Bongles paced. He had really done it this time. He had taken a shot at fame and stardom, a height to which he had always believed he would reach, and was going to have to draw two queens to stay in game. To save his name, his reputation. His arse, as he liked to say in his best Cockney accent, because it was in a crack. Bongles, whom his friends called Bong, was beside himself sweating bullets. He had booked the auditorium in his hometown, he had done it with a plan, he had done it with love, for love, he had done it for music history. He had done it selfishly, admittedly. Because of his love of money and music, not just any music, but music from the Sixties. And some in the 70s and 80s, when this particular legendary band was hitting its stride. He had booked them, damn it! ... and he was glad. He'd done it. He'd tried to talk himself out of it, but no go. He was on his way toward the buzzsaw of defeat or a ride down a logging flume that would make him wet his pants. But it was crazy not to try. The world would love him for it. All of the brothers in the world who hated one another would love him for it, in the end. Now, he would have to trade on his online friendship with a kind man, a good and friendly man, so that he might get the man's help to help him light the fuse of this entertainment powderkeg.
Now Bong had to sell his idea for a reunion performance, which would be recorded live at the Ducktown, Tennessee Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Auditorium, which would be made into a new album that rock fans all over the world would snatch up like hotcakes. A film? Surely. Merchandising? Why not? The very image of hotcakes gave Bong an idea for the album cover ... an album which would be written and performed live by brothers Dave and Ray Davies of the Kinks, and the two other guys, which made them the only British band from the British Invasion of America to still be alive and kicking. The date was set. The venue was booked. Some of the posters and tickets were even being printed. Now all Bong had to do ... was get Ray Davies to stop being such a horse's ass.
As much as admirers of Houdini were convinced he could dematerialize. Trick gear shows otherwise
HARRY HOUDINI, whose real name was Eric Weiss, was the son of a rabbi, and arguably a messiah-like 'superman' who inspired immigrants yearning for freedom and success. Houdini was beloved by all who knew him. Toward the end of his career, with his hair beginning to show touches of gray, he devoted his time to entertaining sick children in hospital. He may have been murdered by friend turned foe Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame. Sir Arthur was a spiritualist, close friends with several mediums, and convinced that Houdini could dematerialize. And Houdini thought Sir Arthur was a nut and said so -- which is a credit to Houdini's craft, in the sense that it is, after all, just illusion. The author of the enormously popular Sherlock Holmes stories was a practitioner of the occult, and who knows, he may very well have seen ghosts in the presence of these mediums, hence his strong reaction to Houdini's debunking efforts. Doubtful, however, that any "Watchers" (in Purgatory?) could be produced at will, or that they could ring a bell or do other spectacular tricks. Sir Arthur was too smart a man to fall for spiritualism unless his occultic experiences produced tangible results; and they very likely did. Houdini's medical records from a Detroit hospital where he was treated after allegedly being punched in the stomach, rupturing his appendix, are highly suspect in light of the marked indication for the appendix on the medical chart on the "left" side. Any legitimate health care professional would have readily known the appendix is found only on the right side. No autoposy was ever performed, and, Houdini's body was placed in one of his trick caskets made of bronze, placed on a train and whisked to New York before the family knew what had happened to the famed magician's body. Houdini may have been poisoned. Was Houdini a forerunner of anything or anyone? Arguably, histoty often appears to be constructed as art.
TANATA: Things (often) Are Not As They Appear
- Randall Carter Gray
- Signal Mountain, Tennessee, United States
- student of Coptic and Judaic studies, gentleman (amateur) scholar