Long before I was homeless, well into my early 20’s, I was fascinated with a collection of characters I had written in a book called “The Phantom Ghores.”
To be honest? I wrote the book because I couldn’t find anything fascinating to read. And I was sick of vampires. But, my soul wanted a metaphoric monster where everyone must look the same, act the same, talk the same…..and that if you should comply with that, you’re soul quite possibly dies. You have no individuality, you have no voice. You’re only parroting, you’re only mimicking….and oh, what people would do “to belong.”
And when I was writing that book, I loved being with the characters. I loved their clothes, their manners, their arrogance. I loved their pomposity and their shrill game of shade. I loved their manipulations and their indulgences….I loved being with them at a time when I could not find one fascinating thing to interest me….only to discover at the end of the book, that I was only writing about the world I was in at the time, the people in my blurry midst, the devils and angels that made my delightful or demonic.
So, yes, long before I was the homeless knitter, I fancied myself a Gothic novelist, purging from the soul the darker reminders of man’s sadistic play on each other, and its devastating effects on the soul. I recognized long before the age of 21 that you and I are all beset in a game of play of “who can out do the other.” I saw quite vividly in my early prime that we were all cattle in a show, which of us is bigger, meatier, colder….which one of us is prime picking for which to dine?
Many of us lit goth geeks find this week to be a special one. June 16th is the anniversary of the first Gothic “monster,” FRANKENSTEIN, which was a beautifully pushed metaphor into something you hate, but sympathize with, and sometimes feel attracted to. God. (Yes, my husband reminds me of Frankenstein’s monster.)
On June 16th, 1816, Mary Shelley partied sooo hard with her husband, Percy, her sister, Claire Clairmont, their traveling companion John Polydori, and their host, Lord Byron, that she had visions of this metaphoric monster, wrote it down, and scribbled to fountain pen what we all consider the day the monster in all of us was born.
So, here were are, on the threshold of much to say, much to metaphorically write, and I remember my monster, so anxious to be seen, willing to do what he will to be accepted…..
I had a great time writing that book in my 20’s. One of the best experiences of my life. I was creatively fortunate enough to do a soundtrack (one of my favorite parts is when one of the characters, Drunken Edgar, takes to the piano). I was blessed to be able to be able to do “trailers” for the book to gain interest.
And despite all that, when life happens, you don’t get so much time to write about the pompously dead. Everything I had written, everything I had composed or filmed was put on hold. Life got in the way.
But, here it is 20 years later, and on the precipice of an eve some of us take “literally” seriously. And I’ve been reading that book, “The Phantom Ghores” again and I had forgotten how much fun the dead could be, how truly fun their arrogance was, how delicious their backstabbing can be.
So, what follows is an homage to that book, “The Phantom Ghores.” The two trailers, the link to the soundtrack, and a link to the pdf, if you’d like to read it.
Maybe my life can grow richer than being just the homeless knitter that writes about his life. Maybe I have something more to say. Maybe I’d like to outgrow the verses of hope that once inspired, and delve long and hard into the quagmire of who we really are as people.
The free link to the book is here. ….I just want to have fun again with my writing again. If you enjoy, let me know. I’d love to play with my Phantoms again, fondle them on the keys….