The Dark Is The Light

“Out of darkness, we bring the light. We let you see with your own eyes. You be the judge.” It was a note. Scratched in flawless Spenserian script across my bathroom mirror. My $1,400 Scarletta compound beveled mirror. WTF.

 Vampires love to fuck with you. Especially VWAs. Vampires Wit Attitudes. But I digress. Let me start in the beginning.

I live in a loft building in Downtown LA. The Bank District to be exact. This is a neighborhood where the coolest people buy loft hideouts were they can be themselves without anybody giving a shit.

A recent issue of NewAngeles stated, “Despite what you might hear from loft sales agents and City Hall, the old, derelict downtown still exists. Sure there are a few people with purebred poodles, plasma TVs and seven-figure bank accounts…but the other downtown isn’t going anywhere.”

 The dark. The light. Vibrant windows of light, gradually giving way to shadows in the darkness. In this world the Hackers and other pixel crushers hunch over the endless glow cones of their 30” monitors.  This is the world where International Banking Cartels zip billions of whatev you got in exchange for whatev you want. The purple Mohawk sipping the double non-fat soy latte is taking a break from hard-ball currency trading in the Amsterdam Bourse. Web traders don’t have a dress code. The chartreuse face mask  at the next table is in acrylic sheets and rods tycoon.

This is the kind of place a face mask would not get a second glance.

Tonight is the last Art Walk of 2008 in the Old Bank District. Tonight Vampires may float among us. Tonight, anything goes.

“I need this.”

I thought I heard him say. In a voice that was more of a breath. He was referring to the disc I gave him. That’s all I can remember about our first meeting. The shadow they call “OB.” The Original Bankster. A 10 year vet buck sniffer for the IRS. He got benched for calling the Tax Code “The White Man’s Burdon,”  in a sting on “60 Minutes.”

 I asked him how he took being chained to his desk after a decade traveling the world. “Like a rock.” he whispered slightly.

 “Enjoy the show,” one of the others whispered mockingly. A signal my time with them had come to an end. But I had their story in the shiny black thumb drive one of them slipped into my palm. Some times you just have to let the moment go.

 But 13 of them rising in “V” formation from the roof of your loft building. That’s not something you’re so quick to forget. I focused on the shinny black thumb drive.  My hands were shaking something awful. I finally found the USB port and slipped it in. Whoa!

I don’t know how long I sat in my pitch black loft with the downtown LA skyline silhouetted in the old time over-sized window panes. But I was staring into the blue light of the iMac when the first light of dawn bounced off the glass tower three blocks West and blinded me out of my stupor.

 Vampire agents for the IRS. Shades that fancy themselves the “Vampire Banksters.” An undead streetgang in suits, ties and wings. Really creepy wings. It was too much for a muggle like me to take in one night. And certainly too much to burden you with at a single sitting.

 More tomorrow night.

What Do They Want?

What do they want, indeed? They want revenge.

Those who took away our jobs, our lovers, our lattes, our fortunes, our lives.

They want the greedy to know what it means to live in fear.

The greedy no longer live in in the day, for fear of being exposed.

Relentlessly stalked from above every night.
Vampire Banksters feeding off the blood of the bloodsuckers.

They feed on the Data of the greedy ones. Data is the blood of the greedy.
Nothing is secure from the minds that never forget.
Or the beauty that never fades.

Their vengence is best served at body temp.

Economic Recovery, Or Else.