Wrote this below somethinsomethin two years ago for Comic Book Galaxy's "Alan Moore Writing Contest." It won me a magical stack of signed n' sketched books that I take off my shelf to fondle now and then:
Moore, Magic n Me
Shazam. Nah. Kimota! Nope, doesnt do anything for me. Alan Moore. Bingo. I say it, type it, think it, and whoosh , all the wonder, emotion, ideas, images, characters Ive absorbed over twenty years of reading him jiggle inside and juice me up. The invocation-activated Vitamin M is long-lasting and contains plenty of what baked-good copywriters call goodness. New Moor-ee-os, Now Even Magic-ier! They shrivel your cynicism, suspend your shame, and sabotage your stupidity! New Moore-Magi-goggles! Translates ordinary life occurrences into moments of wondrous significance! Idea of batteries included.
1984: Im taking a break from studying for my Bar Mitzvah, lying on the floor reading comics, one of which is my first Moore, Swamp Thing #25. Page One has Jason Blood (I didnt yet know hes also that rhyming Hell-dweller, Etrigan) telling an insulation salesman, At 5:32 this evening you will be impaled by a swordfish. There is nothing to be done. It is written. Selena has already decided not to buy the lawn furniture. Im impaled by that line, read it five times, and spring up for the first of many spontaneous Moore-inspired imagidances (when imagination is so stimulated it releases by way of a jig). Then I continue and first meet Abby and Swamp Thing, two rich souls talking on two-dimensional paper, gaining life in the transaction between writer and reader, between Moore (w/ Bissette and Totleben) and Me. I didnt get it all, but sensed that secrets were being passed on, about our world, people, adults, and how they really would and do act / feel.
1989: My first semester at UPenn, I was randomly assigned to an English Lit seminar with Watchmen on the syllabus. After the first class, I mailed my Grandma a note, Required reading at an Ivy League school. Grandma, now would you please stop calling them funnybooks?
The two below Alanecdotes illustrate how Alan Moore has effected my perception of my life, which is my life to a great degree. Change the way you see the world, change your life. The monster in the closet makes you sweat whether he physically exists or not. Your favorite blankie is not just fabric, it does make you feel better, does have an actual net-effect. Believe in magic and it happens, the ideas floating around in your noggin permeate and effect reality.
2003: Im visiting my parents, in my old room, fondling my collection. The walls are covered in superhero posters from 1984: New Teen Titans by Perez, a Crisis on Infinite Earths promo poster, a Legion of Super Heroes everyone who was ever a member- and the Fantastic Four by Byrne. I find that issue of Detective Comics with the Moore/Klaus Janson Green Arrow back-up story. Whoosh. Im instantly possessed, compelled to assemble all un-reprinted Moore DC gems from the 80s and I do. I then pull a 13-year-old-Me-move and write-up a list of what would go in an imaginary compilation. The next night, in Soho, Im checking out another hero, Clark Gaytons, Explorations in Dub concert (a superteam-like all-star band, each member a Kirby character, their leader playing deeply resonant fat bassy Oms on a Doctor Doom-used-this-weapon-to-attack-The Fantastic Four-looking Sousaphone, the on-stage assemblage looking like a 2-page spread from New Gods), I run into Dale Crain, Editor, DC Collected Editions, and again, Im possessed - this time to foist my idea upon him, to insist that DCd be foolish not to publish such a compilation ASAP. I had in my bag, the Secret Origins with the Alan Moore/Joe Orlando Phantom Stranger story and I whip that out too. Dale gives me a look like I pulled a snake-god out me bum, Uhh, Jeff, we approved that idea just this afternoonbut we forgot about that story, thanks My imaginary compilation already had a name, and now, as fans know exists as Across the Universe: The DC Universe Stories of Alan Moore.
A month later, Im on the subway, reading the Alan Moore tribute, Portrait of an Extraordinary Gentlemen, and the fellow next to me is reading Top Ten. A conversation ensues, we wax worshipful about the Magus and Promethea, how its Kabalistic quest storyline uncliches mind-blowing. Were talking Moore, and Im relaying the story from the previous paragraph, saying, Isnt it neat how it coincides with Moores notion of Idea Space (i.e., tis not a coincidence that two blokes on different continents invented the steam engine within days of each other, etc) when, whoosh, to our left, a guy starts pointing at a scene in Promethea, saying to his girlfriend, O, man, you gotta check this out. Our subway duet turned trio and when I reached my stop, I closed my eyes and saw Moore doing that Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow wink, from the last panel, when Superman, who we thought was dead, lets us in on the secret hes got a new non-Kent alter-ego.
Originally I was only going to include those two coincidences, but, yesterday, and this essay is due tomorrow another. Again Im on the subway, this time reading the new Locus, with an Alan Moore cover/feature on graphic novels and interviews with Bryan Talbot, Neil Gaiman, Charles Vess, and Jeff Smith. The kid next to me is reading Gaimans Sandman: Brief Lives. Turns out its the first series hes read, hes taking Mythology in college, is bursting with enthusiasm, has never read Moore, and asks for recommendations on what graphic novels to read next. I tell him, Obi-Wan Kenobi is to Neil Gaiman as Yoda is to Alan Moore, give him my magazine, get off at my stop, and do the wink myself.
Moores helped me discern the shimmer around the edges of my life. In an interview in Arthur Magazine, he says Just walking down the streetif youre doing it in the right frame of mind, if you keep your eyes open, then just walking down the street to get a newspaper can be a magical act Magic is about uncovering the revelation thats in everything as opposed to escaping to some magic land. Another imagidance - ten minutes with high kicks. As soon as I saw my life as magic, the magics been increasing exponentially.
Recently, my passions/interests/obsessions/talents/dreams/fears/wishes have all been swirling together, borders evaporating like cotton candy in saliva. For years Ive been promoting things I love and only hype concerts, books, comics, etc that I know are off the charts on the magicometer. Moore says, Advertising is a form of low-level Black Magic, using words to alter consciousness, and I see the promotional copy I write as the opposite, trying to use magic/language to influence others to check out something that will give them some o dat magic-goodness. Moores framing of language as magic and music as language has helped me understand what Im pushing and now joining-in, is conscious altering and psychically/physically/spiritually nutritious.
Observing Moores career, how he constantly pushes himself to the creative precipice, has fueled me in my transformation from Snapper Carr hanging out at JLA headquarters eager to wash the teleporter, to being a new JLA recruit, ready to tackle Darkseid with the big boys. Ive crossed over to the other side, performing with Clark Gayton and other heroes, instead of just promoting, while they play improvised music at the highest level. I get onstage and do improvised shenanigans with the bands, sounding like Shaggy-meets-Louis Armstrong-meets-a Cantor-meets-Cookie Monster.
A few weeks ago, in the middle of an old reggae tune, I decide to throw in some Alan Moore-inspired lyrics. I figure aint no one in the house whos going to catch the reference. After I sing it, someone from the back of the small crowd says, Hey I know you right? It was Lawrence Klein, chairman of MOCCA Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art in NY. Twas nice to see him regardless, but the coincidence gave me an added magic tickle.
Moore has something in common with another magician, Miles Davis, whose art was also almost entirely collaborative. Both men radiate a respect and love for their collaborators, those who help bring their visions to life. And like Miles, whose presence was still palpable when he wandered off stage while Shorter, Hancock, Williams and Carter kept it goin, Moores presence permeates even those pages with no dialog or narration.
From Alan Moores Writing for Comics It is more important to be a good human being than to be a good writer. The artists, writers, painters, whose voices speak loudest to us across the centuries are
those that turned out to have the most profound souls, those who turned out to actually have something to say that was of lasting human value. Love people. Love yourself and Love the World. Its only when we love things that we see them in their most lucid and perfect aspect; Then we truly know them.