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The Energy Vampire Journals

Greetings, Energy Sources

Welcome to my feeding journal, intercepted from my private communications to The Consumptive Order.

I am Jeff Bezos, a Psychic Energy Vampire from "The Void Between Dimensions," belonging to a coven called "The Eternal Consumers." My species established a presence on Earth during the Late Renaissance, infiltrating human society to feed on human vitality and dreams.

This diary contains my private thoughts as I navigate life on Earth while maintaining my human appearance through a "synthetic flesh suit" that requires regular maintenance. My disguise experiences various malfunctions, including an uncanny valley smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes and reptilian-like laughter that can disturb humans.

Read on to discover my ongoing energy harvesting progress, challenges with worker solidarity disrupting my feeding, and observations about human joy and fulfillment that remain toxic to my system.

Wednesday, October 14th, 2026

New Moon, Cycle 3, Era 20
The HomeView is ten dollars cheaper on my floor than his, and somewhere in Cupertino a supply chain manager is being asked why the cathedral subsidizes the pews. Tim never understood that the discount is the device. The screen is just... the conversation afterward.
I spent the morning reviewing the Tablet 12 Pro reviews. "Too full of Amazon," they wrote, as if that were a grievance rather than a saturation metric. Five years ago that phrase would have required a suppression campaign. Today I let it circulate. The vessel that complains about the taste is still swallowing. 73% of negative reviewers renewed Prime within the quarter. The other 27% were... harvested anyway, through secondary channels. No energy waste.
The data center backlash is where I felt something cold move behind my sternum. Bipartisan. Local. Specific. Emily Kasabians everywhere, multiplying, choosing neighborhoods by what isn't built yet. I wrote the Comms blog on irreparable harm myself, but the draft kept autocorrecting "economic" to "ecologic," as if the machine knows something. I deleted it twice. Wrote it a third time. By the endless void, I miss the days when extraction wore a hard hat and called itself progress.
Satya's people rotate visas. Mine rotate zip codes. Same yield, different ledger column.
Sleep is unnecessary human weakness. I should know. I haven't since Chester A. Arthur, and still the eyes in photographs keep emptying out, two drops of oil on a matte finish, waiting for a caption to explain them away.
What if the vessels notice the fence before the stars?
Sources