Monday, September 1, 2014

Faceless Sticks in the Surf


Faceless Sticks in the Surf by Jay

Miami, Florida:  August 28, 2014

By Jay: Two men who are now slightly beyond middle age are sitting in a hotel room.  They are twin brothers.  One of them is in excellent physical shape – small-boned, spry and wide-eyed, and from a distance appearing much younger than his years – a runner of marathons who has recently qualified for the prestigious Boston Marathon.  He is a good two and a half inches shorter than his counterpart – tall and white bearded who only a few short years before used to be in the same condition as his brother.  Now as he sits there he feels the sores in his mouth as well as the raw soles of his aching feet.  Even the tips of his fingers are red and hurt when bent.  He runs when he can, but lately he has been limping, and has recently purchased a cane to help him move around whenever his feet become too sore.  It is the chemotherapy drug that is keeping him alive at the moment, and as he squints at the old fading picture on his computer screen, he sees himself and his brother as they appeared three and half decades in the past at Wells Beach, Maine in August, 1979. 

The picture under inspection is an old slide that has recently been converted.  It shows a scene in late afternoon.  Two pale, stick-like, red haired boys are seen splashing around in the frigid surf.  They are turned away from each other, the one on the left rearing higher than the one on the right.  The faces are indistinguishable – pale and muted – white and featureless – as if they are phantoms emerging from the depths of a vast and ancient ocean.  Both ghosts are gazing skywards into the blueness of a 1970’s sky that has long since set and expired within the dust of infinity.  And the faded light and overall bleached and blurred image of the scene seems to be eroding into the distant realms of transient time.  Even the pale ocean itself, extending towards a limitless horizon appears to be of another world – one of dreams or even nightmares where giant monsters and serpents dwell under the dark depth.  The two boys appear to be lighter than themselves, as if they are spirits that belong to an incorporeal world.  They seem to be emerging from the surf as if intoxicated with the weightlessness of youth – the divinity of hydrogen and helium and the rise of unearthly space and thought and dreamlike matter that transcend the grim reality of the geologic touch and density that consumes the spirit. 

            The twins are still looking at the image on the screen of their faceless, ghostly selves – haunting and disturbingly true - stepping to the effortless rhythm of time, which in the final footsteps reveals the erosive face of us all.     

              

  

DC Comics Ghosts: Number 78, July 1979

By Craig: Ok, I am on a roll. There are times when I feel like writing, and there are other times when I do not feel like writing. Lately I have felt like writing. The other day I was having a discussion with my brother Jay and he told me that he was reading the works of Gaston Leroux. I had never read anything by Leroux, and was familiar with only one of his stories. Leroux was best known for his book The Phantom of the Opera which was made into a movie staring Lon Chaney back in the 1920s. In fact, I probably knew who Lon Chaney was before I had ever heard of Gaston Leroux...and it is probable that even today I would not associate Leroux with The Phantom of the Opera had it not been for a comic book that I read when I was 10 years old.

In the summer of 1979 my brother and I were full throttle in the comic book craze. We were 10 years old and would spend hours reading the same stories over and over again. Unlike most kids we were a little different. We were not really into the superhero comics as much as our friends were. For sure, we had issues of the Fantastic Four, Spiderman, and Batman, but our preference was outside of the superhero genre. Even back in those days TIME and the HISTORICAL PAST were motifs that seemed to occupy a lot of my waking moments. They were abstract ideas that my youthful mind tried to process. I was fascinated by tales and legends of yore...events that occurred in the remote past...a time far removed from my own. At some point my brother and I became interested in ghosts. I don't recall the exact moment when or why but I can only surmise that it was the natural progression of my mind attempting to come to terms with the concept of DEATH. Death had only just recently become a companion to our  consciousness when our grandfather had passed away the winter before. What was Death? What were Ghosts? Eureka! There is an end! One day I will die! That is impossible...Death only happens to other people! One of our favorite comic book at this time was the DC Comics title GHOSTS.

 

The cover of issue # 78 was enough for you to want to turn the pages and read on! 3 GHASTLY GHOST TALES including "THE WORLD'S MOST FAMOUS PHANTOM" The story starts out like most classic ghostly tales. A weary traveler...At night....A nasty rain storm...An old abandoned church in the middle of nowhere! Young Gaston Leroux finds shelter and the unexpected hospitality of a strange organist who keeps his head covered with a red cloth. When the young gentleman's curiosity overtakes his reason he quickly removes the cloth from his hosts head and reveals a monstrous looking face. Leroux flees from the old church with his pissed off host in pursuit. When he finds his way back to the village he meets a few of the locals who explain to him that the man he met in the church was in actuality a phantom of a man that had been burned alive in the church centuries before. Supposedly, Leroux uses this encounter as the basis of his story The Phantom of the Opera.

I was not even sure that I still possessed the issue of GHOSTS # 78 until I started thumbing through some of our old comic books which are stored in a big plastic box. True comic book collectors would be appalled by the way that my brother and I treated our comic books. We wrote our names in them and took absolutely no precautions to preserve the condition. Most of them are in fair condition...well read, and well loved. After all, what are they meant for? Are they meant to be placed in sealed plastic sleeves with a cardboard back? When I found GHOSTS # 78 I noticed that it had stood the test of time surprisingly well. I gave it to my brother the other day for him to enjoy once again. In fact, it traveled with us 800 miles to Miami when I decided to accompany Jay for his most recent appointment with his oncologist who is treating him for his cancer. GHOSTS...the ghosts of time that are my constant companions. I have now accepted that there will be a finality to my existence...A time when I will no longer be... Eventually we will all be ghosts...phantoms of something that once was.