We all have the potential to leave other people better off than they were. Even something as simple as smiling at someone can make their whole day. Every person has the power to make a change. We all have it in us to be able to improve the world, to make it better and brighter, for ourselves and for each other. The question is, will we? Love is what makes the whole thing matter. Receiving love makes us brave, and giving love makes us beautiful.
Life is fragile and beautiful. Nothing is permanent. We cannot take anything for granted. Whether we are ready for it or not, each of us eventually will die. There will be no more sunrises, no more minutes, hours or days. All the things we’ve collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else. Our wealth, fame and power will become irrelevant.
It will not matter what we owned or owed. Our jealousies, frustrations, resentments and grudges will disappear, along with our hopes, ambitions and plans. All our thoughts and desires will expire. The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away. It won’t matter where we came from or what side of the tracks we lived on at the end, even our gender and skin colour will become irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of our days be measured?
What will matter is not what we bought but what we built, not what we learned but what we taught, not what we got but what we gave. What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate our example. What will matter is not our bank accounts but our character, not who we knew, but who will feel a lasting loss when we are gone, not our memories, but the memories that live on in those that loved us. What will matter is how long we will be remembered, for what and by whom.
A life significantly lived is not one of circumstance but of choice. We must choose wisely and we must choose well. Because our lives can only be great if our minds are open and our hearts are good, and if we continue to make conscious choices.
Sometimes I wonder why I’m not a lesbian. I guess because as violent, messy, clumsy, clueless, rude and ridiculous as men often are, they can be smart and wonderful, and I do love them, however begrudgingly. Plus if they weren’t in my life, I’d be starved wandering lost and confused surrounded by piles of broken electronics, tightly sealed jars, and large heavy pieces of hard-to-move furniture, locking horns and arguing with a whole host of gossiping complaining frustrated women. On second thought, bring me men.
All we need to do are three things: try our hardest, be honest and be useful. We must help ourselves, and we must help each other. We decide what we will make of each and every situation. Wherever we are, whatever we’re doing and wherever we are going, we owe it to ourselves, to our art, and to the world, to do it well, for all of us together, for each other, and for ourselves as individuals reflected within the group.
There are things in the mind that are irreplaceable, like the memory of stars, or the smile of someone you once loved. At the same time, life goes on. In dark moments, try to recall the nights when you saw the stars the clearest. Remember it’s the darkest nights when stars are truly bright. Remember the smile that remains on the hidden face of the past. Love is never lost if the love was true. Because real true love is unbounded by time and springs from the same unending truth. All real true love strengthens the heart and nourishes the blood more deeply and more permanently than the brightest stars. The two most important days of your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why. The greatest adventure is finding real true love, because that’s who you really are, and that’s where you belong.
I think I’m gonna start some kind of doggy Tinder app because I spend most of my time daydreaming about all the dogs I wish I could temporarily forever exercise, discipline, cuddle, and love. Large amounts of love to the greatest number of dogs that want or need it for a set amount of time is it. Since I can’t love all of the dogs all of the time, I think doggy Tinder is the ticket.
Not one of us is all good or all bad, this is something we don’t always like to admit or recognize. No one person or group of persons is entirely praiseworthy or entirely at fault. We are responsible for ourselves, but we are also responsible for each other. Competition and altruism are not mutually exclusive. Neither are failure and success, hatred and love, darkness and light, wrong and right, ending and beginning, myself and you. Each of us fails as individuals when the human race fails to love itself completely. We really are in this together, whether we like it or not. So let’s like it.
While I was working on this picture, I said to myself, “I pledge allegiance to the fag,” and then immediately pulled the idea from possible public consumption for fear of reprisals, but then thought what the hell and fuck, I’ll share that shit for sure. Because when it comes down to flags and fags, my allegiance is without question to the homosexuals. As Lady Gaga used to like to say, “God bless America, and God bless the gays.” I’ll rewrite that shit and just say America’s cool sure, but it’s the Gays that make it beautiful. Gays make everything beautiful. Imagine the world without them. Talk about fuck no and holy shit bleak. In a word: boring and ugly. It’s no wonder this world is overrun with fag hags, Gays not only make everything better, they make the best friends ever. They make you happy with their wit, spontaneity, and relentless humour, they’re sensitive and in tune and know immediately when you’re upset, and they give a shit. Also they’re the best at everything including art, music, dance, design, photography, choreography, hospitality, architecture, fashion, lighting, styling, landscaping, personal training, counselling, theater, poetry, baking, cooking, wardrobe, make up, hair, and childcare. Don’t even bother arguing with me, I’m right, they are really the best, I’m pretty much 100% certain that all I’m putting forth is inarguable and true. Plus too, as regards how many straight men are keen to “plow [a woman] in the ass,” gay men receive and perform such actions willingly and with delight. Yet another way that they share the burden and let women off the hook. And such a hook right. In a thousand key ways, gay men are perfect. That’s my basic thesis. I have another comparable thesis involving Black men, but we’ll save that ode for a later post.
There are things across time that are irreplaceable, like the memory of stars, or the smile of someone you once loved. At the same time, life goes on. In dark moments, try to recall the nights when you saw the stars the clearest. Remember it’s the darkest nights when stars are truly bright. Remember the smile that remains on the face of the past, the face of loss and the face of love. All real love is unbounded by time and springs from the same unending truth. All real true love strengthens the heart and nourishes the blood more deeply and more permanently than the brightest stars.
Far more often than I would like, my mind is plagued by terrible things like rape, murder, war, exploitation, violence, deception, dishonesty, brutality, corruption, and abuse. I think about how awful people are, all the lies we tell ourselves and to each other, all the destructiveness, selfishness, hypocrisy and bullshit, the happiness we display at the misfortune of others, envy, hatred, jealousy. Then I hear some song I love, I eat a delicious meal that someone else prepared, I ride in a car over a majestic bridge that an enormous group of talented people helped successfully together to build. I read a story about how someone straight up gave their motherfucking life to save someone else, about people across the world bringing medical supplies, support, compassion, community, clean water and food to other people who every single day don’t have even that. Out on my deck, I gaze over at Twin Peaks and witness a distant group of faraway strangers gathered to experience the exquisite view. They gaze out into this beautiful city, their final look at all that societal achievement, I watch them, I smile, and I feel glad. I feel a happiness and love for all those tiny people at a distance, I love them even though I’ll never know any of them, I smile to feel the immediacy and intensity of the love that’s in my heart, and I feel a kind of deeply beautiful sadness, because I am glad. Life is awful, yes, people are awful, yes, but life is so beautiful too, and people are also beautiful. All that darkness is constantly challenged and eclipsed by all that light. Because the sun is wonderful and beautiful equally when it rises, but also when it sets.
We are not here to use and to take, to criticize, reject, hurt, or abuse. We are here to share, and to love, and most of all to contribute. What are you offering, what do you have to give? Make what you’re doing every day in some way original and beautiful. Make it mean something, make it come from you.
Think it might really be time for me to change my million years email address. Explaining “pr.incest” to the uninitiated is persistently problematic and even at times kind of difficultly twisted. The inside joke and backstory to the handle has for the most part never truly been got, and attempting to capsule summary everything isn’t a straightforward situation when for example I am suddenly asked for my email address by a bright-voiced and unsuspecting office secretary over the telephone. Saying the made up word “pr.incest” proves itself typically awkward, especially as I usually have to say it twice. Normally I just spell the word out, “P” “R” “DOT” “I” “N” “C” et cetera and always I can tell that the person at the end of the line isn’t sure they heard me right as the word “incest” fully manifests. I never actually say the word and the brave person I’m valiantly conversing with never does either, we both just calmly spell the murderous and pestiferous thing out back to each other. Then there’s this weird unspoken moment where “incest” hangs luridly in the air. The conversation formerly courteous and carefree is now uncomfortably clouded by a jarring redirection toward contemplation of a widely condemned social sexual taboo. Christ. How do I get myself into these things. Saying goodbye to the name might be a bit sad but it’s also likely high time. Life after all is fluidity and change. Plus I will not miss the tangled debauchery I periodically receive in my inbox from random international middle-aged men across the wide wild world hoping with absurd and poorly articulated interest to somehow score a little bit of that super sweet incest. Shoulda known incorporating “incest” into anything would turn up more grief than glee, but spelling and explaining “Chrystal Mess” and “platypussy” also likely won’t make my life any more easy. Hindsighting as always, even before the facts. Jeez.
I have half a mind to become the first female contestant on that motherfucking show, I don’t even care if I win. I’ve long recognized I’m something like a ten foot tall ferocious Black Man Drag Queen inscrutably misbodied into a small unboxable Asian female form but enough about me right, if I was on that damned judges panel, Darienne, Joslyn, Laganja and Trinity would have long ago been gone and Milk would still be there. I had Milk pegged to be top 3 alongside Ben and Adore, all three of whom I of course adore. For sheer fishyness, sweetness and beauty too, April should still be around, Courtney IMO is a great disappointment but it does seem that the Latin, Asian and Big Girl Queens never win. Anyway. Back to Milk. Darling, if it were up to me, you’d be top 3, I very much enjoy you, despite my severe dairy allergy. That beard, that nose, Workroom Rupaul, such great and challenging output, my God. In a certain publicly private artistic interested spectator way, and as far as corners go, I’m in yours. It’s all you.
Been hard at work banging out continuous content at my blog and writing my notorious stories because Dylan’s threatened to send me to Trim Camp if I don’t start consistently creatively producing in earnest. Like everyone says, there’s nothing sadder than wasted potential, also, “Time Waits For No Man” and it disturbingly, shockingly, doesn’t wait for me either, even if I might actually be some kind of alien cyborg android hailing from the pre-bang Singularity of some other universal galaxy, speaking of which. Quantum mechanics is fucking crazy. Physics, space, music, math, consciousness and gravity, it’s all motherfucking goddamned crazy. Shit is real because actually it’s imaginary. I don’t think anything can get crazier than that. Regardless right. Life. Write, girl, write!