Those days at the beach are drawing to a close. The long afternoons and brief nights are ebbing. The air is turning colder, and good breather children everywhere are being forced out of summer break to once again attend class.

The Fall is coming.

Someone once told me a vampire’s existence is better measured in seasons than years. Years are temporary. Seasons are eternal. They are markers, each representing a perspective, a unique point of view on the passing years, far beyond the space of time that houses them. The same can be said of vampires. A number on a calendar means nothing to us. A single year little different than a single day. But over a long enough span, patterns do emerge. We change and evolve, shifting from one period of our lives to another, with changes as stark as the frozen winter to the warm summer nights.

Enough stalling.

I’m leaving Bloodcopy indefinitely, starting tonight. Another site has been gracious enough to house it in the meantime, so you can still access any part of Bloodcopy on the HBO web site. (www.hbo.com/trueblood)

There are a number of reasons for my departure, though I suppose the most direct involves some unfinished business with an old friend. It’s nothing dangerous or criminal (sorry, devout FOTS members), but it does require my full attention and could easily lead to greater changes in my future.

You could say I’m entering the next season of my life.

This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve suspended this site, so I won’t be rash and swear I’ll never return. Of course, the first time I left I was human. I must admit my farewell message that time still amuses me, where I claimed I was off to seek out new creatures in the world. Little did I know I’d become one of them.

This time I’m going to try a different approach. I’ll resist the temptation to expound on the state of human/vampire co-existence, the strides and back steps we’ve taken, the uncertain future facing us. I won’t recount my incredible experience as a member of Gawker, the new oddities I’ve faced since my maker called me back home. I won’t even thank each and every single person who’s joined me along the way. Comment on their insightful comments and thoughtful contributions. Tell them I’ve learned far more from them than they could ever from me.

I’ve said all these things before.

Instead, I’ll simply wish you pleasant evenings on your own travels. And do take good care.

Vampires may not be the only other creatures sharing your world.

I’m thrilled to report that the Maenad seems to have left town.

Not sure whether it was coerced, defeated, killed, or simply got bored, but I’d like to wish it a hearty Bon Voyage all the same. With the creature’s exit, humans have returned to normal, at least relatively. They seem to have little memory of their actions, but have taken great pains to explain their recent acts nevertheless: aliens, mind control, a few are even specifically blaming a resident named Maryann Forrester for some reason.

Gotta love that human capacity for denial.

But as my title alludes (lifted from a quote by my favorite German philosopher for those who care to look it up), I can hardly blame them for it. Human life is so short, the burden of responsibility for each and every act would quickly prove overwhelming. Selective memory seems as good a solution as any.

Sometimes I wish vampires could share in that benefit. That we could forget-

No. One more night, Andrew. You promised yourself.

So yes, the humans have regained their minds and are mostly blissfully unaware. But in between concocting rationales, I certainly hope they also set aside some time for clean up. The town is a mess. Graffiti, litter, pieces of what I can only assume was once a pot roast- and that’s just on my front lawn.

On the plus side, emergency services seem to up and running, and if anyone is in need of a police officer, I can easily think of one recently reinstituted detective who’ll gladly answer the call. From what I understand, Planned Parenthood may also be in strict demand in the very near future. Naughty, naughty breathers. And don’t even get me started on the paint job the town sign –

I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I’ll explain myself tomorrow.

I promise.

So it seems like I’m well behind the bell-curve on this one. While I’ve been sitting in ignorance, a number of undead (including a friend who doesn’t even live in the area) have determined the creature that’s taken up residence in town is a Maenad.

It’s a pity nobody came to me sooner, as I happen to be an expert, a foremost authority, perhaps the greatest single wealth of knowledge ever to exist on the Maenad. And because I’m in a good mood, I’m going to share everything I know:

….

Again, in Spanish:

….

WHAT THE HELL IS A MAENAD?!

I’m sorry to lose my composure like that, but this thing has gotten way way way under my cold skin lately. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled when my maker called me here from NYC. But I dealt with it. I figured, hey, it’s pretty there. It’s quiet. It’s a nice small town where I can relax. Now there’s some beast with a name I apparently can’t even pronounce correctly living square in the middle of town. I’ve tried to do online research to learn more, but that’s the beauty of the internet: everyone’s free to contribute. Conjecture, rumor and outright fantasy are welcome, making it fairly difficult to even begin to separate fact from fiction.

In the absence of any other options, I’ve decided to construct an open letter to the Maenad. If anyone associated with it (or is it a he or she?) could manage to pass it along and translate it into whatever manner of communication appropriate to the Maenad, I’d be most appreciative:

Dear Sir/Madam/Powerful Flesh-Consuming Creature:

Welcome to Bon Temps! I’m so glad you’ve taken residence in this town, as things were so so so dull before your arrival.

Frankly, if it were up to me, I’d have you stay for the natural duration of your lifespan, or eternity, if that should be the case. Unfortunately, I’m not in charge, and I have it on high authority from whatever being or God you answer to that you’re needed in North Dakota immediately.

Please make all necessary arrangements and conduct your journey post-haste, releasing all humans under your control in the process.

All the best,

Andrew

P.S. If before you release your humans you could instruct them to clean up the giant mess they made, that would be capitol!

The tragedy in Dallas is still fresh in our minds. A horribly misguided breather self-detonated in a full nest, injuring humans and vampires alike. People are outraged. And they have the right to be. But a small group of vampires is taking it a step further, looking to enact measures to assure it never happens again.

They are calling for a ban on silver.

I find this ridiculous.

It’s not that I don’t see the dangers of silver. It’s readily available in numerous forms. It requires no license or background check. And as Dallas showed, in the wrong hands it can be deadly.

Ironically, that’s my biggest argument for why it shouldn’t be banned. Think of it this way: we vampires announce ourselves. It becomes clear that our bodies suffer very little damage, that we possess great strength and speed, and that we feed on blood. Sure, we’ve got a synthetic substitute, but that’s a pretty big leap of faith to expect from humans. We promise we won’t hurt you, even though we’re basically designed to prey on you. And guess what? By and large humans are willing to at least give us a chance. If we can’t respond in kind, what chance do we ever have of coexisting in peace?

My second argument is one of practicality. Humans have used silver for thousands of years. It’s been a currency and precious metal, it’s used in photography, dental care, mirrors and optics, conductors, batteries, the list goes on. Would banning require all these inventions to halt? Are we expecting modern civilization to completely shift to accommodate our unique biology? How about wooden poles for fencing? Pencils? Why not ban tanning beds and UV lights while we’re at it?

So humans, I say enjoy your earrings. Keep your fillings. Process your film. Any vampire who finds fault with it should take a long look in a (silver) mirror and ask what he’s really frightened of.

It’s a lesser known fact that when a vampire lets a human drink their blood, the impact isn’t only physical. Humans will often report frequent dreams about the vampire, sometimes quite visceral and vivid in nature. But does the opposite occur? Will a vampire who feeds on a breather dream about them as well?

Come to think of it, do vampires dream at all?

Normally you’d think I was quite capable of answering the question for myself. But even in my human days I could never recall my dreams. Sometimes I doubted I even had them. This hasn’t changed since I became undead, though it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the case for all vampires.

I considered conducting an informal poll, but thought better of it. The very notion of dreaming is somewhat personal, and since no vampire has ever found fit to share their dreams (if they occur, that is), I can’t help but feel it would be somewhat poor form to ask. That and frankly, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot if it’s somehow common knowledge and my mere asking proves just how young a vampire I am.

But let’s suppose vampires can dream. In some cases I can imagine them being quite similar to the ones humans have. Showing up to your nest without clothes; nightmares of sunlit rays poring around you; the horrific feeling that your fangs are falling out as a symbol of powerlessness.

Where things get a bit trickier is in the realm of good dreams. Humans can fantasize increased power or sexual prowess. Their nightly rest can produce positive outcomes with work, great achievements and eternal glory. But what use are these to a vampire? Of course, we can find satisfaction in positive occurrences, but frankly, they are often well within our reach. Even great tasks aren’t insurmountable; we can well afford to take our time.

The obvious counter is a dream of watching a sunset. A secret wish for the ability to exist during the day. But this isn’t nearly as big a deal as some humans might believe. After all, if we really missed the sun so much, why would we allow ourselves to be turned in the first place?

So maybe the better question isn’t if vampires dream. It’s whether we ever stop dreaming.

Man, I love being a vampire.

Some of you may recall a post I wrote awhile back about vampires entering the workforce. As we’re about to celebrate a national holiday dedicated to the American worker (which originally started in Canada, but I digress), I can’t help but feel a certain pride that vampires can finally stand up and be celebrated alongside their breather co-workers.

I would like to extend my own hearty appreciation to all those who frequent the graveyard shift: the letter carriers who specialize in overnight deliveries, the personal assistants who can type faster than their bosses think, the construction workers who don’t need a forklift. I congratulate the ever growing list of doctors, lawyers and businesspeople who were willing to spend so much time in night school, the tradesmen and artisans who would risk prejudice and loss of patronage by announcing themselves as “vampire small business owners.” Even those whose careers haven’t changed, who provided clandestine services to undead to help us navigate the time before our revelation, but can now openly offer their services.

Of these, there are two individuals I’d like to single out. Chester is a vampire who once resided in Illinois and became involved in the Pullman Strike of 1894, the conflict that would eventually lead to Labor Day to become a national holiday. He still remembers the details vividly, and uses the lessons learned as he now serves as the chief foreman of his own night-based workforce. His employees universally laud him as fair, honest and willing to discuss his employees’ concerns without fear of repercussions.

The other is an undead who has truly gone above and beyond in his choice of employment. Though his modesty led him to make sure he wasn’t mentioned by name, this vampire is a member of the fire department in a major city. Unlike other hazards, fire is dangerous to our kind, and the fact that he’s willing to risk his life alongside the others is a lesson in courage and selflessness we can all admire.

So again, here’s a big thank you to all you honest wage-earners out there. Have a day off. You’ve earned it.

For such a new vampire I’ve often been told I have an old spirit. This might explain my relative disinterest in video games. In my human days, I never owned a game console, never rushed to buy the newest shoot em up or sports franchise. This often put me squarely in the minority among my peers. But being a vampire would change things.

Vampires are an ancient race, witness to numerous games that have come and gone, and it is only the best of these that can survive to maintain our interest. Chess. Knucklebones. Marbles. Even a pleasant evening of cards. So surely this relatively new fad of computerized entertainment would fail to hold sway.

Or so I thought.

I was shocked to accept an invitation to an undead friend’s dinner party the other evening, only to learn that afterwards we would be engaging in some game where we pretend to sing and play guitar. Even more surprising, none of the other guests seemed to mind. In fact, they were delighted, and began a conversation of their favorite selections. Magical quests to uncover artifacts, extraordinarily violent gore fests (although I’ve been told the blood inevitably looks completely fake), one undead even professed his love for a game that entails simply directing a human character through a virtual world populated with other avatars.

Why would vampires have such interest in video games? Our reflexes make even the most complicated mere child’s play. The scenarios crafting us into deadly beings or great heroes offers little more power than we have in real life as undead. Why waste time facing an enemy made up of digital code when we can face a true battle of wits against a real opponent?

I asked this outright at the party, the other vampires looked at me like I was insane.

“It’s fun, Andrew. Try it.”

Honestly, I still fail to see the point. But I did manage to learn something that night. My singing voice is no better now than it was when I was alive, as the computerized crowd at this make-believe rock concert told me in no uncertain terms:

You Suck.

*(Yes, this is an image from a video posted by the FOTS. But given the Newlins’ recent troubles, I figured they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it for usage on my sinful, non-wholesome pro-vampire site.)

Now, on to the main event. Quick update on the mass hypnosis turning local breathers into maddened children:

Nothing’s changed.

In fact, things may even be getting worse. From all accounts the police station is in shambles, the streets are littered with trash, and someone pilfered the top choices from the local butcher. One, ahem, under-clad couple romping outside my home happily informed me the “God who Comes” is coming. Not sure what that means, but I’m caught between hoping this alleged deity shows up to put an end to the whole mess and fearing the arrival may worsen matters.

Really, I’d love to ignore it altogether. This seems to be a human mess, by and large. But frankly, it’s annoying. I much prefer Bon Temps as it was before and would gladly see it return to form. Fortunately, there may be help on the way.

I’ve heard whisperings that the Queen herself is expecting a visitor from the area. Though it could be about another matter altogether, I’d at least like to think it’s related to our little homespun human problem.

Given that this blog is read by mixed company, I’m not at liberty to provide details about the Queen or the larger vampire hierarchy. But let me put it this way: if every vampire in the region were part of one big company, the Queen would be the big boss. Just getting an audience with her is no small honor. She’s wise, powerful, and from what I’ve heard, excellent at party games. If anyone will know how to end the cranial occupation, it’ll be her.

Let’s just hope she’s in a sharing mood.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I can’t bear the noise outside my home any longer. There must be somewhere I can find peace and quiet in this town. I think I’ll try Merlotte’s.

Apparently information isn’t doing the trick. Those PSAs aren’t reaching the audience. The numerous tales of relapsing addicts, overdosing teenagers and ruined lives are spinning past you like a broken record.

How else can I explain that, despite the fact that the bulk of the human population of Bon Temps is caught on one big mind warped bender, one member of the populace has still managed to gain a reputation as the go to source for breathers looking to score V?

I don’t know this person’s identity, though I imagine I’m not the only undead interested in finding out.

But this is not an inquisition. It’s an appeal, both to those who would purchase vampires’ blood and the individual selling it. And no, I’m not going to rely on the current tactic, remind you that the drug is addictive, deadly and could well prove a one way ticket to a life any right minded person would wish to avoid at all costs. Because apparently some of you could care less what V can do to you.

So instead, I’ll remind you that the dangers of V extend past the drug itself. Because unlike other narcotics, this one comes from a source with sharp teeth, extraordinary strength, and, at times, a short temper. Forget avoiding the authorities, or your parents. Those who deal in V run the risk of being caught by something far worse.

To be certain, I’m not outright saying that vampires have an open policy of harming humans that use V. But at the same time, with so many vampires killed and drained, I just have to believe there’s at least one or two undead who would welcome the opportunity to issue payback.

And these undead don’t take kindly to excuses. So whatever reason you’ve come up with to justify your act, whether you’re using the money to fund your education, donate to charity, or buy a new pair of shoes, please trust me when I say it’ll make no difference to the vampire who catches you in the act.

I’d like to tell you about an extremely frightened human being. His name is Chuck.

Chuck suffers from what would today be called an anxiety disorder. Unfortunately, in his day psychology has not reached its heyday and there is no chemical or therapeutic relief for his fear. Simply venturing out of his home in the morning amounts to an almost insurmountable horror. Carriages passing by, loud noises, even at times friendly passers-by fill him with such dread he breaks into a cold sweat.

Now I’d like to tell you about an extraordinarily brave vampire. His name is Chuck.

Chuck claims there is nothing on this planet that frightens him. An easy boast, but I’ve heard accounts from several different sources that back up his claim. According to one, he was once tied in silver, surrounded by a complete mob of angry breathers looking to burn him alive. He was laughing at them.

On one hand, this transformation makes sense. After living as such a frightened creature, the shift into a nearly indestructible existence would be empowering, to say the least. However, this would also seem to suggest that all vampires should be fearless. Even the bravest breathers pale in ability to the most newly turned vampire. But this is not the case. Tales abound of undead begging for mercy before losing their fangs at tribunals; misguided breathers have long boasted about vampires reduced to a blubbering mess before facing a stake.

So what is it that makes a vampire like Chuck? Why are some vampires fearless, while others aren’t?

I don’t have an answer, but Chuck did offer me his opinion. “It’s random, man. Just like people, some of us are braver than others. I just got lucky.”