March 2, 2012 in death
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Let me die in spring,
Perhaps before the rains
With the promise of new life whispering
Through the trees.
This is not a metaphor for life,
As I have arguably reached my autumn
And I think winter will hold many pleasant surprises.
Spring is a matter of convenience.
There I was, ten years old, getting ready for the biggest event of my lifetime: Wrestlemania. I sat in front of the TV with a container of Oreos, along with my plastic wrestling ring and my rubber Titan Sports wrestling figures. There was nothing else I wanted in life. The odor coming off of the figures was one that would make any ten-year-old think he was in heaven. I awaited the infamous promo of Hulk Hogan telling me to eat my raw eggs and Superfly Snuka giving me the three finger salute when I saw a figure appear on the television screen with sunglasses and long hair. This man would become an icon to me—I even impersonated him in the mirror for years to come. His beautiful manager, Elizabeth, was one who would make any preteen blush. It was only three years later when I knew that she would complete my first orgasm. Read the rest of this entry →
I hate my birthday. I dwell on it in an intensely loathsome way. It’s in the middle of January, so just minutes after the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve—when the cacophony of the noisemakers starts to die—I begin my mental countdown. The people who know me well can always tell something is wrong. The ones I know really well have quit bothering to ask.
There have been some good things. My friends and family usually let me know that they love me in some way. A few years ago, when I turned forty, my friends Natasha and Sonia researched the names of a bunch of actors who were over forty but still sexy, and wrote them down on a card. I still have it somewhere. Last year, one of my favorite authors surprised me here with a post featuring a series of homoerotic sketches of cops. That caused a few remarks around headquarters, but I thought it was pretty damned funny. I have an aunt who sends me a twenty in a card every year, despite the fact that I’m now older than she was when she started doing it. I even enjoy the Facebook birthday wall posts that I’m not sure are voluntary anymore. Read the rest of this entry →
January 8, 2011 in death
We try to sit in the back but a cousin, older than me and therefore with more rank and power, waves us forward to the third row, directly across the aisle from my mom and the Aunts. My sister Monk, Mr. Harriet, and I slowly move forward and obediently sit where we are told to sit. “Your mom has been looking for you,” my cousin nods in the direction of the matriarchs. Read the rest of this entry →
I found out the other day that my uncle Tim (not his real name) is dying of cancer. Tim lives out in a very remote area of Colorado, because that is far away from Vermont, I have not gotten to see Tim nearly as much as I wish I could. Tim the one extended relative that I have always felt very close to. He’s suffered from mental health issues for much of his adult life, which is why I think I have identified with him more than any of my other uncles and aunts.
October 3, 2010 in death
I came across a picture of you the other day. Well, a picture of us, really, when it came loose from the photo album to skitter across the floor of my new living room. I don’t know why I keep the albums; I never go through my photos, they just sort of sneak up on me. Like then. I gave chase, just barely beating my dogs to it and sweeping it off the floor. It is just one in a collection of pictures that wrenches my heart for what should have been. Maybe that’s why I don’t go through them, even though I seek out and hoard every one I can get my hands on.
May 29, 2010 in death
It’s not even Memorial Day (whatever that is) and I’ve yet to put on my Summer footwear (wellington boots – I’m Scottish) but already the celebrities are dropping like onions from a Frenchman’s light aircraft and dying left, right and maybe center. First Death itself came for little Gary Coleman, and now he’s biking off into the sunset with the recently late Dennis Hopper. Previous to this, Death knocked on the door of Bret Michaels, but Bret hid behind the sofa and pretended he wasn’t in. Now I ask – who’s next?