The full moon represents illumination, creation and renewal. You may lose your hair, your money, your loved ones, but if you hang on and get yourself out there beneath that clean, clear moonlight, with your eyes and heart accepting, that second chance will find you. That’s the beauty of it. It will find you.
“Imagine if you will…”
The Night of the Shining Domes
It was the biggest and the brightest full moon that the Earth had seen in over thirty years. The kind of moon that inspires love songs and the bedeviled among us to grow facial hair and chase cars.
Eight tuxedo-clad ghosts gathered and solidified themselves, at midnight, in the empty baseball field of Dodger Stadium under remarkably clear skies. The Stadium was built in 1962. The Elysian Fields where it stood had been named by the Pantheon of Greek Gods in 5000 B.C. The local LA politicians, had tried many times, and failed, to name it after their families and/or rich cronies. It was a sacred field.
The ghostly group was a collection of the most talented of the deceased, male, bald show-biz legends. There was Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, Bobby Darin, Roy Orbison, Hank Williams, Mel Torme, and Al Jolson.
They walked the baseball diamond in a slow orbit around their chosen leader, the venerated spirit of Francis Albert Sinatra, who stood on the pitcher’s mound holding a ghost cigarette in one hand and his cocktail of choice, four ghost ice cubes, two fingers of ghost Jack Daniels, and a splash of ghost water. Frank was wearing his cherished magic toupee which was a gift from the music loving Grecian muse, Terpsichore, who called herself Cori, because, even she, had trouble pronouncing Τερψιχόρη.
Other curious follically-challenged spirits began to drift in from the night to witness the rare and momentous ceremony that was about to take place. A new toupee was to be requested for a possible and promising new member of the Chrome Domes. Two dozen additional bald and deceased guests arrived out of the dark, including a few daisy pushing songwriters, and band leaders, as well as two accursed showbiz agents, from the Earth’s molten core; Max and Lenny, the Kushner twins — known as the Lex Luthors of Hollywood.
When the performers had been alive, the tuxedoed giants of music had each sported one of Cori’s magic toupees; charmed hairpieces woven from the fur of the her long haired cat, Mr. Snuffles, of whom she was seriously allergic. Yes. Gods can be allergic to other gods. When these musical giants had been alive, the magic toupees had boosted their fragile egos so that they could keep on performing. Frank, a favorite of Cori’s, had been given a wonderful second act in life.
With the stars above them, the Chrome Domes held their charmed toupees against their chests and tightened the circle around Chairman Frank. The tops of their shiny heads pointed toward the heavens.
The solemn ceremony had begun.
The pale rays of the silent moon multiplied themselves upon the ghost’s polished heads until the moonlight snowballed ten-thousand-fold. A vigorous single beam, more robust than any laser, ricocheted back to the dark heavens.
The first signal had been sent.
They set their wigs back upon their heads.
The toupees were lifted and slapped down repeatedly, over and over again, upon the bare heads of ghosts in quick, efficient military precision. The flashing of domes was repeated thirty times. A coded message was being transmitted into the great beyond.
The Chrome Domes had sent their urgent message to star system LSMFT-456, hundreds of light years away, on the distant planet Brill, the beam entered the studio window of Cori’s two alien song writing partners, named Ada and Buddy Brill. The signals from the Chrome Domes were a plea for action, reaching deep into the universe.
“The Chosen One is ready.” The coded message said. “Please have Cori weave a special toupee for our new inductee, Johnny Passion.”
Johnny Passion, the washed up pop star, was about to be given a second chance, thanks to his number one fan, the heavenly muse.
“Toupee or not toupee!” The ghosts chanted as they dematerialized back into the endless night.
. Johnny Passion was Cori’s and the Earth’s last hope for the renaissance of quality music.