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Good morning!! Where is food??

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"we were born alone & we die alone" you delivered yourself during birth? built all the roofs that have ever given you shelter? sown the wheat in your bread?? weaved the clothes on your back??? wrote all the books youve ever read and the music youve ever listened to????? who made the literal bed youre going to die in - you, all alone?

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Lately my dreams have been bloody

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surgeon’s assistant

(originally posted on 19/02/2022)

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by David Baker

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Photographed by Robert Frank

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A Good Jumper

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Elijah was a much brighter person when he was human. As a doctor he was absolutely in his element, able to put his kindness and calmness to good use. Playful, confident and capable under pressure, he was well-liked by most of his peers, and a few of the nurses on his ward certainly had crushes on him.

A bit naive and overconfident, Eli believed in the goodness of most people. He often thought his decent reputation could protect him from any harm. He made friends easily. He trusted easily. He even fell in love quite easily — and broke a couple of hearts as a result. His relationships often ended up short-lived due to his work commitments. Something he regretted.

After the incident with Claudia and his turning, he became much more withdrawn. He felt disconnected from his life, unable to reach out to anyone for help. His ability to trust was shattered — even towards himself and his own judgement. How could he have let something like that happen to him? He had a profound sense of isolation and helplessness. The only one who knew what had happened to him was the one who inflicted it in the first place. Who else would believe it? And even if they did, he couldn't control himself. How could they see him as anything other than the same monster she was?

Over time, Eli lost his natural spark. He was afraid to accept his new existence, and he was afraid to die and lose everything. He persisted with a half-life kind of reality, barely surviving on the required amount of blood and living in isolation at the lighthouse. He was weaker than he should be, and the first year or so was quite hellish to experience, another kind of madness that he only survived through Claudia's help. He felt indebted to her. Yet as a result, he learned the hard way how to control his appetite, even around people.

After many years, the lack of proper feeding took its toll on him. He started to show signs of aging. Ironically, it worked in his favour, helping him blend in with the small fishing village he called home. In the end, Elijah began to settle into his new reality, straddling the line between human and vampire, but not really feeling like he belonged in either world. He became accustomed to his loneliness. He stopped wanting to reach out to anyone, and again, he buried himself in his work.

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Source details and larger version.

Shining in the night: my modest collection of vintage lighthouses.

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Dissection and Surgical Tools (Physician’s Kit)

(Anatomy at MU)

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I hear the psalmic grief Of church bells and gull cries. My polar face Burns above the sea.

Nikolay Klyuev, tr. John Glad, from "Mother Sabbath" in Russian Poetry: The Modern Period, ed. John Glad & Daniel Weissbort

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Misty Mornings in Oxfordshire—November 2015

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Carl Johansson (Swedish, 1863‑1944), Avfärd i gryningen [Departure at Dawn], 1885. Oil on canvas, 50 x 83.5 cm.

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Edit after Gustave Doré (Metropolitan Museum of Art) (Ed. Lic.: CC BY-NC 3.0)

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Something was wrong.

The more time he spent in this man’s presence, the more alarm bells sounded off in Elijah’s mind. Everything about this whole encounter was strange, from the very moment he’d knocked at the door. The way he’d worked his way into Eli’s home, asking questions but never offering anything about himself. The sudden change of tune when they were isolated and alone. . . Somehow, Elijah felt like some kind of blind creature who had walked into a trap set in his own kitchen. But his eyes were beginning to open now.

Every instinct in him was screaming when the ‘visitor’ suddenly stopped moving — he could practically hear the anxiety start to take over their body. He was made to be well-tuned to this response in humans: fear, adrenaline, danger. It set him on edge like nothing else, all of his senses honed onto the one in front of him.

“Of course I do. So why. . . ?” Elijah shook his head, frowning with confusion. None of this made any sense. He turned his narrowed eyes to the other man, growing more suspicious by the moment. When they suddenly moved, his gaze darted down to their hands, unable to see what they were doing but not liking it one bit. Eli was already reeling from the information they had given him of Claudia’s passing, tense at the shift in their demeanor, and yet it seemed like they knew nothing about his situation at all.

What had happened to the enthralled person they had pretended to be mere moments ago? That both Claudia and he were vampires — did they even know? Why were they asking him so many questions, if they had already met her?

Who were they? What was this?

“I’m sorry — no.” Elijah held up his hand, interrupting the questions with a stern tone of voice. His expression had closed, displeasure radiating from him in waves. He liked to think of himself as a patient man, but this was becoming too much for him to handle.

“I don’t know who you are, or how you know about me — but frankly, it’s rude of you to show up at my door unannounced and then start prying into my personal life.”

Ultimately, Elijah didn’t even know if he could believe a single word this person said. For whatever reason, they could have made all of this up just to mess with him, or to get some kind of information. Whatever the cause, he wanted it to stop.

He put distance between himself and the other man as quickly as possible, walking the few steps necessary towards the kitchen door and opening it. Eli turned towards him, his lips set in a politely disapproving line as he held the door for him.

A not-so-subtle gesture: I want you to leave.

“Thank you for helping Mrs Havisham, I’m sure she appreciates it — as do I. But I believe now you have overstayed your welcome.”

Discomfort oozed out of Elijah Reid like puss from an infected wound.

Nezumi's stomach sank with a gross feeling of having invaded someone's personal space. He felt sick, knowing he made unwanted advances despite Elijah's verbal disinterest. The man's body language screamed with it. He was uncomfortable. And Nezumi hated this. He hated how he behaved and how his actions made Elijah feel. He would have much preferred if Elijah was just like every other vampire Nezumi had met — aggression, arrogance and a stake to the heart.

Instead, the man's anxious demeanour made Nezumi halt, frown, and internally question his actions. Was he a vampire, or was he not? Nezumi was certain that he had the right man. Or, at the very least, half-certain.

Suck in this awkward standoff, Nezumi was beginning to doubt everything he knew about vampires and how they conducted themselves. Mainly, he was questioning whether this old man was even one of them. He looked nothing like the young man in the picture, after all. Nezumi merely assumed he was one of them based on his connection to Claudia.

Could it be he was an old flame? Nezumi never did check how old Claudia was. Was it possible that she had a human lover? Could she have known this man before she became a monster?

Nezumi knew he was running out of time. He could only keep his pulse in control for so long, and the chance he was offering himself to a vampire would take a toll on his adrenaline eventually. Even as he stood still when Elijah reached for his chin — ever so carefully and gently as if he hadn't touched another human in decades — and willingly exposed his throat, he could feel his heart gradually quickening.

The contact was impersonal and clinical; it faintly resembled a visit to a doctor's office. An obedient tilt of his chin. Nezumi never let his eyes shift away from Elijah, observing the man with growing wariness, suspicion and confusion.

They stood face to face and locked in concentrated eye contact for a few fervent seconds before Elijah let go and stepped away. Despite the lack of threat in the motion, its suddenness and intensity made Nezumi reach to the back of his belt where, under his leather jacket, he had a silver dagger strapped in a holster. He couldn't risk it any longer. He was done stalling.

Nezumi nearly drew the weapon when Elijah spoke, and from the sincerity in Elijah's voice, Nezumi understood his mistake. He froze, staring at the man with his hand still gripping the dagger behind him.

" . . . What?" he breathed, and then:

"You — you mean that."

Nezumi blinked, stepped back and made a poor attempt at resheathing the dagger.

Presumably, someone who wouldn't expect an armed vampire hunter in their house on this fine evening wouldn't put two and two together, so with that assumption in mind, Nezumi slid the dagger into its place, fixed his jacket and brought his hands where Elijah could see them, one rested awkwardly at Nezumi's hip, while the other pushed a strand of hair from Nezumi's eyes.

Nezumi's shoulders relaxed slightly, perhaps for the first time since he entered the lighthouse, and he nodded to himself.

"Yes, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I," Nezumi frowned and admitted: "I may have found the wrong Elijah Reid." He looked at the man, eyes narrowed, recalculating. "But you do know Claudia — how did you two meet? And when was the last time you saw her?"