"All our times have come...Here, but now they're gone..."
THE WANING AMETHYST TWILIGHT cast an eerie purple glow on the skeleton's faces, as Radar & I stared in amusement while we smoked on the Ballydoyle's sundeck. The ghouls looked like puppets on strings, and the fact they were standing on the ground floor below meant they must have been nine feet tall - as the deck was located on the pub's second story. Like two 50-year-old kids peering over a ledge, Radar & I looked down to the courtyard below, a massive brick parkway that threads between the buildings of downtown Aurora. There were purple skeletons everywhere. They wore luminescent makeup that glowed in the neon blacklight. There were also a number of The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy characters dancing in a growing crowd of locals who were gathering around a DJ Booth, which was wrapped in *twinkle lights*. The DJ was obviously playing "Don't Fear the Reaper," and Radar & I quickly stamped out our cigarettes, threw a twenty at the server, grabbed our jackets & Macbooks, and ran downstairs to see what was happening.
It had to be good.
Once we arrived, we learned that The Basement of the Dead was starting within the hour. The courtyard looked like a Wal-Mart parking lot had been attacked by The Walking Dead, and the air smelled like draft beer, wet fall leaves, and ozone from hot power cables. Gas-powered generators rumbled in the background as Radar & I explored the festivities; I couldn't drink because I was in outpatient rehab at the time, so Radar consumed heavily on my behalf. A crowd was gathering around the entrance, so the two of us got in line. While we waited, Radar used his computer to tap into the event's security system, so we watched the costumed staff smoke weed (inside the haunted house, before it opened) through their own CCTV cameras. Even though we'd gotten there early, the wait was still an hour; Radar sent me on a beer run, and on my way back, I chatted with a purple-faced Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. The haunted house itself was totally worth the wait. It checked all the right boxes: creepy music, creepy lighting, creepy-crawlies on surfaces that hadn't been cleaned since the last time it came to town. I especially enjoyed how d i s t u r b i n g the "narrative" was. In addition to the unnecessarily-realistic horror-house staples - zombies, vampires, cadavers on bloody porcelain autopsy tables - some of the rooms were shocking: *A Soylent Green abortion clinic. *A patent handcuffed to a mental-ward bed, begging/screaming "I'm not a crew member! These people are crazy! PLEASE HELP ME!" *A chilling church chamber packed w/cultists, where a goat's-head-masked-zealot preached the coming apocalypse beneath swinging candlelit chandeliers. *A man in a Pearl Jam hoodie, throwing up Jello-shots, cheese curds, and The Ballydoyle's shepherd's pie - the visuals were magnificent! Radar & myself chuckled in that we seemed to frighten more customers than the staff, itself. A rotting horse-man actually yelled at me because I tried using my iPhone to see - but in my defense, I was getting blurry-eyed from the secondhand bong smoke. When we finally reached the EXIT door, we each felt mentally violated - which is exactly how one should feel after spending $45/ticket for a good haunted house. On the way back to my truck, I bought us both T-shirts.
It had to be good.
Once we arrived, we learned that The Basement of the Dead was starting within the hour. The courtyard looked like a Wal-Mart parking lot had been attacked by The Walking Dead, and the air smelled like draft beer, wet fall leaves, and ozone from hot power cables. Gas-powered generators rumbled in the background as Radar & I explored the festivities; I couldn't drink because I was in outpatient rehab at the time, so Radar consumed heavily on my behalf. A crowd was gathering around the entrance, so the two of us got in line. While we waited, Radar used his computer to tap into the event's security system, so we watched the costumed staff smoke weed (inside the haunted house, before it opened) through their own CCTV cameras. Even though we'd gotten there early, the wait was still an hour; Radar sent me on a beer run, and on my way back, I chatted with a purple-faced Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. The haunted house itself was totally worth the wait. It checked all the right boxes: creepy music, creepy lighting, creepy-crawlies on surfaces that hadn't been cleaned since the last time it came to town. I especially enjoyed how d i s t u r b i n g the "narrative" was. In addition to the unnecessarily-realistic horror-house staples - zombies, vampires, cadavers on bloody porcelain autopsy tables - some of the rooms were shocking: *A Soylent Green abortion clinic. *A patent handcuffed to a mental-ward bed, begging/screaming "I'm not a crew member! These people are crazy! PLEASE HELP ME!" *A chilling church chamber packed w/cultists, where a goat's-head-masked-zealot preached the coming apocalypse beneath swinging candlelit chandeliers. *A man in a Pearl Jam hoodie, throwing up Jello-shots, cheese curds, and The Ballydoyle's shepherd's pie - the visuals were magnificent! Radar & myself chuckled in that we seemed to frighten more customers than the staff, itself. A rotting horse-man actually yelled at me because I tried using my iPhone to see - but in my defense, I was getting blurry-eyed from the secondhand bong smoke. When we finally reached the EXIT door, we each felt mentally violated - which is exactly how one should feel after spending $45/ticket for a good haunted house. On the way back to my truck, I bought us both T-shirts.
"Yes, children. The fence really IS electrified!" A few weeks later I was standing on a neighborhood's sidewalk, staring at a different haunted house in absolute horror. The neighbor had spent the past three months decorating his yard for Halloween, and as the night was finally upon us, I approached his home with the same sort of caution that a policeman would use when "talking down" a suicide jumper. His yard was as intense as The Basement of the Dead. He had clearly missed his calling as a B-Movie Special Effects Technician. I'd been watching him for weeks as he'd set up displays: *Dead men on nooses. *Animated corpses crawling from graves. *Dracula, spring-loaded, ready for a coffin jump-scare with a push of a button.⚰️ I did a double-take at the black leather restraints he had used (on the rusty metal table where a shouting man was being cut in half by a circular saw) and wondered if they came from MY basement. My gaze then wandered through the illuminated, purply, dry-ice fog to the pleading, writhing, AND - please forgive me for using the same phrase twice, but - "unnecessarily-realistic" convict-in-an-electric-chair, whose electrocution-process was triggered by a motion-sensor whenever someone passed on the sidewalk ... JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! This dude must have spent close to $5000 on his yard, and almost *everything* was inappropriate for children. To make matters worse, I was so distracted by the Trick-or-Treaters running from the house crying, the asshole scared the shit out of me, when he snuck up behind me (dressed as Leatherneck, of course) and literally yelled "BOO!" I growled at him audibly, spun on my boot heel, and came face-to-face with an angry black mother who was storming from her car because her kids had gotten so scared from the spectacle, they had actually dropped their candy.
Her eyes met mine, and I GASPED...
And that's when it hit me: This is the moment where perceived white racism comes from.
Her eyes met mine, and I GASPED...
And that's when it hit me: This is the moment where perceived white racism comes from.
"In your eyes, the lights, the heat...in your eyes, I am complete..." As a man who's finally recovering from a lifetime of mental illness, I've grown observant to a fault. Part of it is a *multiple personality thing*, as it takes great effort to appear calm on the surface when many different people are fighting for my attention. It's often hard for me to "live in the moment," so to speak, so I've trained myself to pay close attention to other people's facial expressions. Quite frankly, until recently my brain was so broken, I literally had to tell myself, "If someone smiles, they must be happy with me; if they frown, they must not like me." Over the decades, my observations became more nuanced, and I grew hyper-sensitive to other's demeanor when talking to me. I'd watch their mannerisms. I'd notice what they were doing with their hands when they spoke. I'd pay close attention to people's "eyes" in particular, where they were looking, how were their pupils focused. I'd use this information to decide if a person was being honest with me, or to see if they realized how insecure I was. Because of the way I experience *time*, even small moments become seared into my memory, and they're impossible to forget - until something more powerful overrides them. And when you've spent 45 years watching other's disappointment of you, even a moment of hesitation can be overpowering in the most hurtful of ways. For that reason, as a Proud Gay Republican, I've reached the following conclusion:
African Americans deserve Reparations,
and an apology from a Competent Republican President.
and an apology from a Competent Republican President.
And I know that goes against the position of most in the GOP, but we're wrong on this issue - and we need to fix it fast. BUT, the moment that Reparations are paid, this entire race issue must be put to bed immediately, as the hyper-sensitivity caused by unintentional/perceived racism is damaging in ways that most of us don't realize. Yes, slavery will always be a stain on our country's history, but what the modern Democrat Party has done to use that fact to divide us is something far worse, and far more damaging. Quite frankly, it's because of Democratic policies from the past 30 years that Reparations are now needed, as I didn't feel this way in the 90s. It's no wonder that we're at the point where a simple Gasp! has caused such an issue, but like so many things in life, very big problems often have simple solutions. And in the case of "perceived white racism" is concerned, it's literally as easy as a heartfelt apology - and an injection of cash, assuming Chuck & Nancy left anything in the Treasury. Of course, the really sad thing is that this nation is in such bad shape with Biden, we don't have the ability for a proper Reparations payment now. When Trump retakes office, he literally has to redirect ALL available national resources to immediately secure the border and reinvest in the military so we have a country left for African Americans to live & thrive in. Donald must make the formal apology (and the promise to pay), but it won't be until the second term of our next Republican President that Reparations can be issued a check - and even then, it's probably going to be capped at $10,000 per person. But Trump can began the process quickly with Executive Orders that pledge government support for quality churches, organizations that encourage the traditional family unit, and Republican-led legislative policies that will do everything possible to give Black People the HOPE that Obama promised - and failed - to deliver.
Sadly, it's come to that...
Sadly, it's come to that...
"God is trying to tell you something..." The reason I've done a 180 on Reparations is understandable: While writing When People Go Away, I've been forced to utilize government assistance to help pay the bills. A few nights ago, I had to use Dane's LINK card for groceries; we literally walked through Aldi with a calculator-app, counting every penny spent. (We even had to scour my truck's seat cushions, searching for a quarter for the shopping cart.) Dane comes from a much poorer background than me, so he's adept as living as cheaply as possible; in addition to sticking to a strict food budget, he's showing me how to "juggle" utilities with phone calls, payment plans, and temporary mortgage deferments. I've been lucky in that it's only been recently where I've had to make "Draconian Budget Cuts"- to utilize a phrase that Democrats use when describing Republican policies. Until I got cirrhosis, I'd been reasonably successful in my own retail management job, and I had plenty of funds to buy food, pay utility/credit card bills, save for home improvement projects, and to set a little aside each month for the occasional Broadway show, David Sedaris tickets, & Touche. But over the past year of writing my new novel - the last six months in particular - I've been driven into a life of poverty, as my house falls apart around me. I was staring this morning at the rips on my 20-year-old carpeting, and the towel bar that fell in my bathroom, beneath the room's busted ventilation fan. I found myself adding chores to our kitchen dry-erase board, which Dane bought at a thrift store:
* Duct tape carpet on stairs (use white, not gray).
* Drain water from refrigerator (it's leaking again).
* Spot-paint peeling areas of front porch railings (careful - they're rotten), and mudroom.
* Flush kitchen & bathroom drains with bleach (they stink again). Use the purple Fabuloso if out of bleach.
* Spray area rugs with "Purrrfect" (follow directions; it takes 24 hours to work).
* List Radar's guitar on Facebook; shoot for $800, but take as low as $500.
* Thank Radar for giving us guitar.
Sure, the place *looks* nice at a glance, but that's because I'm a clean-freak who knows how to decorate. Truth be told, this house is a dump that's unfit for Section-8 - and I've been living here 18 years this June because it's all I can afford. As I helped Dane box our $129 worth of off-brand groceries (we couldn't afford bags), I realized why THIS is the reason that Republicans must apologize to black people - as Democrats sure aren't going to do it. Modern Liberalism is the reason that many African Americans are forced to live in poverty, and as far as I'm concerned, using a LINK card at Aldi isn't just "poverty," it's squalor. And like it took a Gasp! for me to finally understand perceived racism, it's taken me living in this shithole to genuinely experience the hopelessness that most blacks must feel while trying to fight their way out of the welfare system. Again, the Republicans must apologize for the bondage that Democrats have put them in. For me, I cannot apologize enough...
* Duct tape carpet on stairs (use white, not gray).
* Drain water from refrigerator (it's leaking again).
* Spot-paint peeling areas of front porch railings (careful - they're rotten), and mudroom.
* Flush kitchen & bathroom drains with bleach (they stink again). Use the purple Fabuloso if out of bleach.
* Spray area rugs with "Purrrfect" (follow directions; it takes 24 hours to work).
* List Radar's guitar on Facebook; shoot for $800, but take as low as $500.
* Thank Radar for giving us guitar.
Sure, the place *looks* nice at a glance, but that's because I'm a clean-freak who knows how to decorate. Truth be told, this house is a dump that's unfit for Section-8 - and I've been living here 18 years this June because it's all I can afford. As I helped Dane box our $129 worth of off-brand groceries (we couldn't afford bags), I realized why THIS is the reason that Republicans must apologize to black people - as Democrats sure aren't going to do it. Modern Liberalism is the reason that many African Americans are forced to live in poverty, and as far as I'm concerned, using a LINK card at Aldi isn't just "poverty," it's squalor. And like it took a Gasp! for me to finally understand perceived racism, it's taken me living in this shithole to genuinely experience the hopelessness that most blacks must feel while trying to fight their way out of the welfare system. Again, the Republicans must apologize for the bondage that Democrats have put them in. For me, I cannot apologize enough...
"What a night, what a crowd, makes you glad, makes you proud..." Friday marks Radar's return after a two-year stint with a now-ex girlfriend. Radar's one of my best friends, and we'd lived together for almost seven years before he met the Babadook. I remember the day that he'd first answered my Craigslist ad; he pulled up on a Harley, and came to the door in leather, with a cigarette between his teeth. We'd bonded immediately as we're both Gen-X'rs, and Radar's quirks - autism, a gift for numbers & music, a sister who's a San Francisco dominatrix - played well with my multiple personalities, schizophrenic writing process, and primal need to always be near my Dyson. The neighbors had no idea what to make of us. With the exception of the red lights in the basement, my house looks like a Norman Rockwell painting, but when the front door opens - and the two of us emerge like a pair of thugs - parents often gather their children. Radar's lived across the globe, but New Orleans is where he calls home. He also has duo US/British citizenship, a genius IQ, and he speaks fluent German, Japanese, & 'Merican. Radar's my polar-opposite when it comes to politics, but as I can coexist with anybody, that's never been a problem. Over the years, we've had many late-night bonding talks, and he's helped me to understand not the Democrat perspective, but the "Liberal" one. I actually have no problems with Liberals. A functional government should have a yin-&-yang balance of Liberals *and* Conservatives. I like to call Radar a "Bill Maher Liberal," in that Radar - like Maher - presents his political arguments in intelligent, realistic, and humorous bullet-points - and though we don't agree politically, our discussions on politics are always fun. My favorite Radar quote: "Hillary Clinton is like America's ex-wife. You married her twenty years ago, had a couple of kids together, but now you're sick of her and you just want her to go the fuck away." Also like Maher, Radar always knows the *purrrfect* place to drop an F-bomb.
In the years we lived together, Radar's taught me many things. Deep-frying a turkey comes to mind. So does having to repaint the kitchen because of all the damn cigarette & marijuana smoke. He's tried to teach me guitar on several occasions, but I struggle with where to put my hands on the strings - SCREECH! He's also been showing me how to understand football, a sport I've been interested in since Limbaugh used to talk about it. I like Radar because he challenges me, and isn't afraid to stand up to my bullshit. When I was dying of cirrhosis two years ago, Radar used to grab my swollen, purple legs and drag me off the couch. I'd often whine, "Dude - I can't move," but the 55-year-old-goth would have none of it: "GET OFF YOUR ASS, OR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!" I didn't understand it at the time, but Radar's concern (and grief over potentially losing a friend) was actually an act of Tough Love - similar to how brazen Trump talks, when he told African Americans in 2016: "The Democrats have failed you. What have you got to lose by voting for a Republican?" What Radar was really saying was: "Dude, listen: You can either die while making excuses, or you can *live* and find a way to get through this. I love you Brother, but it's not healthy for me to see you kill yourself - and if you don't knock it off, I'm going to leave you to die." And it took him actually going through with his threat for me to realize how right he was. Luckily, our friendship was strong enough to survive, and as of this weekend, my house will again be in order.
In the years we lived together, Radar's taught me many things. Deep-frying a turkey comes to mind. So does having to repaint the kitchen because of all the damn cigarette & marijuana smoke. He's tried to teach me guitar on several occasions, but I struggle with where to put my hands on the strings - SCREECH! He's also been showing me how to understand football, a sport I've been interested in since Limbaugh used to talk about it. I like Radar because he challenges me, and isn't afraid to stand up to my bullshit. When I was dying of cirrhosis two years ago, Radar used to grab my swollen, purple legs and drag me off the couch. I'd often whine, "Dude - I can't move," but the 55-year-old-goth would have none of it: "GET OFF YOUR ASS, OR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!" I didn't understand it at the time, but Radar's concern (and grief over potentially losing a friend) was actually an act of Tough Love - similar to how brazen Trump talks, when he told African Americans in 2016: "The Democrats have failed you. What have you got to lose by voting for a Republican?" What Radar was really saying was: "Dude, listen: You can either die while making excuses, or you can *live* and find a way to get through this. I love you Brother, but it's not healthy for me to see you kill yourself - and if you don't knock it off, I'm going to leave you to die." And it took him actually going through with his threat for me to realize how right he was. Luckily, our friendship was strong enough to survive, and as of this weekend, my house will again be in order.
"Sailors, fighting in the dance hall...Oh man, look at that caveman go! It's the freakiest show..." Going back to football, I'm looking forward to watching games again, now that Radar is back in the house. He's obviously a SAINTS fan, and I bought him a purple hometeam helmet during the last Christmas we spent together. I remember watching Lady GaGa's halftime show with him, during Superbowl 2017. Her performance was so good, I ended up doing a halftime-show YouTube deep-dive, and I pulled up many videos from great ones over the years.
The most impressive show I found was Prince's 2007 performance, when a sudden thunderstorm almost wrecked the onstage electronics. I don't know what the original plan was - an army of slutty dancers, I suppose - but with the weather's severity, it was clear that Draconian cuts had been made on-the-fly for performer's safety. The result were just three Black People: two talented women, and Prince in Bowie's "Life on Mars" suit, with a dew-rag on his forehead. The tiny ensemble was dwarfed by the massive stage, but with the obvious risk of electrocution, it's amazing that Prince was able to sing anything at all.
THUNDERCLOUDS RUMBLED and lightning flashed above as the pyrotechnic-crew made the sign-of-the-cross, starting the show. Prince then sang a medley of hits, opening with "Let's Go," and others from the era: "Baby, I'm a Star," "1999," & "Proud Mary." In a twist of cosmic irony, the music built up to PURPLE RAIN - in perfect time with the storm. The stadium spotlights illuminated the downpour in a vivid *amethyst twilight*, and the moment was no less than magical as Purple Rain was literally performed in actual purple rain.
It are moments like this that prove the existence of God, when people find ways to reach their potential, despite significant obstacles. God is "creativity," the ability to always see a solution to a problem, and to understand that the creative *spark* is often as simple as a Gasp...
As we enter the Age of Aquarius, the last gasps of all of our struggles must be addressed with Tough Love, before we explore the heavens. Republican red easily combines with Democrat blue under realistic circumstances, and the two make the Color Purple - which is the Gaspee of Kings. 👑
And Kings come in many forms, from musical Princes to competent Presidents:
The most impressive show I found was Prince's 2007 performance, when a sudden thunderstorm almost wrecked the onstage electronics. I don't know what the original plan was - an army of slutty dancers, I suppose - but with the weather's severity, it was clear that Draconian cuts had been made on-the-fly for performer's safety. The result were just three Black People: two talented women, and Prince in Bowie's "Life on Mars" suit, with a dew-rag on his forehead. The tiny ensemble was dwarfed by the massive stage, but with the obvious risk of electrocution, it's amazing that Prince was able to sing anything at all.
THUNDERCLOUDS RUMBLED and lightning flashed above as the pyrotechnic-crew made the sign-of-the-cross, starting the show. Prince then sang a medley of hits, opening with "Let's Go," and others from the era: "Baby, I'm a Star," "1999," & "Proud Mary." In a twist of cosmic irony, the music built up to PURPLE RAIN - in perfect time with the storm. The stadium spotlights illuminated the downpour in a vivid *amethyst twilight*, and the moment was no less than magical as Purple Rain was literally performed in actual purple rain.
It are moments like this that prove the existence of God, when people find ways to reach their potential, despite significant obstacles. God is "creativity," the ability to always see a solution to a problem, and to understand that the creative *spark* is often as simple as a Gasp...
As we enter the Age of Aquarius, the last gasps of all of our struggles must be addressed with Tough Love, before we explore the heavens. Republican red easily combines with Democrat blue under realistic circumstances, and the two make the Color Purple - which is the Gaspee of Kings. 👑
And Kings come in many forms, from musical Princes to competent Presidents:
The golden beams of EIB light... 🎶 I never meant to cause you any sorrow, 🎶
🎶 I meant to cause you any pain - 🎶
🎶 I must offer my formal apology, 🎶
🎶 to promise that I'm here now - 🎶
🎶 and this will never happen again. 🎶
🎶 As humanity finally looks up to the heavens, 🎶
🎶we'll realize our struggles have not been in vain - 🎶
🎶 Our next thousand years will be a time of exploration, 🎶
🎶 as our little blue world has finally become ... 🎶
💫 The Color of Purple Reign 💫
- Sir Dave
🎶 I meant to cause you any pain - 🎶
🎶 I must offer my formal apology, 🎶
🎶 to promise that I'm here now - 🎶
🎶 and this will never happen again. 🎶
🎶 As humanity finally looks up to the heavens, 🎶
🎶we'll realize our struggles have not been in vain - 🎶
🎶 Our next thousand years will be a time of exploration, 🎶
🎶 as our little blue world has finally become ... 🎶
💫 The Color of Purple Reign 💫
- Sir Dave