Skid Row Diary 32

7   October   2003   Tuesday   Election Day     87

   Kung-yen, the 5th Zen Patriarch, was seeking a successor. He asked his monks to display their insight by writing a verse. The hot favorite for the post wrote:

     The body is like the bodhi tree.
     The mind is like a perfect mirror.
     Be careful to always keep it clean,
     and unobscured by the dust of impurities.

   The master was not over impressed. On reading this verse, and illiterate kitchen worker named Hui-neng asked a friend to write down the following and present it to the master.

     There is no bodhi tree.
     There is no mirror.
     Everything is void,
     What could dust possibly cover?

   Hui-neng became the 6th and last Zen Patriarch      

   Election day here in California. A special election day, to determine if a governor one year in office after reelection, should step aside for a new one.

   Having already voted I slept in until 9:30, or so. I checked in on Giselle, who was adorned in a lovely black dress. At the time that I tuned in, she was dancing with the rest of the crew to a band with some bald guy singing. 

   They dance everyday on this program.

   They’re dancing fools.

   The Today Show no doubt would get higher ratings if Katie Couric, Ann Curry, Gene Shalit, and Al Roker got down with some techno-funk-boogy on a regular basis. I know I'd watch it a lot more.

   As for myself, I’m more into synchronized hip-hop.

   Yesterday I saw Odalys on Primer Impacto (Myrka Dellanos  was taking a well deserved day off) in a story about her getting her new calendario (Spanish for calender) ready for distribution. I’ve been looking for it at the various news stands along Broadway (green hut like structures that can easily be locked up at night), but haven’t seen it yet. 

   I will continue my vigil. 

   It’s important to know what day and month it is.

   I made some scrambled eggs, then kicked back, reading from “The Hellfire Club.” Nora has finally been abducted by the evil Dick Dart, and the pace of the novel has picked up a bit. Wonderfully written. I have the feeling that editors don’t assist Mr. Straub very much.

   Near 1:00 I went out and checked my mail. Nothing in my P.O. Box, but I found a letter from John Manzano waiting for me upon my return to the Weingart. In it he advised that I buy a gun and use it on any one I found the least bit threatening, then run like hell. He said this because he won’t be around here to protect me.

   He sent along his library card, as I had requested. It’s no use to him in Ventura County where he’s living, so I might as well use it. The library computers are mine once again! The Library People had thought they had got rid of me, but nooooo! Ha, ha.

   We shall see. The whole computer reservation system that’s been in place since May is so screwed up I doubt if I’ll use it much. But I can borrow movies on VCR, because I don’t escape reality enough.

   I wrote, listened to Venus Hum, read until 4:00 when I went downstairs to the training room for my Phase III meeting with Dahlia Sanchez.

   For the first time since I’ve lived here, almost 9 months now, and having magically progressed from Phase I to Phase III, today was the first time a meeting was actually held. Three other vets showed up making a total of... that would be four. And Ms Sanchez of course, looking lovely in a brown skirt and blouse, hair tied back into a severe bun.

   I could tell that she wanted me. Men know these things.

   I could tell by her furtive glances in my direction. She even picked me to help set up for the meeting (I was the only one there at the time). I did this by taping four pieces of blank white paper, almost exactly the type of paper I’m writing on right now, to one of the support columns of the room that helped counteract the gravitational forces bearing down on the Weingart building. I did that and sat down. After a while she asked me to repeat the paper taping business onto another colum. How coy. I’ll have to come up with some way to let her down easy. I never mix business with pleasure. 

   When all of us were gathered the meeting commenced. Today’s session concerned community ties, or if you prefer, ties to the community. This, Dahlia explained, was to help each of us in our transitioning back into the community after living at the Weingart for so long. She was very nice and polite, explaining that this information was not meant to undermine what existing knowledge some of us might already possess concerning community relations, but to augment that knowledge hopefully.  

   We discussed the difference between a community and a neighborhood (not much), and identified possible resources within each. 

   Jeeez, it’s not like we were being released after spending 30 in Sing Sing.

   All of that took until 5:00, when the meeting adjourned until next Thursday.

   I went to dinner. Very tasty chile macaroni.

   Later on I taped the first part of Ken Burns “Lewis and Clark,” documentary. I already had the 2nd and last sections.

   At 11:00 I watched the nightly news on channel 4, NBC, and at first thought the recall had been voted down, with Gray (Gray) Davis surviving as Governor, but soon discovered that Arnold had won. 

   Congratulations Arnold. I wish you the best of luck, and hope you discover the job’s not to different than what you thought it would be.

   Another Republican actor as Governor of California. At least he can’t run for President (under current law).

   In the morning I would learn that my candidate, Mary “Mary Carey” Cook, got only about 9,600 votes, far short of what she needed to win. I attribute this to anti-feminism.     

   I’m still with her though, and would like to be behind her 100% in whatever she chooses to do in the future.

   Unlike Arnold, Mary can run for President! In 12 or so years when she’s 35. 

   I’ll wait for you Mary! 

   By God, I will.

   Tired of election news, I switched to PBS and Charlie Rose, who was speaking to Martin Smith, a Frontline producer, talking about an upcoming show about the reasons for being in Iraq which will air Thursday, and which the White House isn’t exactly thrilled about because Frontline will be looking at the matter objectively, unclouded by all of the fake patriot war craziness, evaluating the available evidence, and emphasizing the astounding level of moronity within the administration. 

   As a matter of fact the White House declined to comment on the program, imagine that. I guess they must feel that if they can’t control the medium or the message, as they’re so used to doing, then they better not talk about it at all. Maybe the problem will go away. Or maybe their stoney silence will be seen as a sign of disdain at the impertinence of those who would question their mighty and superior authority.

   Charlie (someday I’d like to see someone interview him on his own show. I’d pay at least a buck fifty to see that) also interviewed the science editor of Time Magazine, Mike somebody, promoting a book about the Big Bang. He stated that the latest evidence put the Bang at approximately 13 billion, 731 million, 456 thousand, 964 years, 8 months,  3 weeks, 4 days, 15 hours, 23 minutes, and 22 seconds ago and counting.

   Talking about SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence), Charlie was amazed to learn that us humans are not currently sending out radio signals to other civilizations, and only listening for them. His amazement was partly due to to the incomplete reason that  Mike supplied to him, stating that we wern’t sending out signals because we didn’t want to announce our presence to possible hostile aliens.

   That is not a serious answer. Besides, we are sending out signals all of the time. Anybody who has seen the movie “Contact,” knows that. Ever since we’ve been broadcasting radio and television we’ve been sending pictures and sound of Hitler, Lucille Ball, Vanna White, Charlie Rose, Mike, up into the great unknown. It’s a little late to be worried about one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eaters.

   And how many purple people are there anyway?

   There are other reasons we don’t send out signals to other star systems (the American astronomer and astrophysicist, Frank Drake actually did send a message (the 4th picture above is a graphic representation of the message, that was written by him with the help of Carl Sagan, and consists of 8 parts: 1. The numbers one (1) to ten (10), 2. The atomic numbers of the elements hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and phosphorus, which make up deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), 3. The formulas for the sugars and bases in the nucleotides of DNA, 4. The number of nucleotides in DNA, and a graphic of the double helix structure of DNA 5. A graphic figure of a human, the dimension (physical height) of an average man, and the human population of Earth, 6. A graphic of the Solar System indicating which of the planets the message is coming from, 7. A graphic of the Arecibo radio telescope and the dimension (the physical diameter) of the transmitting antenna dish, 8. The recipe for Fig Newtons) (wait a second, that’s wrong... forget about the figs. There’s only 7 parts) to  the globular star cluster M13 some 25,000 light years away, on November 16th, 1974. Although it’s not terribly expensive, the pay off would take decades. The Drake signal for instance will take 25,000 years traveling at the speed of light, to reach it’s destination. Okay, let’s say there are aliens there and they happen to pick up our message and return it. Let’s say that will take a month, give or take. Alright, their reply will then take 25,000 years to get back to us, for a total of 50,000 years and 1 month. So we can’t expect a reply from Frank’s signal until the year 51974.008, which is so far in the future it’s like a star date or something. I probably won’t be around then. You either more than likely. I can guarantee you Frank Drake won’t be there. People in 51974.008 might not even remember that we sent the damn thing to begin with. We may have blown ourselves up by that time, or succumbed to some genetically engineered corn induced zombie apocalypse, who knows? I certainly don’t. So, I ask you, what’s the point. 

   Much better to just listen. Listen for civilizations that are probably a tad more advanced, and have a lot of time on their hands. They’re out there. We just haven’t heard from them yet.

   Of course we can listen and send signals... what the hell.     

   But the people eaters might come.

   I dreamt I was in a movie theater with Laura Prepon, the beautiful and talented star from “That 70's Show.” She was holding my hand, and her head was resting on my shoulder. We were watching the chick flick “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Mia Kirshner, the lovely and gifted star of such films as “Mad City,” and “Not Another Teen Movie,” was on my other side, and wanted to hold my other hand, the one that wasn’t attached to Laura. I asked Laura if it was alright, and she nodded yes, so I let Mia take my hand. 

   Later we went bowling at some army base. Go figure.

8   October   Wednesday   Day 88

   I got up late, showered, cleaned up my room knowing the maid would come today. And I wrote, and read from the Straub book.

   After a nice lunch of spicy chicken, served cold, I walked up to the clinic for today’s ASAP meeting. We discussed the lack of dopamine as the root cause of depression. I don’t know if it is the cause of depression, or not, but we discussed it.

   I tested afterwards, then asked for, and received a flu shot, right in my upper right arm. Nurse Kathy herself administered it to me, her being a nurse and all. Now I am properly protected by all sorts of little flu bugs. 

   Ha, ha... I laugh at you little flu bugs.

   I picked up my monthly supply of viagra at the post office. It’s not like they just hand out viagra at the post office, it was mailed to me from the VA pharmacy. 

     Then I went to the library and used Manzano’s card to reserve a computer for tomorrow at 3:00, and to borrow two VCR tapes of “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” and “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.”

   Then I used one of the 15 minute computers to check my E-Mail. I had some time left afterwards, and looked up the Univision website to gather some information, when I suddenly, and without warning, saw an article about Odalys.  It was all in Spanish of course, and I couldn’t understand most of it. English and Spanish are somewhat similar, however, and we do share some words... like “no.” Some words caught my attention, like “accidente,” and “tráfico,” and “Los Angeles.”

   My Odalys... the world’s Odalys, had been in a traffic accident in L.A..?!

   I cursed my decision to take French in junior high school (which I don’t remember anyway!), and not Spanish. Who knew back then that Mexican people would take over the city? Again, I certainly didn’t.

   I couldn’t think straight. I was frightened and confused. I didn’t believe she had sustained serious injury or else the article’s tone would have been much more grave. I switched over to Odalys’ own site to see if there was any news there. She has a specific page dedicated to news, her news, but it was the same stuff that I’d seen the last time I checked months ago. I did me no good whatsoever to know that Odalys had been the first woman on the cover of Men’s Fitness Magazine!

   I felt lost and helpless. L.A.? Why hadn’t she notified me she was coming to town? I would have driven her anywhere she wanted to go.

   Without a license.
   Or car.
   We would have figured out something.

   I returned to my room at the Weingart, and worried for the rest of the evening. 

   I couldn’t eat.

   Tomorrow I would get to the bottom of this, I told myself. If I have to go to the Cuban embassy to find out what was going on, I would.

   I prayed for while in deep meditation. When I was finally able to sleep I had horrible nightmares involving Odalys in a hospital bed, wearing a bikini, broken and mangled, tubes running in and out of her. Medical machine noise in the background.

   The various doctors and nurses moved out of my way, and she opened her lovely dark eyes to look at me. Her beautiful lips moved, and I bent down to hear what she was saying.

   She was barely able to whisper, “Why weren’t you there, Richard?”      She likes to call me Richard.

   A lone tear fell from her left cheek, and I trembled.

9  October   Thursday   Day     89

   I cursed myself for not printing the Univision article. 

   I kicked myself as well, several times in rapid succession, after returning to the library and found out it wasn’t posted any longer. The Google translation machine did not penetrate Univision’s force field of Spanish, and I couldn’t figure out how to use the site’s search function, or to send them an E-Mail. When I finally found the section concerning Odalys, there was nothing on there about the horrendous accident. Just the same old articles about how pretty, sexy, and talented she was. I think.

   I looked for articles in La Opinion, the local Spanish language newspaper, and the Times, the local English language newspaper, and found nothing. Nothing.

   I tried calling Univision, but couldn’t get through.

   My computer locked me out while I was trying to find the Cuban Embassy’s phone number (the library’s new computerized reservation and monitoring system sucks, quite frankly. Near the end of your alloted time slot, if you accidentally get tossed out of one site and need to start over again, the computer will lock you out, stating something like this: “You only have seven minutes left in this session. You do not have enough time to log back on.” 

   Not enough time for whom?!

   Seven minutes is plenty of time for me   

   Once again modern technology is used against the public’s welfare and utilized to ease the burden of the bureaucracy we pay to serve us. A lawsuit seems in order. It’s the only thing they pay attention to.

   I walked outside and asked random people if they had heard anything of Odalys. I called hospitals from L.A. to Palmdale, they told me nothing. I called the police, they blew me off.

   To protect and serve my ass!

   I walked back to the Weingart broken and dejected. Something would come up. I would try again tomorrow. A detective agency perhaps, but one needs money for that I reminded myself. In disasters and emergencies it is not good to be poor. 

   I knew that she was still alive, still with us. I would have felt her absence if she had passed and departed from our world. I was pretty sure that she had friends around that were helping her. Maybe if her injuries were not to severe she was already back in Miami, or wherever she lives.

   Her mother would look after her. She’s very close to her mother.

   I taped the Frontline story on Iraq. Nothing really new here that hasn’t been covered in the print media. 

   We had no reason to invade Iraq. we were lied to, manipulated, and young service personnel and thousands of Iraqi’s have had to pay the price for the Bush administration’s irrational and nonsensical decision to invade with their lives.

   I’m glad Saddam Hussein is gone. There are a lot of national leaders who abuse the power that they have and hurt their own people in order to maintain that power, but is it our job to remove them? With the use of force?

   And what will eventually take his place. How do we know whatever it is will not be worse?

   I went to sleep and dreamt I was back in Odalys’ hospital room. She was moaning, “Where are you, Richard? Where are you?”

   “I’m right here Odalys, at your side. I’m right here.”

   Her lovely eyes fluttered. “Richard?”

   “Yes, it’s me.”

   “Is that you, Richard?”

   “Yes, baby, it is.”

   “Yes,” she said, “It is you. Come here,” she whispered. “Bend down.”

   I lowered my head to hear what she had to say.

   “Closer.”

   I moved a little closer. I could feel her gentle sweat breath across the side of my strong rugged face.

   Like a bolt of lighting her right hand flashed out and slapped me so hard that the visible imprint of her palm would remain imprinted upon me for the remainder of the dream. 

   “Jesus Christ! Why did you do that?!” I yelled.

   Like another bolt of lightening, she reached out with her left hand and slapped the other side of my head.

   “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain,” she admonished, while readying for another roundhouse. I quite wisely moved out of range.

   “Okay, okay. I won’t. Why did you do that?!”

   “Why you always watching that Jackie Guerrido, huh? You don’t even speak Spanish and you watch her weather all day. Why, huh? You just like her big bosoms... that cow!”

   “Now Odalys, that’s not true. I can tell what she’s talking about from all of the numbers and visuals behind her...”

   “Better you stick to Johnny Mountain and Dallas Raines, or listen to the radio, I think. And why you liking this Annette something or other so much?! Well, what are you waiting for? Answer me!”

   “Well I...”

   “Don’t bother. I know why. You think she’s pretty too, don’t you?  What’s the matter with me? Am I not pretty enough for you? I sing to, you know!”

   “Yes, I know... I...”

   “You don’t even have my cee dee, do you?”

   “Well, it’s in Spanish...”

   “Do you, or don’t you, have my cee dee?” She looked at me imperialistically, which is difficult for most people, but not her.

   “Well, not yet.”

   “But you have this Annette’s, no? You have this Sophie’s, no. You even have the Cyndi  Lauper’s! But no Odalys.” She began to sob.

   “Odalys, dear, I’ll get it, I promise. Like I said, it’s in Spanish. I couldn’t understand what you were singing. That’s why I held off.”

   “You don’t need to understand. Just listen to the music behind me. If it is a happy song, the music will be fast. If it’s a sad song, the music will be slow. Simple, no?”

   “Yes, I guess. I told you I would get it.”

   “When?”

   “As soon as I can.”

   “You don’t have my video either. You used to, but you lost it.”

   “I didn’t lose it. I had to give it away...”

   “Ah, so you admit you don’t have it anymore. You don’t love your Odalys anymore, do you? I work very hard, every day, to look pretty for you. Do you think it is easy to look like this? It is not, I can certainly tell you that! Ask my mama...”

   “No, of course it is. I know you work very hard...”

   “But you don’t have my video, my cee dee. You don’t have all my calendarios. You lost the picture I signed for you...” she started to cry again. “You’re not even in my fan club!”

   I tried to console her. “Now, now. I’m not good in fan clubs, but I’ll join. I promise, okay?”

   “You promise?”

   “Yes, I promise. But you have to promise you’ll get better, alright?”

   She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

   “Good.”

   “You won’t forget the cee dee?”

   “No, no. I promised, didn’t I?”

   “Come here. Give me a hug.”

   I hesitated, still feeling the double sting on my face. "You’re not going got hit me again, are you?”

   She smile. “No silly boy. Come to Odalys.”

   She wrapped her lovely arms around my neck and held me tight.

10   October   Friday   Day    90

   I left the building just before 9:00, and took a bus on 5th Street to the downtown Red Line Station at Pershing Square. 

   Tucked safely away in my backpack was a novel written by Dean Koontz, “Winter Moon,” and a bag of pre-popped popcorn, cheddar cheese flavor. At the MacArthur Park Station I leaped off of the subway, ducked into the 99 Cent Store to buy some 3 Musketeers Bars and sodas, before leaping back on the Red Line to Universal Studios, and City Walk. 

   I was at the movies. I wanted to see the lovely and talented Scarlett Johansson’s new film, “Lost in Translation,” but it was not playing in any of the 18 theaters that they have there. This upset me. I ranted. I raved. It did me no good.

   I would have seen Laura Linney’s new film “Mystic River,” but it wasn’t playing either. I ranted. I raved, and so forth.

   I was happy to see that they did a have some movies playing, such as “Intolerable Cruelty,” the new Coen brothers film, and Quentin Tarantino’s “Kill Bill, Volume 1.”

   But I had to wait an hour before they started.

   Accordingly I went to Tommy’s to purchase a nice tray of grease disguised as chile cheese fries, and sat outside in the food court to watch the giant video screen across the courtyard. Music videos are the usual fare, and I was kind of hoping the Venus Hum video of “Soul Sloshing” would be shown (as I looked around for anyone resembling Odalys), but it didn’t play.  
   I had the Koontz book, and my writing pad with me, so I could have read, or wrote, but I did neither. I enjoyed watching the normal people walking around too much to do anything else. You know, the people who had jobs and worked every day. Who had families and friends. Who had sons and daughters, and crazy aunts. Who talked to other people. Who lived in houses, and went on vacations and Saturday trips to Universal Studios and City Walk. The normal people looked like they were having fun on this cool sunny day. Everything was nice.

   At the appropriate time I purchased a ticket for the Coen brothers movie and entered the theater.

   I’m sorry to report that in my opinion “Intolerable Cruelty,” was a complete misfire. Joel and Ethan Coen are one of the most unique, funny, intelligent, surreal, filmmaking teams around, with a long history of great work behind them. “Miller’s Crossing,” “Martin Fink,” “Fargo.” “Oh Brother Where Art Thou?” 

   The difficulty in taking risks is that sometimes what you’re taking a risk on doesn’t work. Such is the fate of  “Intolerable Cruelty.” 

   A great cast, no doubt about it. George Clooney has turned into one of the more versatile actors out there today, and he certainly has screen presence (as do I), and an understated ability to poke fun at himself. I’ve enjoyed his work since the Killer Tomato sequel. Catherine Zeta-Jones is too beautiful to be human, and must be some kind of Academy Award winning Space Vamp. I’ve enjoyed her work since “The Phantom.” One of the best actors working, Geoffrey Rush (“Do we even have a swimming pool?”), and Billy Bob Thorton’s talent were wasted in very minor parts, barely taking up 10 minutes of screen time, if that, for both of them.

   But the main problem with the film was in it’s conception and writing. It concerns divorce lawyers and professional wives, and is about as funny as you would expect considering the subject, which isn’t very. Perhaps Ethan or Joel got burned during a divorce settlement and wanted to make a movie about it (one marriage apiece for each with no divorces)... or maybe not. The subject matter just isn’t that humorous when you get down to it, and none of the actors, with the possible exception of the “husband victims” elicited much sympathy, thus I didn’t care what happened to them. My holy sweet Jesus, at the end the two main characters hired an incredibly stupid hit man to kill each other off.

   Critics liked it though. But you know how they are, with their opinions and stuff.

   I await their next effort.   

   “Kill Bill, Volume 1,” is another story. 

   This bloodbath (literally. At times the red spurts out like a broken fire hydrant), revenge story is nothing new as far as plot goes. I assume Quentin Tarantino has seen a Hong Kong martial arts movie a time or two, and enjoyed them. The problem with this type of movie is you always know how it’s going to end. The bad guys always die, and the good guy always wins, no matter what the odds maybe that he won’t. 

   I’ll bet a dollar that David Carradine (Bill) gets it in Volume 2.

   What sets this film apart from most others is Mr. Tarantino’s style, skill, ability, and vision. As gripping as any Bruce Lee film is (and for a moment I considered the fighting styles and fight scenes in Kill Bill and Lee’s films very similar, but Bruce would have never resorted to using such a cowardly weapon as a sword), as Harrison Ford demonstrated in “Raiders of the Los Arch,” all one needs really is a tiny little gun to rid one’s self of any and all pesky opponents. 

   Still, “Kill Bill, Volume 1,” does make an impression. Like the first Matrix movie, I found myself thinking about it long after I left the theater. I would be interested in buying the sound track album as well.

   Album.

   Michael Parks, of “Then Came Bronson,” fame, is resurrected, playing the same part he did in “From Dusk till Dawn.” 

   And if there’s anything to learn from this movie, one item stands alone. The beautiful and talented Uma Thurman has sure got some big toes.

   You could hang in a tree like a bat all day with those piggies.

   No offense Uma. You know how much I respect your work. And you know what they say about women with big toes...

   Anyway, after I left the theater I returned downtown to the library and used one of their computers to try and find Odalys. No luck yet.

   Back at the Weingart, I cooked up a couple of smoked sausages for dinner, then meditated on them until they digested.

   “Bang bang, he shot me down, Bang bang, I hit the ground, Bang bang, that awful sound, Bang bang, my baby shot me down.”

   The music from Kill Bill kept going through my mind. I don’t know why.

   I would see Ms. Thurman later in the evening on “The Charlie Rose Show.”  Charlie would keep badgering her about strong actresses and Quentin Tarantino. Hey Charlie! If you want to know about Tarantino, get him on the show.

   Actually he was supposed to be on, but canceled, saying he had the flu. 

   Very suspicious.
   Obviously Quentin is not a veteran. 

   Oh yes, “Kill Bill, Volume 2,” comes out in February. 

   I hope filmmakers don’t make a habit of splitting their movies up. I can excuse “The Lord of the Rings,” films because they were based on three novels, but Kill Bill? 

   I can’t stand it when TV shows do it, when I only have to wait a week. 

   I bet that Tarantino doesn’t like it either, so what’s up Quent?

   After Charlie and Uma I watched what I believe to be my favorite movie of all time, Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey.” A timeless masterpiece, which still holds up after 35 years.

   That’s what they mean by timeless I guess.

   After I went to sleep I dreamt I was with the Space Vamps, Catherine Zeta Jones, Mathilda May, the lovely and endowed star of “Lifeforce," and “Toutes Peines Confondues" ("All concurrent sentences"), and Isis Nile, the beautiful and talented star of “Caged Fury,” “Reds,” and many other fine films. 

   In the dream I was an American US Air Force Colonel sent on a joint US/UK mission on the space shuttle Churchill to study Halley's Comet which as luck would have it, was close by enough to study. Me and my co-pilot, Isis, found a 150-mile long alien spaceship hiding in the comet's corona, which looked abandoned. Naturally we got into our space suits to check it out, and found hundreds of dead, shriveled bat-like creatures, and two female humanoid bodies, Catherine and Mathilda, in suspended animation within glass containers. They were wearing yellow jump suits. I don’t know why.

   Isis and I opened up the glass containers and the two ladies woke up, after which they attacked us with long Japanese swords. A mighty battle ensued, with Mathilda over powering Isis in a swift Tameshigiri thrust, instantly turning her into a space vamp like herself, after which all three women attacked.

   They vamped me.

   I remain vamped to this day.