Phantom

PHANTOM

 

            “He” was a man who internally was a little boy, traumatized by the realities and experiences of Life deep down to the core.

“He” could remember scowering the worn, golden fields looking for his lost love, only to find handmade cat traps made by a maniacal man referred to in neighborhood folklore as “Phantom”.

Yes, within the crying fields, “He” yearned for another chance to be given a map and the courage to find himself out of his lost ways. In the canal he yearned to be cleansed within the murky, still waters, as just ahead, he came to cylinder that led to “THE OTHER SIDE”.

“ Find your way home and play with your toys please.”   The voice in HIS head said.

At 3 years old, “He” had an out of body experience and no one could tell him different. “He” awoken and screamed in fear, justified by a higher power that Life was going to be all right and strife usually only took one or two bites from the soul and psyche. In the canal, viewing the cylinder that lead to another side, the man/boy called “He” stepped through, hoping he would not be harmed or devastated in any further way.

The cylinder consumed “Him”, as packs of rats and abandoned afterlife DESIRED ANSWERS.

On the other side the boy became sturdy and realized that everything was temporary and God wanted him as much as the Devil; Strange to come to such realizations. That is when “He” became the Phantom, admiring humanity from a distance; It was more intimate to him that way and he was not as vulnerable; Until the Evening.

In the Evening, Led Zeppelin would blare throughout the seductive air and the skies would seep deep shades of purple and heavy delight; That is when the Phantom became all business.  Distortion of all senses, people would fall one by one, as the Phantom would appear from unforgiving shadows and become elegantly intimate with each of his victims, holding each of them close, never forgetting the past; He preferred it this way.

Through cities, catacombs and wilderness, our Phantom came to crossroads where the divine drank, fucked and ate luscious grapes with the opposition, the unkind.  Babies were born, ignored, subjected to madness and eventually set to fend for themselves.  At first, it seems like things move so slow, but suddenly, you become horrified, realizing you are on a runaway freightrain with no fucking breaks.

“ Run Phantom. Run from all of this nonsense and dismay.”

The Phantom moved with grace and agility, running further and further away from where he grew scared and distressed, finding his way to Apt #30 within a building he use to know.

At the kitchen table, alone, sighing that sigh like one who knows judgement is hovering over them, our dear Phantom sips his last sip, wincing from the proof of the serum he ingests and the reality or lack of it.

“ POLICE!”     The door comes crashing down as a squad of bold blue open fire with .357 Magnums, blowing holes, chunks and regret from “He”, The Phantom as things reach a crescendo before falling silent.

“Why didn’t you just find your way home and play with your toys?”

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Identity 101 ~

IDENTITY 101 from “Found Ground”

The day is blue. The sky is wide. I walk briskly down an alleyway, two blocks east. There stands a Purple doorway. It is open. I make my way inside. An aroused anxiety fills me, as inside a narrow room, I listen to an old alarm clock radio blaring early Aretha. I absorb the sounds of Soul.

To the kitchen, in a worn cupboard, I find a semi-depleted bottle of smoky scotch. I pour a shot, then another. I turn my attention to a slightly ajar closet. Once inside, I search its confines slowly, methodically, finding a photo album with memories of a Father, Mother, and Daughter down by an unknown lake during autumn. I find various clothing in the closet and a collection of Masks: Latex masks, wooden masks, Slippery masks, identities ranging from Voodoo to Dr. Sulu slipped upon the heads of Salmon Mannequins; (I feel nice, surprised, yearning for a new disguise). I fixate on one particular mask, one that is the face of a devious being, a mutant half-breed: Man meets Serpent. I pull the masterful mask from its resting place spreading its opening wide, pulling it over my bewildered identity.

Over my head, upon my face, I caress my newfound brilliance in front of a musty mirror, feeling strengthened, proper, mystic. How lovely the slippery mask shaped to my head and face, so snug, as I begin to feel such a captivating sense of a reality that is truly REAL! (Out the window it is overcast, windy, frigid.)

“What to do, what to say?”  I suddenly begin to feel panic, unease.

“Who had I become?  What was happening inside of me, outside of me?”

I stood in front of a shattered mirror, as gapping gills formed from my neck: MY new identity became ONE with ME.

Down Aqua green and Cobalt blue streets, lunging forward within a furious pace, embracing some but forewarning most, I hail down a taxi and am driven to the sea. It is low tide as the wind decides to subside. Evil was never the intent; Just a new perspective, new experience, a new beginning.

Aaron Bainbridge

1966 – 2008

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