Showing posts with label Adaptation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adaptation. Show all posts

Sunday, June 15, 2014

"The Truth About Father's Day..."


Everyday can be Father's Day...

































"Have A Hallmark Father's Day..."


And this year, from Hallmark
"When you care enough to send the very best..."
The children of gay dads have a new option this year, this free e-card featuring "Dad and Pop"

video

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, what will the 65,000 members of One Million Mom's say...?
Will a boycott of Hallmark be their next goal?

"Fear Eats the Soul"



"A Father's Day Gift..."


GAY PRINCES GET A HAPPILY EVER AFTER IN NEW CHILDREN’S BOOK “THE PRINCES AND THE TREASURE”

Adrian Garcia
June 13, 2014


A new children’s book by author Jeffrey A. Miles, offers a happily ever after ending for two gay princes.

The “The Princes and the Treasure,” takes place in the magical kingdom of Evergreen, where a beautiful Princess named Elena, is suddenly whisked away by an old woman. “Undefeated champion Gallant and shy bookworm Earnest go on a quest to find “the greatest treasure in the land” so one of them can save and marry the princess. Along the way, Earnest and Gallant realize “the greatest treasure in the land” is not what they expected.”


“I would love for children to see that there are prince and princess couples in the world, and there are also princess and princess couples and prince-and-prince couples who go on adventures, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after,” said the book’s author, Jeffrey Miles. “When that happens, then I will see the world as a truly magical place.”

Visit Amazon for more details about the book.


*****

"Fear Eats the Soul"



Sunday, March 31, 2013

"The Artist's Corner..."


Jesus Rises
from The Passion of Christ: A Gay Vision
Oil on panel
Douglas Blanchard

the Passion of the Christ is re-imagined in the art of Douglas Blanchard.  He depicts Christ as a contemporary young gay man, and in so doing, asks the question, "What If Jesus Were Gay?"






Saturday, March 23, 2013

"Sometimes In Advertising..."



Earlier this week, I participated in a paid focus group looking at potential LGBT themed advertising for a national insurance company.  It was an enlightening and fun experience, I felt like I was in an episode of "Mad Men".  That being said, I have to say, I feel that the ad agency really missed their mark with the work we reviewed.  Of the six potential print ads we looked at, I found two to be really off-putting.  And of the remaining four, I only liked one.  I think their "Mad Men" should think about taking a cue from Virgin Atlantic's ad agency...


I've loved this Virgin Atlantic ad (above) since the first time I saw it years ago.  It very effectively uses gay themed humor in a way that anyone gay or not can identify with.  It's not offensive in the least, it's just fun.


I think I was approached to participate in the focus group (although I don't know for sure, I didn't think to ask that) because of this blog and some of the features that I post here. As I listened to the comments of the other participants, I realized that they put some thought and effort into making our focus group truly diverse and representative.  Our group consisted of three gay men - two white, one black (guess who?), and three lesbian women - again, two white and one black.  We came from all over the country and from both urban and rural backgrounds.  It was a fascinating process and I hope I'll have the chance to do it again.


"Fear Eats the Soul"


Sunday, March 17, 2013

"The Truth Is In The Scriptures..."

Here is some sage advice from a Christian friend, that although not intended for us, shows the universality of love and loving relationships. For your Sunday afternoon consideration:


25 Ways to Communicate Respect

Actions speak louder than words. You can say you respect your husband, but he’ll have a hard time believing that unless your behavior backs it up.
What does respectful living look like? Here are 25 ways you can communicate respect to your spouse without uttering a word. If you’ll make it your habit to do these things, the next time you tell your husband how much you respect him, he won’t have to wonder if you really mean it.
  1. Choose Joy
    It’s true: A happy spouse makes for a happy house. Please don’t use moodiness as an attempt to manipulate your man, but in all things rejoice, because that’s the right thing to do. (1 Thessaonians 5:16;Philippians 4:4)
  2. Honor His Wishes
    Give weight to what your husband thinks is important. Make those things a priority that matter most to him, whether it’s having dinner ready when he gets home from work or keeping the house tidy or limiting computer time. Don’t make him ask twice. (Philippians 2:4)
  3. Give Him Your Undivided Attention
    Yes, although you may be a master of multi-tasking, when your husband is speaking to you, make a point to lay other tasks aside, look into his eyes, and listen to what he is saying with the goal of understanding and remembering his words.
  4. Don’t Interrupt
    Have you ever been around a person who won’t let you finish a sentence? That gets old fast. Even if you think you already know what your husband is going to say, allowing him to say it without cutting him off mid-sentence shows both respect and common courtesy.
  5. Emphasize His Good Points
    Sure, he has his faults (as do you), but dwelling on them will only make you (both) miserable. Choose instead to focus on those qualities in your husband that you most admire. (Philippians 4:8)
  6. Pray for Him
    Ruth Graham advises “tell your mate the positive, and tell God the negative.” Take your concerns to God. Faithfully lift up your husband in prayer every day, and you will likely notice a transformation not only in him, but in yourself, as well. (Philipians 4:6-71 Thessalonians 5:17)
  7. Don’t Nag
    Your husband is a grown man, so don’t treat him like a two-year-old. Leave room for God to work. You are not the Holy Spirit, so do not try to do His job.
  8. Be Thankful
    Cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Don’t take your husband for granted. Be appreciative for everything he does for you, whether big or small. Always say thank you. (1 Thessalonians 5:18Ephesians 5:20)
  9. Smile at Him
    Smiles spread happiness. Smiles have even been shown to create happiness. Smiles are contagious. And a smile makes anyone more beautiful.
  10. Respond Physically
    Did you know that the way you respond (or don’t respond) to your husband’s romantic overtures has a profound effect on his self-confidence? Don’t slap him away when he tries to hug you or make excuses when he’s in the mood. Your enthusiastic cooperation and reciprocation will not only assure him of your love, but will make him feel well-respected, too. (1 Corinthians 7:3-5)
  11. Eyes Only for Him
    Don’t compare your husband unfavorably to other men, real or imaginary. It is neither fair nor respectful and will only breed trouble and discontent. Avoid watching movies or reading books that might cause you to stumble in this area, as well. (Psalm 19:14Proverbs 4:23)
  12. Kiss Him Goodbye
    I once read about a study done in Germany which found that men whose wives kissed them goodbye every morning were more successful than those who weren’t kissed. Success and respect often go hand-in-hand, so be sure to send him off right, and don’t forget to greet him with a kiss when he returns home, for good measure. (2 Corinthians 13:12)
  13. Prepare His Favorite Foods
    Although the rest of the family is not overly-fond of spaghetti, my husband loves it, so I try to make it at least two or three times a month as a way to honor him. Next time you’re planning meals, give special consideration to your husband’s preferences. (Proverbs 31:14-15)
  14. Cherish Togetherness
    I love to sit near my husband, whether at home or away.  At home, I’ll take my book or handiwork to whatever room in the house he’s working in, just to be close to him, because I enjoy his company, even when neither of us is talking.
  15. Don’t Complain
    Nobody wants to be around a whiner or complainer. It is grating on the nerves. Remember the serenity prayer: accept the things you can’t change, courageously change the things you can, seek wisdom to know the difference. (Philippians 2:14)
  16. Resist the Urge to Correct
    I know of a couple where one spouse can’t tell a story without the other stopping him fifteen times to correct inconsequential details: “It wasn’t Monday evening, it was Monday afternoon…. It wasn’t blue, it was turquoise…. He didn’t ride the bus, he took a shuttle.” Please. Please. Please. Don’t ever do that to your husband — or to anyone else, for that matter! (Proverbs 17:28)
  17. Dress to Please Him
    Take care of your appearance. Choose clothes your husband finds flattering, both in public and around the house.
  18. Keep the House Tidy
    To the best of your abilities, try to maintain a clean and orderly home. Seek to make it a haven of rest for your entire family. (Proverbs 31:27)
  19. Be Content
    Do not pressure your husband to keep up with the Jonses. Take satisfaction in the lifestyle he is able to provide for you. (1 Timothy 6:6-10Hebrews 13:5)
  20. Take His Advice
    Do not dismiss his opinions lightly, especially when you’ve asked for his counsel in the first place. Make every effort to follow your husband’s advice.
  21. Admire Him
    Voiced compliments and heartfelt praise are always welcome, but you should also make it your habit to just look at your husband in a respectful, appreciative way. Think kind thoughts toward him. He’ll be able to see the admiration in your eyes. (Luke 6:45)
  22. Protect His Name
    Honor your husband in the way you speak of him to family and friends. Guard his reputation and do not let minor disagreements at home cause you to speak ill of him in public. Live in such a way that it will be obvious to others why your husband married you in the first place. (Proverbs 12:422:1)
  23. Forgive His Shortcomings
    In the words of Ruth Bell Graham, “A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers.” Please do not hold grudges against your husband. Do not allow a root of bitterness or resentment find a home in your heart. Forgive your husband freely, as Christ has forgiven you. (Mark 11:25Matthew 18:21-35)
  24. Don’t Argue
    You are not always right, and you do not always have to have the last word. Be the first to say, “I’m sorry.” Be willing to accept the blame. It takes two to argue, so “abandon a quarrel before it breaks out.” (Proverbs 17:1421:1925:24)
  25. Follow His Lead
    When you want your husband to lead, you must be willing to follow. Neither a body nor a family can function well with two heads. Learn to share your decision making responsibilities and when a decision has been made, defer to it and let final decisions be just that. (Ephesians 5:22-24)
Proverbs 18:22 tells us, “He who finds a mate finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.” Do these 25 things consistently, and your husband will never have trouble believing that fact.


This work has been modified and adapted to suit a same-gender loving readership, certain pronouns and stylistic syntax have been changed to reflect this.



Saturday, February 18, 2012

"The Truth About Love..."


Here is an enigmatic, moving and lovely short film that I've been invited to share with you... Watch and discover how at the same time, its not what you think, but is really so much more.

Click here to help be a part of the Feature Film FRIEND... Donating just a $1 can make a difference http://www.indiegogo.com/myfriend

Click Here to be a friend of FRIEND on facebook
http://www.facebook.com/friendfilm

Click Here for music from The Wedding Dance, only .99 cents on itunes. All proceeds go towards funding FRIEND film
http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the-wedding-dance-single/id502020650


"Fear Eats the Soul"

Thursday, January 7, 2010

"Truth Is Wherever You Find It..."


A Case of Holmesophobia?
The chemistry between Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Watson is no mystery, yet there seems to be no end to the outrage over the film's homosexual overtones




Ben Walters
Wednesday, 6 January 2010

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle famously had a soft spot for fairies. The same cannot, it seems, be said of the keepers of his literary flame – not, at least, of Andrea Plunket, who lays claim to the remaining US copyrights relating to Conan Doyle's most iconic creation.

According to IMDB, Plunket has reacted with fury to Robert Downey Jr's suggestion on The Late Show with David Letterman that Sherlock Holmes, whom he plays in Guy Ritchie's film, could be perceived as "a very butch homosexual". Introducing a clip in which Holmes lets off some steam bare-knuckle boxing after offending Watson, Downey also floated the possibility that Rachel McAdams's character, with whom the detective is apparently besotted, "could be a beard. Who knows?"

"I hope this is just an example of Mr Downey's black sense of humour," Plunket reportedly fumed in an interview with Total Film. "It would be drastic, but I would withdraw permission for more films to be made if they feel that is a theme they wish to bring out in the future. I am not hostile to homosexuals, but I am to anyone who is not true to the spirit of the books."

It's hard to think of the last time so much befuddled, hateful knee-jerk reaction was funnelled into so few words. Oh, wait, no, it isn't – Jan Moir's Daily Mail article on Stephen Gately will be hard to top on that front for some time. Still, Plunket does awfully well, insisting that the idea of a beloved character being gay is not just a joke but a sick joke before offering a declaration of tolerance to stand alongside "I've nothing against black people" and "Don't get me wrong, I love women".

To an extent, it's silly even to take note of the outburst. If the movie's nine-figure takings do spur the production of a sequel, then it seems questionable that Plunket would have the power to nix it and even more questionable that it would include anything sufficiently offensive to her sensibilities for her to try. Certainly, the new movie makes Holmes and Watson's intimate bond plain, showing them squabbling over housework and making explicit the jealousy the former feels at the latter's engagement to a (barely-written) woman. The director has even stated that "these guys are sort of in love with each other." But this is fairly standard buddy-movie homosociability; the chances of Richie et al taking the couple's domestic partnership into explicitly romantic let alone sexual territory seem vanishingly small.

As a look at the Letterman clip makes clear, this whole kerfuffle is less about any serious engagement with the stories' homoerotic subtext than about Downey having a laugh at the expense of prurient attitudes to gay sex, including those of Letterman and his band leader, and generating some coverage for his movie at the same time. He pulled off the same trick nearly a year ago, during the film's production, when his tongue-in-cheek assertion that Holmes and Watson "wrestle a lot and share a bed" was quoted by the News of the World under the classy headline "Queerstalker".

Not that there isn't something to the idea of Holmes and Watson as a couple. As with any other number of crime-fighting duos, their bond has long been fertile territory for such speculation; indeed, in Billy Wilder's The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, the detective himself encourages rumours that he and Watson are lovers. Overall, of course, such intimations are best left sublimated. The most detailed excavation of the original stories can unearth a thousand proofs of the pair's intimate mutual attraction without any hint of fluids being exchanged.

The real inanity of Plunket's objection lies in its philistinic – and hilariously inconsistent – insistence on fidelity to a source text. If Plunket were sincere about the need to stay "true to the spirit of the books", she would be aghast at the introduction of a heterosexual love interest for Holmes; indeed, at the whole edifice of Richie's wham-bam steampunk spookfest.

If the film's depictions of Holmes engaging in underground boxing bouts, rescuing damsels from occult ceremonies through brute force and diving for cover from exploding warehouses are to get a pass – if, that is, it's fine for the physical prowess described by Conan Doyle to be ramped up a few notches – then why shouldn't a similar process of exaggerated extrapolation apply to the intimacy unquestionably enjoyed by the detective and his sidekick in the original stories? It's simply a case of deductive reasoning, observing small clues and imaginatively hypothesising what they might connote. To veto such investigation is not merely prejudiced but counter to the enquiring spirit of Conan Doyle's character; not just homophobic but Holmesophobic.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

"A Story to Share..."



His Ghost
An adaptation of A.J McKenna’s “Old Ghosts”
By Christopher Flournoy

It's Jason Miller’s birthday. He wakes up on this humid August morning, to the pleasant sound of birds singing outside his window and, for a long time, he stares in confused remembrance towards the window where the swelling orange sun is burning the faded floral wallpaper across from his tumbled bed.

'It's my birthday,' he finally realizes. 'I'm seventy-six today. Where did the time go?'
Climbing painfully from a sore mattress, standing naked by the window shielded only by the sheer curtains that have hung there for more than 30 years, Jason stares down at the yard. There's too much be done. Later. Much later. These days it's all weeding, backache and wishes. Outside in the sunrise, the flowers in the rock garden are already awake, begonias and impatients reach upwards to the sun and all the verbenas and pansies are on fire.
'It's my birthday.'

The neighbor’s dog barks. A cat he sees often, who in his mind he’s named ‘Fred,’ climbs through the fence and drops beside its shadow under the Pear tree, stalking anxious robins with the first sun. Under his neighbor’s broken bird bath a squirrel plays with a pear he stolen from Jason’s yard. Shadows shrink in bright shyness against all the fences and rooflines and the last star melts into the arrival of the dawn. There's already heat in the breathless August day.

Jason Miller, seventy-six, sitting in his kitchen. Silent. The house, holding its breath around him, the roof heavy and oven baked. Jason's thick veined hands brush toast crumbs from the old lace tablecloth and when he moves his faded slippers across the floor, dust dances giddily on the sun patched tiles. He listens to the awakening of the new day: the clock on the wall ticks hurriedly and rudely breaking the tranquil silence, the phone begins to ring.

Jason hurriedly walks to the hall and picks up the receiver of the old phone that’s been in the house since 1936. Lifting the receiver to his ear, he wonders ‘Who’s remembered my birthday?’ Encouraged, his ‘hello’ has far more vim and vigor than on most days. ‘Tim, is that you?’ ‘There’s no Tim here, you’ve got the wrong number.’ Jason hangs up the receiver. No birthday wishes to sigh over - these days who would know?

Returning to the familiar kitchen he cooks his eggs and returns to the table with his morning juice and cup of yogurt. No longer absorbed in his meal Jason looks at the sunlight shining blindly on the green grass of his backyard. He sits and thinks about birthdays back when. Cake and ice cream, songs and celebrations and the family and friends now long dead who cared. Back then.
'Time flies,' he says.

He talks to himself most days - who else will listen? In the still shadowed study a clock chimes the hour and Jason rises tiredly and prepares to face the day. When he turns on the television the news assaults his soul. The world is littered with dead children and pain. Bad news amuses curiously while the advertisements for things never dreamed of prove to be even less entertaining. The world has gone mad with cruelty and nobody seems to have noticed. He changes the channel and foreign voices are being interviewed. Talking violence in tongues, telling of the rapes of children, roadside bombs and a never ending war. The media loves abusing the innocent with their excited updates and urgently breaking stories. It was different back then. It seemed quieter and children could play on the streets. Back then.

Jason smiles and finds a gardening show on PBS and the morning is saved by thoughts of planting fall bulbs. Then he dresses and walks, cane and cloth cap, to the front door and checks the windows and the bolts and all's secure. When the nighttime house creaks with its own age, Jason thinks of burglars and imagined violations and trembles in case they invade him.
What a world!

Jason swings open the front door and sees Leroy Hazal standing there, smiling like sunlight.
'Happy birthday, Jason!'
No longer astonished, Jason smiles back and sighs because Leroy isn't really there.
Leroy Hazal, fourteen last week. He's been seeing Leroy a lot lately. He walked behind him all the way to the hushed library yesterday and when he sat to rest in Russell Woods Park Leroy was standing under a tree, waiting for him in the shade.
'I didn't forget,' Leroy says.
'I know, I know.'
'Will you come with me?'
'I can't Leroy. You're dead.'
The sun slides down the street and settles on Jason's house and Leroy fades like a startled shadow.
'Poor Leroy,' Jason whispers sadly. 'My poor dead friend.'


Jason avoids the supermarkets. It's too complicated. Grim cashiers who aren’t happy in their work. Kids breathing asthma. Babes crying incessantly. Bald headed young men pushing forward, rings in their ears, rape in their shiftless eyes. Never stare back. Girls demanding more. Parking lots cluttered with cars bought with stress earned money. People hurrying, car exhausts, liberated women with little freedom. The exhaustion of super markets and too much choice. Too big, too modern. Too lonely for Jason.

He goes to the smaller neighborhood stores and sometimes the gas station mini marts, chats with familiar people and gets milk and eggs and a loaf of bread. Further along, outside the Salvation Army store, the neighbor from up the street nods an inquisitive greeting.
'How are you doing?' she asks, looking past him at the second-hand bargains in the window.
'Fine. Yourself?'
'I’m good.'
Life is strangled with polite lies.
Jason walks home through the heating streets towards sanctuary at twelve-eight-two-five Broadstreet.

In his armchair in the living room bay window he looks out on the street. Hearing the clock in the study chime eleven times and the long day stretching ahead like a dreadful eternity. The terror of 11 a.m. Nothing to do and outside youngsters move slothfully through the morning, sun on their heads, time on their hands. Timberlands clattering, sagging pants, short skirts, hip hop bass rattling the windows.
I'm glad I'm not young anymore.

Jason despises this time of day. Already too hot for the yard work and nothing to occupy the mind until making something at lunchtime. Light sustenance for the long afternoon lengthening drearily ahead like an empty road going nowhere. Jason tries to read but even in glasses the words are a blur.

'Leroy,' he whispers and his name rings in his head like a tolling bell.
Leroy Hazal, Leroy Hazal, Heroy Lazal.
Jason happily goes off with him. His eyes close. He becomes delirious with dreaming and hears a soft knock at the front door. Jason shuffles down the hall and when he cautiously opens the heavy door, Leroy is there, sixteen and handsome, framed in the sun like a young prince. Leroy Hazal, budding with manhood and youthful happiness.
'Can you come out today, Jason?'

From behind, a different ghost in the dark hallway, Jason's mother, smiling.
'He's got to do some shopping for me, Leroy dear.'
Jason, sixteen, between his mother and his first love, adolescently happy.
'I'll go with you, Jason,' Leroy, was always agreeable. 'We'll go to the store together. If that's all right?'
Mother agrees, she loves Leroy, seeing how happy his friendship makes her son.
'Of course it's all right with me.'

Jason and Leroy walking down the path with mama at the door, waving like a mother, waiting until they are beyond the gate, forever worrying about them traveling through the neighborhood and its dangers. Drug dealers, street gangs, muggers. You name it. Young people often died young back then.

Jason and Leroy, heads tilted, magnetic attraction and heart’s affection drawing them closer, talking, laughing, a pair apart from others. In love. Leroy's calm curling smile framed by manhood’s first downy whiskers shows him quiet and reliable as the moon.
'Will you love me forever?’ Jason asks.
'Forever and ever,' Leroy assures, looking around warily before squeezing his beloved’s hand.

On the way back they short cut thorough the alleys. A long short cut. Still talking, their words tumbling like waters in the rapids of some far off stream. In the old alley they settle in shade next to a dilapidated garage and kiss among the weeds and trash, innocently. They kissed like that for what seemed only a minute but was in fact an eternal moment in time.

Life, a summer holiday until seventeen. Then, Jason goes to New York with his father. A business trip. Magnificent New York and his first trip on a plane weaving its way across the summer sky, tall buildings everywhere, cathedrals of commerce and then the Ambassador West Hotel. Swanky. Dinner and desserts. Black ties, brown cigars. Gin and tonic with a twist of lemon. Now, New York is always dry gin and a twist in Jason's fading memory. Bitter lemon.

Jason with father's friends. A party and the talcum smell of sex. Dad leaves early with a friend. Dad feels only half married. Winking a man's signal. Permission to sin. A bird in the bush.
Jason dancing until dawn has caught the wanton eye of the young waiter. Back at his upstairs flat he says his parents are away and Jason is still not sober.
'Let me help you to bed,' he says, learning the rules of the game and when to cheat.


Sixteen Leroy smelled of love and quiet gardens. This man is twenty and slick with gin. Lust in his eyes, stone in his heart. Bath naked he drips rich. Jason falls into him and is devoured. Leroy, innocent sixteen, gave him everything except that. His tended flesh was reserved for the passing of fear and the proof of love. Jason thought he wanted more. Pearls before swine.
Mea culpa, Leroy -mea maxima culpa!

Then the New Yorker came to Detroit with the snow, all passion and lust pursuing Jason all grown up and knowing. Blood on snow. Seventeen Leroy, discarded, like a toy wound down, broken and useless.
'Don't you want me anymore?'
'No.'
Tears on Leroy’s bitten lips. Eyes red with pain. Soul seared. Leroy goodbye.
'No. I don't want you.'
Jason brave and final, cruel as winter. Abandoned Leroy, quietly waiting for him to mature, to understand love.

Next year he took the New Yorker away. Vacationing. Not even saying goodbye to pale Leroy, eighteen and alone with sickness rising in his young troubled mind, his heart dark with love. Leroy’s innocence like seed heads on dandelions, dancing readily away. Crowns of thorns for Leroy’s virgin manhood. Veils of tears.
Leroy ill, pain unbearable.

On Jason's return his mother greets him with rubbing, folded fingers. Wet cheeks.
'Poor Leroy,' mama whispers, 'I don’t understand why he did it.' Respect for the dead.
Jason matures. Instantly.
Too late.
Leroy’s black blood on his spitting lips. The flowers on his grave stiff in frost. Brown leaves tumbling, flying wildly in the frozen air, reburying him. No more warm kisses and a heart soaring with love. Leroy nineteen, never twenty. Mama behind the coffin, mama in her own maternal grave. And rain for fifty long years and more, after that.
My dearest gone for evermore!

Clock chime. Ding. One. Ding. Two. Et Cetera.
Jason struggles from a dream speaking his beloved’s name into the listening shadows.
'Leroy?'
The pitch dark shadows silent as love words from dead mouths. Marble graveyard lips, cold as stone. Ivy and moss. Memories haunting his present. Jason shivers and steps into the window sun. Rubs his thick veined hands. Prays. Then he makes lunch. Turkey with lettuce and tomato, yet again. He dreams the evening away - half out of life. On the radio a woman sings 'Four Last Songs.' You don't have to know the language.
Such sweet sorrow. Who said that?

Later, a seat in the yard looking towards the singing sunset. There is nothing to see except blackbirds and robins; nothing to hear except the laughter and cursing of those still young.

Even later, the clock in the study chimes twelve heartbeats. Night comes hot and bothered.
Climbing into an empty bed, Jason turns off his lamp and watches the shadows from the street huddling against the floral wallpaper. Stars look in at his graying face. A hot August moon in the open window. Soft as silence, quiet as apple blossoms falling, gentle as Leroy’s dimpled smile. Leroy’s same sad glad smile standing there by his bed. Faithful Leroy, waiting.
'Do you want me now?'
'Yes! Dear sweet God - yes!'

He says 'I can be with you now, Leroy, if you like. I'm finally, properly dead.'
'I'm glad. I've been waiting for such a long time!'
Jason rising from his bed, leaving his seventy-six years between the laundered sheets. Soaring through the moonlight with Leroy in his arms, the pair of them shooting likes comets into Eternity while the clock in the study stops.
Forever and forever.


*****

Dedicated to Stephen Christopher Harris, a man not unlike Jason

"Fear Eats the Soul"

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