Lovingly remembering Garpy (Dec. 29, 1982-Aug. 10, 1991), who left this world 22 years ago today

My baby,
You were the best when the worst came.
You gave light when there was darkness all around.
You made me believe there was a reason to live.
I don't know why you had to leave too soon. That night you died, I knew somehow you would be leaving me. And so I cried. When morning came and I got the word, I cried even more.
My beautiful, beautiful Garpy. What a painful day that was.
My baby, my Garpy. I will love you always.
"Farewell, dear darling of my soul. A parting blessing on my love. We shall meet again, where the weary are at rest." (Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities)

Just wanting to go

I am so tired, and I want to go.
Can't you just let me go?
Can't you help me find a way?

Lovingly remembering my Boobie (June 18, 1991-July 21, 2005) who departed from this world eight years ago today

My dearest Boobie,
You brought joy and meaning to my days.
I looked forward to staying home, coming home. You were here with me then.
I will always remember that look on your face when I arrived at the apartment that first day you spent at home. Right then and there, I fell in love. Right then and there, home was the place to be.
No day was ever so bad, no burden ever so heavy when you were around.
You made me smile. You made me laugh with your antics.
A big part of me died when I let you go.
I love you, my baby, my Boobiesy, my babysie.

God and bullshit

How can I believe in "God" when I still live?
How can anyone even convince me of "God" or, worse, the goodness of "God" when I still breathe?
Mere mortals show more mercy. 
Worship makes me vomit.
"God" isn't dead. "God" never was.

"Delirium"

Let me die in the arms of Pauline, lost

in this drunken delirium: here we die, illusioned and pleasured.

Sores and aches are tomorrow’s reality, if they come at all;

sunshine will blight its own existence.

Let me lie and die with this whore tonight,

smothered in darkness and perfume, serenaded by

the music outside and the smell of this cramped VIP room.

Let me die with the taste of her, here where love does not exist;

I feel just her hands and see her face,

her lips red amid the darkness, her eyes

masking what may be true inside—disgust, indifference, whatever—

what does it matter? Let me die in her arms,

by the breath of this whore I adore,

her fake name and her fake emotions—in this fake intimacy,

this expression of life: it is a death that is wonderful,

perfumed and eternal in the arms of Pauline.