night and went “Here you go, Amarie. You and your sisters can all have boobs but let’s make yours a bit larger.” So it was no wonder those drunk my father called co workers had things to say to me, but what was worst was my dad made little effort to stop the embarrassing jeering.
Why wasn’t I born a man?
In any case my life was pretty dull. We three girls went to school. Amity joined any sport she could get her hands on; Amanee joined the color guard and me? I went home and got lost in the world of dating Sims, RPG games and Asian dramas, all of the above could be found and downloaded off the internet, if you knew what you were looking for anyway. And when I wasn’t in front of the computer, usually because my mother insisted on unplugging the damn thing when she was sneaking her dime pieces in the house, I harassed Gregory.
Gregory, that fragile boy who lived next door to us. Amanee and Amity were close to him at one point but around the same time the titty fairy visited us they suddenly strayed away from Gregory; and I became a complete stranger to them on school grounds.
Why couldn’t Gregory go to public school too?
“Get out!” The door boomed open.
“Mom!” I looked at my mother, Alice Munoz white by genetics, whore by nature. I wondered idly which of her boyfriends would be coming by today. Lucky for her my father was a drunk who either didn’t notice something was amiss or just didn’t give a flying fuck.
“I don’t care where you go, but get out!” She turned and left just as quickly as she came. With an irritated sigh I shut down my computer, mid drama and exited the house as a red sports car pulled up in front of the house. Reggie today.
Reggie was this super cute black guy my mother met in the store. He was nice looking chocolate man and he knew how to dress. None of that Baby Phat or Sean Jean, or whatever the latest urban wear stuff here. He dressed sharp and on this warm spring day he didn’t disappoint. White was the color of choice, and not that “it was once white, but now it’s sort of cream because of wear and tear.” No this was white, bright pristine white that made the sun reflect off of it and he looked , in a word, ethereal strolling out of that car like he knew he had everyone’s eye on him and yet he pulled off humble really well.
Why couldn’t I be older?
“Hi Reggie!” I smiled at the man, who simply smiled back as if he wasn’t going off to screw my MARRIED mother on the bed she shared with my father.
“Amarie.” He nodded. “Going to see that kid next door again?”
“Yep.”  I could only smile checking him out. He treated me like I was my age, despite the large boobage that sat on my chest.
“You sure he’s not your boyfriend. You’re always there.”
“Greg is a good friend. Not-”
“You’re here already.” I heard my mother holler from the door. Her words were aimed at Reggie, but her tone was aimed at me to skedaddle.
“See you Reggie!” I ran off and Ms. Colleen was in the front yard planting her garden.
“He’s upstairs asleep.” The woman didn’t even have to look at me. She highly disapproved of my mother’s affair but like everyone else, it was none of her business to say anything because it was between her and my father really.
“Thank you. Is Ms. Moore in?”
“She’s out shopping. Go on.” Ms. Colleen looked at me with a smile.
“Thank you.” I entered the house saying and rushed all the way up to the attic of the house. I sighed looking at the closed door and pushed it open. “Gregory, your Aunt said to wake you up!” And then I froze looking at the young man known as Gregory Moore. There he stood his thirteen year old body wrapped in the dress of white. The one we used in our mock up weddings. In truth it still would be much too large for his petit body, but it fit him today another glance and I saw why; a sewing machine sitting on his desk.
“Uhm…” His face grew red and fast.
“Something you want to tell me?”
“Please don’t tell my mother!” His hands came up begging.
“What?” The stairs creaked behind me.
“Close the door!” He hissed and on command I did just that. The silence that followed was deafening as we listened for more footsteps. Nothing. With a sigh of relief Greg slipped out of the dress and hung it back up, shamelessly standing around in his boxers in front of me. “I’m so glad it was you. I would die if my mother saw me.”
“Greg, why were you wearing that dress?” I watched him pack up the sewing machine. He ignored my question altogether. “Greg!”
“I like it! The dress!”
“Are you having a gender identity crisis?” I just had to ask and the look he shot me was priceless.
“What? No!” The sewing machine was placed back in its corner and Greg started to dress. “I am a guy, and I like being a guy. But I like the dress.”
“And you like wearing it?”
“Yes. You won’t tell my mom?”
“Do I tell your mom anything? Every time I’m over she talks about my mom!”
“Who is it this time?”
“Reggie. And he looks good today!” I smiled at Greg who couldn’t yet bring himself to look at me.
“You always think he looks good.” Greg smiled a little.
“Yeah too bad my mother is tainting him with her sinful romances.”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Yeah, everything’s a sin to your mom.” Silence passed and he finally looked at me and we smiled at each other.
That day our friendship strengthened a ten-fold. Unfortunately for Greg the only time he was able to make out of the house with his secret hobby was Halloween. His mother disapproved but since it was in the spirit of the holiday she did little complaining over the fact that her son knew how to walk in heels, and with some moderate skill applied make up, luckily he had me to fix him up nice. Of course when all was said and done I was a little envious about how pretty he turned out.  He was petit where it counted and where he needed padding it was only a matter of stuffing.
In any case it was the two of us. We were so close I wasn’t too surprised about the rumors of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. Part of me never minded it either. TI was much better than the alternative. Being the pretty popular party girl who winds up knocked up before junior year, like Amity.
That was the roughest part of high school. Because of her tomboy attitude she had gotten invited to parties. Being one of the guys brought plenty of expectations and any weakness would cause too much tension between her and her friends. So she tried her best to learn and hold her liquor like any other stupid teenager. And over time she’d started to lose herself. She lost herself and her senses and doesn’t even know what happened. Before long there were harsh, sharp words like rape, and drugs in the air of our household. But there was little to be done, she didn’t even know who had done it.
Amity continued to drink despite the pregnancy. Her hope was to kill the baby. She succeeded. The baby came prematurely before quietly leaving two nights after it was born. Her name was Emille; I named her since Amity had been so against the idea to even look at the gorgeous little girl. My family situation grew worst.
My father gave up drinking, somehow blaming himself for Amity’s alcohol addiction. My mother grew less and less careful with her affairs and somehow my father sill didn’t see his wife for the whore she was. Sometimes I wondered if he was having his own affairs on the side, but he rarely gave himself time for that. He worked and came home. He started to become involved in our lives. He went to competitions when the band had them and Amanee had to go, he kept a closer eye on Amity to keep her from backsliding, he even went so far to occasionally get involved with some of my more favorite dramas.
Did he know about mom’s affairs and ignored them?

HISTORICAL VAMPIRES

Vlad Dracula, also known as Vlad Tepes, was born in the fortress of Sighisoara in Romania at the end of 1431 and later became prince of Wallachia.  The name Dracula came from his father, Vlad Dracul.  The name “Dracul” in Romania means “Dragon.”  “Dracula” means “son of Dracul.”

Vlad became well known for his punishment techniques such as decapitation, skinning, hanging, blinding his victims, strangle, burning, burying people alive, stabbing, hacking them, nailing, roasting them but his favorite technique was for his victims to be impaled on stakes.  These were the punishments for those who didn’t follow his laws.  For someone to be impaled could have ranged from anything between lying, stealing and having committed murder.  This is why he is known as Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler.  He is also known as Kaziglu Bey, the Impaler Prince.  He would dine by his staked victims and would then have their blood poured into a bowel so that he could soak his bread in it and eat it.

There was one incident that the Turkish sultan, Sultan Mehmed II, planned to take over Wallachia.  When he and his forces reached the capital city they found the impaled bodies of around 20,000 Turkish captives lined up and named it “Forest of the Impaled.”

After his wife had committed suicide Vlad fled to Transylvania where he met the king of Hungary, Matthias Corvinus, but was arrested and imprisoned by the king and was sent him to be imprisoned in the Hungarian capital of Visegrad.  He was later assassinated by the end of 1476.

It wasn’t until recently that his tomb was opened and it was discovered that the skull was missing.  There are rumors that the skull was stolen or that the vampire has come back to life.  Now people make “use of the other Romanian word “Dracul” – “Devil” – in order to blacken the prince’s reputation (Vlad).

Elizabeth Bathory, also known as the Blood Countess, was born in Hungry in 1560.  She was married at age fifteen to Count Ferencz Nadasdy, who was ten years older than her.  He would often leave because he had to fight against the Turks so she would be left by herself.

Her life became very boring and would pass the time by admiring her beauty, she’d visit her aunt who was openly bisexual and she also had several lovers, which she ran off with one of her lovers one time.  She soon returned to her husband who forgave her.

It was during this time that she became interested in the occult and would go to a maid; Dorothea Szentes nicknamed Dorka, who was a witch and would teach Elizabeth witchcraft and Black Magic.  Dorka would influence her to give in to her sadistic ways.  She would find any excuse to punish and torture her servant girls.  She would torture her servant girls by stripping them naked and whipping them in the front to see their faces or stick pins in the sensitive parts of the body.

When she was turning forty her appearance was diminishing and she tried to cover up her wrinkles with make-up in vain.   It wasn’t until one day when one of her servant girls was accidentally hurt Elizabeth while brushing her hair that she turned and slapped the girl with the back of her hand.  She had cut the girl with the ring she was wearing and there was blood on her hand.  When she rubbed the blood onto her hand she believed that the blood was restoring her youth and beauty.

Elizabeth started killing her servant girls by draining their blood and would bath and drink their blood.  She found this form of vampirism to make her beautiful and young once again.  She would do so for ten years with her servant girls, neighboring village girls, and lower class noble girls.

On December 30, 1610 Castle Csejthe was raided and Elizabeth and her four accomplices were captured.  Her four accomplices were put to death while Elizabeth was sentenced to be imprisoned in her bedchamber for the rest of her life where she died at age fifty four in 1614.

MYTHOLOGICAL VAMPIRES

There are tales and myths about vampires all over the world that vary greatly according to the culture it would come from.  Each version is different and unique in its own ways but also have their similarities as well.

In Ireland the dearg-dul is a ghost or spirit that drinks blood.  Other names would be derrick-dally and dearg-dulai.  These terms can be translated into “red blood-sucker” or “one who drinks blood” (Vampires).  One tale of the dearg-dul took place at Carrigphouka Castle in 1601.

The name means “the rock of the pouka” – the pouka, or pooka, being a type of demon that terrorized many places in Ireland.  Sometimes, it appeared as a great horse; sometimes, as an eagle; and sometimes, as a feral goat with long, curling horns.  Often it was too terrible to describe.  The rock on which the McCarthy castle stood was supposed to be inhabited by one such being and its malignant character was said to have been reflected in its chief inhabitant. (Vampires)

Cormac Tadhg McCarthy of Carrigphouka Castle became high sheriff of County Cork.  He was said to be a fierce man and was favored by the English.  At that time the English were trying to control the land around Cork.  He would hunt down the rebels who were against the English.

A rebel named James Fitzgerald “rallied a substantial band of disaffected Irish lords” (Vampires).  McCarthy invited Fitzgerald to a banquet in his castle to supposedly make peace.  It was there that he deceived Fitzgerald, poisoned, and killed him.  Being unsatisfied with just killing him McCarthy wanted to show his loyalty by cooking, eating, and drinking the blood of Fitzgerald in front of his masters.  The McCarthy clan tried to excuse his horrible act by saying that he was possessed by the pouka that lived in the rock.  It’s said that the body of McCarthy would rise and attack anyone that would pass by to drink their blood.

In recent articles like the Ireland’s Eye screams can be heard coming from the castle and fresh, splattered blood would be found in the gateway.

The penanggal or penanaggalan in Malaysia is a head with dried blood around the mouth.  It would have entails hanging off and a beating heart floating in the air searching for victims while screaming loudly to make its presence known.

“It was usually the head of a woman who had died in childbirth, a time when it was believed that many women were susceptible to sorcery” (Vampires).  The head could have also been controlled by another spirit or a sorcerer.  The penanggal would attack small children and pregnant women supposedly out of spite or jealousy or even under the orders of an evil magician.   It would even attack children that were not even born yet or have just been born draining them of their blood leaving nothing more than a dried corpse.

It’s thought that the penanggal would return to the rest of its body and rest until the next time it would have to feed.

In the Philippines the aswang is a vampire witch that is most commonly a woman that usually attack men and small children and drinks the blood or vital bodily fluids of its victims.  The aswang can take any form it wishes while searching for a victim.  It would search for someone ill or asleep so that they are unable to defend themselves.

From its beak, a long tongue emerges, hollow in the center and extremely sharp at the tip, which it lowers into the room where the individual is lying.  Then the creature begins to draw up blood, semen, or sweat through its tongue, which then it drinks.  Many aswang are extremely fond of human blood, which they draw from a spot on the base of the neck, the upper arm, or the ankle. (Vampires)

As the aswang drinks the blood its breasts and stomach swell so any woman that had large breast or stomach was suspected to be an aswang.  When the aswang would be filled with blood it would fly back home in human form, still remaining swollen, and feed the blood to her children.

The aswang could have also been the spirit of someone who either violently died or died in childbirth.  “In this case, it is a scaly monster, which resembles a flying dragon with long proboscis, like an anteater has” (Vampires).  This form of the aswang generally feeds the same way as the vampire witch.  It would only come out after dark and sit on the roof where small children or elders would live searching for cracks to fit its tongue through and drink the blood of its sleeping victims.

El Chupacabra in Puerto Rico and Mexico is widely known as the goat-sucker.  In vampirology it is unclear how to place el chupacabra.   Some have suggested that it is an unidentified marsupial and belongs in crytozoology.  There are even suggestions that it’s extraterrestrial.

There have been photos in recent years of the true form of the creature but all are up for question or have been thought to be fakes.  There are numerous descriptions of the creature from being three to five feet tall,  dark grayish skin, being little men, having canine-like features, sharp teeth with fangs, fur being able to change color, three fingered claws, spikes running down its spine, and much more.

There’s a legend in Arizona that in April of 1540 that the governor of New Galicia led an expedition looking for the city of gold into unknown territory that would later become Arizona and New Mexico.  During the night his livestock was attacked and his men described the attacker being “small, dark, horny-skinned men – with torches and spears” (Vampires).  In the morning much of his herd was dead and drained of blood.  He heard tales of such creatures in the Zuni Indian pueblo in Western New Mexico but he wasn’t interested in such tales.  He returned to Mexico City in 1541 after searching for the city of gold in vain and losing many of his men from either disease or Indians.  It’s not until 400 years later and miles away that the mystery of these creatures would rise again.

During the hot summer of 1975, several farm animals in the Puerto Rican mountains were found dead and completely drained of blood.  For a long time – nearly 100 years – there had been tales of queer little men who lived somewhere deep in the hills and who subsisted on blood – mainly the blood of goats kept by mountain farmers.  For this reason, the creatures were known as el chupacabra, “goat-suckers,” although it was unclear whether they were actually another species of man or some previously unknown form of animal.  The animals found in 1975 had small puncture marks on their necks, and there seemed to be little doubt in the local community that this was the work of el chupacabra. (Vampires)

FICTIONAL

Bram Stoker wrote the unforgettable novel Dracula. Stoker wrote this story broken up into a series of letters about the events that were taking place with all of the different characters who are all connected to the malicious vampire Count Dracula.  Stoker was inspired to use the name by the Romanian prince Vlad Dracula.

We do not know exactly why Bram Stoker chose this fifteenth century Romanian prince a model for his fictional character.  Some scholars have proposed that Stoker had a friendly relationship with a Hungarian professor from the University of Budapest, Arminius Vambery (Hermann Vamberger), and it is likely that this man gave Stoker some information about Vlad Tepes Dracula.  Moreover, the fact that Dr. Abraham Van Helsing mentions his “friend Arminius” in the 1897 novel as the source of his knowledge on Vlad seems to support this hypothesis. (Vlad)

Anne Rice has written many vampire stories such as Interview with the Vampire and Queen of the Damned. She takes the previous ideas of the vampire and turns it into a misunderstood creature that is both monstrous and romantic.  There is even suggested homosexuality in some of her works such as in Interview with a Vampire.

100 Vicious Little Vampire Stories is a series of a variety of different vampire short stories.  It’s a book of imaginative ideas from the classical idea of the vampire to a vampire baby who feeds off of his wet-nurse to a vampire having many mouths who lures in his victims by using these mouths to sing like a choir and much more.  This book is just one example of the many fictional ideas of the vampire.

Vampire Knight is a manga about a school separated into two classes, the Day Class and the Night Class.  It’s unknown to the Day Class that the Night Class is consisted completely of vampires.  Only the head-master and the two perfects know the secret of the Night Class.  There’s a history between the two perfects, who watch over the two classes and protect the humans from the vampires, and the head vampire in the school which ends up forming a love triangle between the three of them.  The idea of the school is to slowly introduce vampires to the human world.  They do this by first teaching the vampires to control their temptation of the humans so easily being in reach.  Secondly is for the humans to build an understanding of the vampires.

THEATRICAL

Dracula staring Bela Lugosi is based off of the famous vampire novel by Bram Stoker.  This well-known black and white movie gave the classical look for a vampire in our time.  Dracula has the classic cape, pale face, black suit, slicked-back hair and fangs.  In the movie Dracula is thought to be very inhuman for his lust of human blood and for being a soulless monster of the night.

Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a later, colored version of Bram Stoker’s novel.  The movie differs from the novel by showing that Dracula has a more humanlike quality for wanting to love and to be loved by another.  In the movie, Dracula and Nina have a more romantic and sexual relationship than in either the novel or the black and white Dracula movie.

Interview with the Vampire is based off a vampire novel by Anne Rice of two vampires who show a different side to vampires by the one vampire, Louis, telling the story himself.  It is about Louis being interviewed by a human unknowing at first that he’s a vampire until he startles the man by demonstrating his power to move faster than he could see and starts telling his story.  This movie is about the hardships, regrets and pains that he had to go through since he was turned by the other vampire, Lestat, till the present day when he ran into the human interviewing him.

Hellsing is an anime based off of a manga about an organization set out to hunt and kill vampires and ghouls that go out killing humans.  The Hellsing Organization is very successful by the Hellsing family weapon, another vampire.  They don’t use just any vampire but Alucard who is later revealed to be Vlad Tepes. Also the name Alucard is Dracula spelt backwards.

HOW VAMPIRES INFLUENCE LIFE TODAY

No longer is the vampire thought to only be a mythological creature of the night that preys on lonely victims.  It’s not just fangs, a cape, and a pale face to wear on Halloween to chase other children saying “I’m going to suck your blood!  Blah blah!”  It’s no longer only something that people would read or watch on television for entertainment or the thrill of being scared.  People today take on the life-style of the vampire with what they wear, dye their hair, get fake fangs, some only go out at night, and more.  These people take on the name of the vampire.  However, there are people who take it to another level that goes beyond just by what they’re wearing or just going out at night.  These people are modern day vampyers.  The “i” in the word vampire is replaced with a “y” to differ themselves from fictional vampires believing to be the real thing.

These people have other needs that they need to fulfill in order to survive unlike regular humans.  They have this hunger or lack of energy that they need to satisfy in order to be healthy because for some reason they are unable to create enough energy of their own.  If they don’t then they can become very tired, irritable, and even sick.  In order to satisfy their needs sanguinarian vampyres can drink blood, whether from a human donor or animal blood from a butcher for example, which a mouth full could last them from a few days to a few weeks even.  People such as Don Henrie and Lady CG practice blood-letting.  If for whatever reason they choose not to drink blood there are alternatives.  “Fresh fruits/veggies, a pinch of salt on the tongue, an ice cube melted in the mouth, ice cream, strawberry and chocolate milkshakes, chocolate milk, whey protein isolate, Gatorade, raw eggs, suck on a penny, blood wine, fresh pineapple, red wine, chocolate (especially dark), yogurt” and vitamins are just a few alternatives that sanguinarian vampyres can take other than just blood (Practical).

Psychic vampyres are people who take the energy of others that is commonly known as chi.  People such as Michelle Belnager practice this form of vampyrism.  Psychic vampyres get their energy from a variety of sources such as from humans, trees, plants, animals, electrical sources and such.  They do a form of meditation in which they concentrate on the source they choose and draw the energy from the source into them.  Sometimes they unconsciously do this which can be dangerous because the amount of energy that is taken can’t be controlled.  People have passed out from a psychic vampyre drawing too much of their energy out of them.

However, there is a darker side to vampirism even today.  Some people claim to be real live vampires or carry the traits of the vampire in order to kill people for the blood of their victims, just for the sake of killing and use vampirism as an insanity case, or for their blood lust.  These people are either mentally insane by believing that they are vampires and have to kill or just abuse the name of the vampire.

In the 1920s a man named Peter Kurten snuck into a room of an inn where he found the inn keeper’s ten year old girl, Christine Klein, sleeping in her bed.  He entered Christine’s room and killed her by choking her until she was unconscious, slit her throat and then “penetrated her genitals with his fingers” (Peter).

I had a small bit sharp pocket knife with me and I held the child’s head and cut her throat.  I heard the blood spurt and drip on the mat beside the bed.  It spurted in an arch, right over my hands.  The whole thing lasted about three minutes.  Then I went locked the door again and went back home to Dusseldorf. (Peter)

This is just one example of the Vampire of Dusseldorf.

Rod Ferrell formed and was the leader of a vampire cult in the 1990s.  “On February 12, 1998, seventeen-year-old Rod Ferrel pled guilty to killing a Eustis, Florida couple with a crowbar” (Rod).  Rod Ferrel would find other teenagers who were lonely and outcasts to join his group so that they would feel accepted by crossing them over to the vampire life and to use them for his sinister plans.

There are what seem to be countless different forms and versions of vampires.  I have given examples of Historical, Mythological, Fictional, Theatrical, and Modern Day Vampires.  However, what I have mentioned is only a brief explanation of the information out there about vampires and vampyres.  All over the world there are different forms and ideas about vampires.  They are not limited to what is so commonly thought of what makes a vampire.  The one thing that they all have in common is their need for blood and energy.  Vampires are commonly known to be the undead and that blood is the essence of life.  With this being said vampires crave and need life.

CG, Lady. “Practical Vampyrism for Modern Vampyers.” 2005.

Curran, Bob.  “Vampires: A Field Guide to the Creatures that Stalk the Night.”

The Career Press, Inc. 2005

Gilks, James. “ Rod Ferrel Bio in the Serial Killer Calender.”             <http://www.serialkillercalendar.com/RODFERREL.HTML>.

Leblanc, Benjamin. “Vlad Dracula: An Intriguing Figure in the Fifteenth

Century.” <http://members.aol.com/johnfranc/drac05.htm>.

We would walk down a half block and cross the carnival grounds. Then we’d walk down the left road of the Rahway River Parkway. She originally took me to where a log sat, rotting, in a small clearing; but when I was older, she showed me a hidden path – one that reminds me of “The Road Not Taken”.

Both ways lead to Red Hill; named so because the dirt hill is red. She told me the dirt was used by Native Americans to make pottery years and years ago.

As she took my hand and helped me down the slope, she told me about how she and her friends played Robin Hood when she was little – they’d take their bows and arrows down to the woods every day and play there.

When my friends and I reached the age of 12 or 13, the backyards weren’t always exciting every day. I’d walk to my friend’s house across town on some summer afternoons. We’d run down to “the falls” near her house or get her cousin and visit Red Hill. We’d tramp through the streams, shrieking and laughing at the feel of the cold water on our feet and ankles.

 This past weekend, I revisited – longing for a cold breeze, the rippling stream, and the stained glass of sunlight hitting the green trees. As I walked slowly, with silent footsteps, it all came flooding back to me in a slideshow of images – my eyes teared with longing for those memories; days when we “dwelled in possibility”; where nothing was off limits or impossible. I remembered our ankles buckling from the strength of the currents near “the falls” – my friend and I soaking wet and cackling with laughter. I remembered grabbing long fallen branches to use for walking sticks and marching down dirt paths, fancying ourselves wilderness explorers.

I remembered trekking down the creek at Red Hill to where it began – at “the pipes” (legend being they were a haven for Satan worshippers and the insane). The clicks of the camera felt like snapshotting through an entire childhood – a mother pointing out autumn leaves and acorns to her toddler; a schoolgirl taught the beauty and music of nature by her parent; an adolescent still able to see a world of “yes” in a stark reality of maybe’s and broken promises….

 …and a woman revisiting Red Hill, remembering that sense of possibility that it always embodied.

As the Galactic approaches Grensroo, an uninhabited, savage jungle planet that intel reports to be Revol’s current lair, Adelard Graham is contacted via stellar radio transmiter by Guy Fischer, the current Chancellor for the Intergalactic Republic.

“Greetings, Captain Graham,” the Chancellor says with a stern voice, “how goes the mission?”

“Ah, Chancellor Fischer! Perfect timing! We’re currently nearing our destination, Planet Grensroo” says Adelard, almost excitedly.

“Stupendous! Now, remember, Captain, we need Revol captured this time. Allowing that fiend to escape is not an option, as every day he’s loose in the universe is another day we’re all in peril” responds Chancellor Fischer.

“Understood, Chancellor. Graham out.” says Adelard, ending the transmission.

Graham readies his trusty weapon, a custom laser pistol given to him by his father, Crespin Graham, who was also a famed intergalactic hero. Crespin was the former Captain of the Galactic, and was a brave hero who, in his day, had arrested many villains and saved the universe countless times. Crespin Graham would eventually meet his match when an assassin would attempt to eliminate a powerful Senator. Crespin jumped in front of his gun’s laser beam, sacrificing himself to save the Senator, all as a young Adelard watched on, horrified. The murderous hellion escaped, never to be captured, and Adelard Graham knew the reason was because a warrior like his father was needed to ensure that such criminals were hunted down and brought to justice. He would spend his life actively trying to be like his heroic father, hoping that he could pick up where he had left off. In doing so, Adelard would become an intergalactic hero himself, saving the universe many times and defeating powerful villains time and time again.

“We’re enterring Grensroo’s atmosphere, Captain” says Chi, in his standard, monotone voice.

“Excellent, Chi!” responds Adelard, with sheer glee in his voice. He’s ready and eager to bring down Revol, who has escaped him a handful of times before.

Just as the Galactic enters the planet’s atmosphere, one of the ship’s four ion engine’s is hit by a missile, likely an attempt by Revol to eliminate his nemesis. As the engine explodes and the ship spirals downward, a crash seems imminent. Is this the end of our heroes? Has evil triumphed over good and righteousness? Come back next week, as the adventures of Adelard Graham, the Fantastic Commando (hopefully) continue.

I come from a strict religious family. My school years were spent at home in home schooling, mostly because I was a sickly baby and my mother was too afraid to let me out in the world of germs. I barely remember my father, he left when I was about seven. “You spend more time worrying about that boy than your husband! He’s a child; they get sick and make out fine.” That was his main argument. Usually that started a chain of other stupid arguments. Then one day, he left. My mother then moved in with my Aunt, but not my real aunt, Coleen. Coleen was a self proclaimed asexual being of the earth, or as my grandmother called her, an old spinster.
My Aunt Coleen didn’t live in the present day, she was stuck somewhere in the 80’s with her big hair and neon clothing determined not to fall in to that 90‘s grunge, but I liked her all the same. It was because of her I was able to play outside with my very first friends: Amity, Amanee, and Amarie; the triplets from next door.
I remember the three walked in looking sour-faced at having been dragged to the monthly book club my Aunt had been part of. That month it had been held at our house, two weeks after my mother and I moved in. Mrs. Munoz, their mother, insisted that she couldn’t find a sitter and didn’t trust the girls alone for five minutes alone, never mind her husband was home at that time.
“What luck!” I remember my aunt exclaiming ushering the woman with the bad dye job to the living room. “My sister and her husband split and she’s come to live with me. She brought her son along, which would be fine, but he’s such a shy antisocial child, I’m sure your girls could pull him out of his shell.
“They’ll torture that poor boy.” Mrs. Munoz threw a warning glance at the three girls.
“It’s okay!” Coleen screeched then looked at me, who had been watching the exchange from the stairs.  “Greggy, come here!” She ushered me down. I made my way down the stairs without having to be asked a second time. From there typical introductions were made. “Gregory this is Mrs. Munoz from next door and these are her daughters, blah blah blah.”
The three girls each with distinct differences about them, perhaps to make sure no one confused one for the other. Amity was the tough one, her messy hair and torn dirty pants the giveaway. Amanee was the complete opposite of Amity; it amazes me to this day that even her white socks always stayed so clean. There there’s Amarie was Amarie. She was kind of like that nerd in school, with the glasses always with a book and everyone assumes knows everything and gets straight A’s but she really gets B’s if she’s lucky and C’s simply because she doesn’t apply herself enough to care about school.
“Hello, I‘m Gregory.” I said politely and extended my hand to the orange haired woman, then to her girls.
“They’ll eat that poor boy alive.” Mrs. Munoz whispered, none too quietly.
“Take the girls up to your room; I’m sure you all can find something to do in the meantime.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Ladies.” Three different reactions appropriate to the personalities met; a scoff, a giggle, and a soft sigh of boredom and off we four went.
“He’s so sweet.” Mrs. Munoz smiled. “Amity, don’t kill him!”
“I’m sorry, if I’m boring.” I apologized opening the door to my attic room. I still don’t know why I said such a stupid thing.
My room was cleaned for the most part thanks to my mother. Upon realizing my room would be up there my mother protested. My Aunt stuck to her guns about boys needing some exposure to germs, drafts and illnesses to grow strong, especially me. My mother eventually caved with a weary sigh and armed herself with every cleaning product possible and rubber gloves declared war on the unsuspecting dust bunnies.
“Can’t be more boring than that book club.” Amity fussed entering the room. They got up and looked around. Amanee smiled and sat on my made up bed.
“It smells good in here.” She kicked her feet a little bit.
“It does.” Amarie walked the room and noticed the wardrobe on the other side of the room.
“That’s not mine, yet.” I called out hastily. “Aunt Coleen said she keeps her theater clothes in it. When she cleans it out, I can put my stuff in there.”
“Its okay, I only want to take a look.” The spectacled girl opened it anyway and stuff tumbled down on her. When she sat up pushing some shiny material off of her then she grinned. “I’m okay.” Her sisters laughed as she readjusted the metal glasses and went to help her pick up. In mid cleanup, Amanee smiled and held up a pink and black dress.
“Don’t I look beautiful?”  She twirled with it.
“Put it on!” Amarie finally was on her feet and busy pulling on a red satin dress over her head.
“Should I?” Amanee looked at her sister now twirling about in the oversized red dress before pulling the pink and black dress over her own head.
“Do you have a mirror?” Amarie looked at me.
“Um.” I turned and looked around, used to watching kids play rather than being included. “Hang on.” I remember rushing to a back corner and finding a large mirror and dragged it forward.
“How do I look?” Amity had found a top hat and false mustache and put them on.
“Kind, Sir.” Amanee lifted the sides of her dress and curtsied.
“Madame!” Amity took her hat off and bowed appropriately. “Shall we dance?”
“My pleasure!” Amanee giggled.
“Not without your jacket, Sir!” I held up the black coat and Amity slipped her arms into it.
“Thank you kind, Sir! Now, my lady we shall dance.” Amity grabbed her sister and the two danced around the room.
“Will you dance with me?”
“Okay.” I grabbed her hand and we danced too bumping into the other girls laughed and danced some more. For the first time remembering, I was happy in my world full of females.
That’s how our friendship remained. Three girls and one boy, but I was home schooled so I was spared the teasing that could come with such things. As I said, they lived next door so we played as much as possible like kids do. There was rough playing that included baseball, soccer and basketball. And there was gentle play that included house, dress up and more. Most of the time we spent outside, but if the weather ever got too back we were upstairs in my room with that trunk of theater clothing. My coddling mother was miserable, always trying to hold close the little boy that was always ill and Colleen proceeded to run interference on my behalf. But none of that is what my story is about. My story is about a boy who found himself with a peculiar interest that carried over from childhood into adulthood.
“Let’s do a wedding!” Amanee beamed one stormy day.
“I don’t want to be the bride!” Amity sat up.
“I don’t either.” Amarie sighed.
“I’m going to be the priest! Someone has to be the bride!” Amanee stamped her foot her brown curled hair bounced slightly.
“Girls normally want to be the bride.” I sighed in that weary way I’ve seen my mother do a million times over.
“I don’t!”
“I don’t like with Amanee is the priest, she gets bossy.”
“It’s because you don’t do it right!” Amanee glared at her sister.
“Greg, you be the bride!” Amity said suddenly.
“What?”
“Greg can’t be the bride! He’s a boy, boys can’t be brides!”
“Yes they can!”
“No they can’t, Amity.”
“Yes, they can, Amanee!”
“No, they can’t!”
“Yes, they can!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes times infinite!”
“No times infinite, times infinite!”
“In my world they can, Amanee, and mom says you can’t change what’s in my world so there!” Amity stuck out her tongue. Amanee just growled at her in that stupid way kids do and stomped off.
“You’re going to be the bride, Greg!” Amity said rushing to the closet and picked out a white dress, much too scandalous for a bride’s gown, but a dress that made a huge impact on my way of life from that day forward. That day, in my little room wearing this white dress, Lady Mari Lynn was born. Only, I didn’t know her all that well at that time.