I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got music, I’ve got my man, who could ask for anything more?

I suppose.

Still, if I could I’d ask for a nice, spacious house. And a boat.

Or a plane.

And oodles of money.

I still consider myself a critical egoistic hedonist. Mainly I exist and perform actions solely to benefit myself and those I care about.


But I’m always running, usually in circles. Sometimes I’m in a maze, and the panic takes hold as I keep colliding with dead ends. Pounding against the tall, tall walls. And then I start to think there isn’t really an exit. I’m trapped forever. I won’t ever see you again. And then my panic erupts in a litany of entreaties. Please, this can’t be happening. None of this is real. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. And then I’m screaming and my voice gives up on me. I start to run again, randomly taking lefts and rights. There has to be a way. If this is a dream, I can take control. I imagine that somewhere there is a gate. I start thinking about seeing you again once this is all over. My courage comes back and my heart slows with these visions. I begin to make calculated turns. I picture the maze in my head. Have I been here already? And suddenly there is a gate ahead of me. Black iron, immense. Bars thicker than my wrists. The relief washes over me as I touch it in awe. But there is no way to open it. No way to climb over it. And beyond the gate the world doesn’t seem as inviting as I imagined. It’s gloomy and I can barely see anything past six feet. Suddenly the looming maze behind me appears more safe and inviting. At the very least I am already familiar with it. Out there more danger and sorrow lurks. I slowly back away, still looking for a way to bypass the gate, but in my heart reluctant to make a closer inspection. A shudder quakes my entire being. I’m torn. Indecision. Security or uncertainty? And then again, I’m not even sure I can escape. Abruptly, I freeze. I’m no longer alone. No one is behind me, but I’m certain someone stands before me, beyond the gate, bathed in the shadows that frighten me so. I don’t know. I don’t know. I feel so tired. I just want to lie down and sleep. I find myself slowly sinking to the floor. Nothing matters now. Just sleep. But there is a part of me still acutely aware of the presence beyond the gate. My gaze is locked on where I think the entity is. The moment my knees drop, a voice says my name, whispers to me in a voice I’ve heard in my heart and in my mind so many times before. And its well-known lilt shatters whatever resolve I retained and I begin to cry. I pull my knees up to my chin and rock to and fro as the voice softly sings a song I love dearly. It says, “Come out, my darling one. You know you can. I’ll be waiting.” I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t put a name to that voice. Is it you? Is it you? Sing to me again. And the voice starts over. All the while I’m trying to make sense out of this. I sink deeper and deeper into myself, shutting everything else out. “You know what shattered dreams feel like.” The voice cuts into me and I open my eyes and rush to the gate. My hands lock around the bars and rattle it with all the strength in me. I can FEEL the voice smiling. And then I take a step back and lightly push it. And it opens. It opens wide. And the figure of the voice is faintly visible in the gloom. “Follow me, dear one.” Before crossing the threshold, I turn my head to look back into the maze. And it appears as cold and unrelenting as the rest of the world does. No more control. Just listen to the voice. It will take care of you. The voice is moving up ahead. I need to follow. Where are you? The voice’s steps grow livelier. You said you’d always be there. The voice is running now, smoothly. I can hardly remember what we’ve passed. I don’t feel like I’m following, so much as I am being tugged along. A scream explodes within my skull and our flight halts. I feel myself falling and my hands reach out for something to take hold of. And suddenly everything spins and I’m still standing, but alone. The voice is gone. And I don’t know where to go. I don’t know. I don’t know.

I used to have terrible dreams.


“I’ve belonged to ideas and dreams and designs of magnificence, and now I belong to you, I’m yours. Within your arms and against your heart, I knew a measure of sweetness and quiet previously unknown to me.”

These words of mine from so long ago seem to have a very different meaning now. It feels more full, more exact and perfect.


I feel fairly nostalgic this evening. Old memories keep resurfacing and making me smile.

Like when Guevarra and I would have our chats while we were working on our respective pages, News and Entertainment. We would speak of oh, so many things. He is the Armand to my Lestat.

I really truly miss those days.

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