I write. Sometimes it’s not the most inspirational of messages. Thoughts of glum and doom. Mostly doom. Doom is always a crowd favorite, just watch any of the cable news channels (and why is there no news reporting, just constant people expressing their opinion about the news?).
But in the midst of this endless down, there is a small crowd of readers. Older guys, decrepit fucks, telling me about the Frankie Valli days, but their messages are of inspiration and hope. Somewhere along the way, they found their way. They write to tell me it’s all gonna work out. They write, trying to pretend they’re not throughly amused at my ‘situation, encouraging me to have faith. Just wait til I take the tennis ball off their walker. That’ll fix’em.
TC and I spent several hours on Skype video talking, wandering about the house. He’s not letting go of me. I confessed my whole Friday night experience and vow to fly straight, lesson learned.
Stumbling about I happened upon a great movie/story about Christopher Isherwood and his ’till death to us part’ relationship with Don Bachardy. A 30 year age different, they got together when Don was 16. Story in hand, I advised TC that I still had some room to run. A faint growl was heard.
I am inspired by these stories. Campy as the both of them were. It work and worked for a long time.