If I understood that, then maybe I could find a way out to escape from this madness. But, no, that sinister urge compels me…”collect and save…collect and save”, as, like the pharaohs of old I construct my tomb, not of precisely cut limestone quarried leagues away and stacked neatly into a pyramid, but rather of cardboard and plastic, delivered to my door by various couriers, destined to cover each wall of my domicile. Cardboard boxes, both long and short, filled with mylar bags that are then filled with colorfully inked periodicals line the walls like a human-sized wasp’s nest.

What hellish delight stokes the fires of my obsession? Why am I doing this? Why do my feet invariably carry me to the toy section of every brick and mortar retailer as soon as I cross their thresholds? I cannot truly lay it down, to place blame upon one singular concrete thing. Ever I first laid eyes upon them as a child, I felt an intense need to have them, as if I had stared into the eyes of an eldritch being and their will became my will. That mythological eagle-lion hybrid, that Griffin-Bacal, sang its song and like Ulysses I strained to get closer to it. The commandment from the profane scrolls to “Collect Them All” seemed impossible, but what was truly impossible was to shake it, to ignore it.

It quieted through the years, and I thought it gone, just as the plastic likenesses, storied tomes, and animated light and shadows had faded. They were gone, and I felt that I was safe. Oh what I fool I was! Once, in the bygone age of the winter of 1992, while perusing a retailer for a nephew’s holiday gift, I saw them staring at me…calling me…singing that siren’s song once again! This time, though, I was not tied to the mast of childhood financial limitations. I was a man with independence (ha!), with employment! Now I could buy as many as I wanted, and I did! I did!

No one could stop me, and my independence was but an illusion, as I obeyed that will that compelled me, “Collect them all”. I did just that! I scoured the land, hunting plastic puzzle men as a predator seeking its prey. Friends who had freed themselves of this bondage unburdened boxes of their childhood collections upon me, and as these shapes of ABS and PVC filled my domicile, standing at attention, lined up like terra cotta guards in an ancient emperor’s catacomb. There was no end to it, as, like a carrot on a stick, more plastic warriors were birthed with that same command “Collect them all!” ever present, demanding that I obey.

So, here I sit, staring down a half century of life, four-fifths of which were spent in pursuit of these “Robots In Disguise”. Why do I love them? I cannot truly say, but love them I do. They are my companions. In my best dreams they are present. In my worst nightmares I find a rare grail, only to awaken and have the reality of it disappear like a mirage in the desert; my thirst unslaked. Should I stop now? Should I try to escape? Oh, I have tried, and liquidated a paltry few here and there, but like some haunted image from a cursed temple, they always find their way back into my hands. No, this is my fate…to be forever surrounded by the children of 大野 さん and the myths of the sages Shooter, Budiansky, Furman, Dille, Friedman, Forward and DiTillio (among so many others). Do I own them or do they own me? It is a tenuous distinction. Perhaps one day, when I can no longer hunt, I, too, will become part of the collection, as Tutankhamun laid among his glittering treasures. Until that day, I answer that avian-feline’s call and collect and save, collect and save, and reel beneath each delirious wave of dopamine that my brain rewards me with each time I gain a new one or hold one of my old ones in my hands. Its more than just that, though. It its the mythos and lore. It is the continuity and contradiction. It is the thrill of the hunt. The camaraderie of those I meet who are also unbreakably held under this spell. Though these things seem disparate, though the fellow-fanatics I encounter appear as individuals, in my heart I know, just as this lore teaches us: We are one.

BlackZarak