Casper Titchworth

February 3, 2012

My friend, I have been in the habit of downloading photos of men on the Internet, whom I find particularly handsome. One such cyber-hottie is a “Casper Titchworth” whose face and story I discovered over six years ago, while searching for something related (perhaps regarding Mark Twain, another famous steamboat pilot).

Sending you an attached image of Casper, whose face just delights me, to gaze upon, even for hours. I have never seen a set of ears before that I would ever call “outstanding”, but there you go. Notice how his fresh-cut hair drapes just a tad over those gorgeous ears…the noble bright-clouded forehead, those stunning eyebrows set above two luminous orbs of iris…all touched off by those most inviting lips (whose glory can not really be concealed beneath that janitor-broom moustache), and equally noble chin and jawline. The man’s a doll. Even more astounding: I see most definitely a spiritual light emanating through (and even from) his darling visage.

C. Titchworth was born around 1843 in Michigan, and became a steam and tugboat driver of some reknown. Unfortunately, he is also associated with the sudden disapperance of a steamship in 1874…as the captain of that same boat in 1879! As you can see here:

Owens Valley History: The Bessie Brady

I think there’s a typo in one or both dates…as I have no idea if he disappered with that ship, or they built a replacement, for which he was captain for a spell. Or any number of other possibilities. But I can tell you this, with the greatest assurance:

He is not a man…at least, not a normal kind of man. He is one of these mysterious guardians, such as you and I have discussed many times over the years. I recognize my own…but it isn’t gaydar, it’s Gabrieldar…a fanciful title I give to my equally fanciful “angel spotting”. I do consider myself the preeminent spotter among all angel spotters now present on this planet…perhaps even preeminent over all previous A-spotters, too! (Though this would certainly open me up to accusations of hubris by some of our more conservative and fervent members.)

We are (I have no doubt at this point) both members of this same circle of avatars (or angels, or guardians, or whatever)…whose mission on this planet involved having our memories totally erased, and implanted with new, false memories. This is akin to tales of Apollo descending to earth and reincarnated into a man, in order to understand better, the needs of Zeus’s most sterling creation (yes, of course I mean homo sapiens; please, stop monkeying around). Even older cultures preserved similar tales from generation to generation…of gods or angels descending to earth, in order to guide mankind away from their path to destruction.

And in Hinduism, it is said most implicitly, that while Krisna incarnates in each generation along with us, for most of his lives he remains unknown, an ordinary citizen in the eyes of his neighbors (except perhaps for a chosen few). But whenever humanity descends dangerously low to the point of no return, Krisna then makes himself known, and he is addressed as the “nth” (replacing “n” with a number greater than 7, not sure which) incarnation of the one true creator of all: Visnu.

For now, Casper must remain a friendly ghost in my dreams…though I am equally certain that he and I shall soon be together once more. There is a great force of spiritual kinship I feel with him, and others…some existing now or till very recently (such as my Randolph)…some existed somewhere in the past, perhaps the quite distant past.

There is also this short biographical piece on Mr. Titchworth, though it mentions nary a whit about his colorful career as a sea captain!

Casper_Titchworth.pdf

Which document told me something about Titchworth, that I never knew till now! That he is interred here in San Francisco! Obviously, I need to get out to his grave, and see what happens next. Care to join me for a midnight picnic?

Casper calls to me now and then, so I load that handsome mug of his on my computer’s LCD screen, and dream and meditate upon that glorious visage of the most gracious gentleman that ever my eyes have rested upon. Truly a dear friend, albeit ghostly!

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