Today I would like to formally say goodbye to a dear friend and our fearless HWA leader, John Palisano. Tomorrow is officially his last day as the President of HWA.
John has been kind and welcoming to me since the very beginning, when I knew no one as a Guest of Honor at StokerCon 2017. After many years of service to HWA, John is stepping down and passing the keys to the Horror kingdom into the very capable hands of another John, John Edward Lawson.
There will be much time to talk about Lawson in the future, but today, I asked Palisano to participate in 31 Days, not to tell us why he loves Horror [which he has done before], but rather, to make a final public statement as President, and in true JP fashion, he did not disappoint.
Love you man. Can't wait to work with you again,
And now, here is JP.
-------------------------------------------
We could spend this valuable time reciting a list of accomplishments, or reviewing the highlights and lowlights of my service to the members of the HWA. You’d like the salacious stuff, wouldn’t you? Of course.But all of that’s been well documented already. My preference is to leave you with a dark fable, because what it all comes down to for each and every one of us—the reason we are here—the reason we’ve been drawn together inside these torch lit caves and around these campfires—are stories. Specifically very, very dark stories. So, here’s one that says goodbye just as it says hello.
***
Silhouettes form in the gray mist. Fellow travelers arrive, called toward the dark, fantastic light to find and mine the stories and carry them across the icky, blood-soaked sand. The treasures they find can be so exquisite—like the burning sensation from a lingering cut. As much as it hurts, the itch feels good enough to scratch and obsess over while glimpsing the layers of fat and tendon beneath a calloused hand.
As the shapes approach, I think of what a gift it’s been to sit on this dark shore’s lifeguard stand—one made from the sea-weathered bones of the guides who’ve served before me. The travelers come, some well-prepared and just looking for the lantern’s light to guide them toward the next outpost. Others come hungry and in need of nourishment and strength, all carrying their own stories to tell.
To all I say, “May your travels be light and your words carry you far” as they pass.
The night sky turns red as a crimson sun rises over a sea as dark as pitch. Millions of small wave crests glisten like faraway stars. Now it’s time.
From behind the vast, limitless shroud of sky and sea, light footsteps approach. Soon, another slender silhouette approaches. His face is familiar. His demeanor is calm and robust. He reaches out a hand. “I’m ready,” he says. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Time for the transfer.” With a sure hand, I offer the lantern, holding it for a moment until I’m sure he’s got it. When he does, I nod. “Now it’s yours to shepherd well.”
“Of course,” he says. “That’s why I answered the call.”
The sands open at my feet. I slip downward, the ground taking me in. I can feel mites biting as the Earth surrounds me. Shutting my eyes to the pain, I seperate my thoughts from my mind and think of a thousand stories written by two-thousand hands. Buried to my neck, my gaze takes in the new lantern holder just as its dark anti-light beams blaze. The dark eats anything too bright.
The new lantern holder climbs up onto the station, it made of bones cracked and full, darkened from the sea winds and spray.
Soon my bones will be made a part of the guard tower, too—just as soon as the sand spits them out, clean and glistening with saliva and salt water. They’ll be added and placed where needed, just as many others have before mine.
Darkness curtains me as I’m swallowed. The mites breach the innermost chambers of my skull. Other than my bones, I’ll leave a dark mark on the sands, its shape an organic puzzle for those who might encounter it. In time it will wither away; wind and tides will insure as much.
The travelers will keep coming, drawn by the dark beams, their journeys only just begun. The last thing I hear is his voice, speaking to a new arrival.
“May your travels be light and your words carry you far.”
***
Here’s to you, all within the dark light of the HWA—and to those outside its walls, too. Thank you for allowing me to guide you these past years. John Edward Lawson is going to be an amazing lantern holder. I can’t wait to see how the HWA grows over the next several years.
See you somewhere along the dark shores of discovery, friends.
“May your travels be light and your words carry you far.”
Memento Mori
John Palisano
October 31, 2008—
October 31, 2022
No comments:
Post a Comment