Stream-of-consciousness gone astray. Yes, posting Theseus (ha-ha-ha) on cathedral door. A manifest (destiny). Yes, by George, you have it! In the midst of madness, we can be strong, stronger, strongest than any symptom!

We stand apart, right? We are QUEERER than any FOLK. Not damaged so much as evolving? Ashamed that we crawled out of the primordial stew to walk upon land? No! Proud, pride; share, talk... oh, Jesus, I feel like... I know! I feel, felt, the same!

Who writes this shite? Dr Bronner, back from the dead. Free jazz riffing, ya know? Resist? No, revolt. Re-volt-ing? We’re not, not all of you (us)? Revolution’s in the air. Do you smell the smoke? The gunpowder (plot)? Penny - nay, half-crown - for the Guy! Penny-wise, pound-foolish... me on a spending spree.

These... things. These symptoms? Read 1-2-3 in DSM. Me, me, me, you, you, you, all of us! We’re romping in the same PLAYHOUSE but we exit, holding hands, as the playhouse burns. We’re a polyamorous group! We are! We need be! We need. We.

We. Not I, not me. No gods, no monsters. Yes, the sum of parts but not, I need emphasize, not the sum of our symptoms.

Empathy. God-damn, but yes. In droves and shroves and I have driven and shriven that oddness, too.

Think, please: I beg you. Do you really - really, really - want to be defined by your illnesses? Be defined by your medications? Honestly? Is that all? Is that all that you are? Me, I have eleven different types of heart diseases. When I wheel my arse outside do I hear, “here comes heart disease”? No. Neither do I ignore these illnesses - I try, I attempt, I make an effort, I do - I stay aware and awake and aid and abet the treatment of every 1, 2, 3, &etc., symptom.

I get by with a great deal of help from my friends and lovers. Depressed, my passion was limp. Refreshed - not cured, not fixed - I can love, again; this thin, pale, scarred body (Corpus) is tasted and caressed by lovers old and new. My head, hair thinning, held in hands and soft lips upon the scars upon my face. I first knew her 45-years ago. Her, him, 42-years back. I forgot. I forgot touch. I forgot taste.

Falter and fall and slither like a worm. Sure, yeah, naturally. No simple-minded saying, “I fall down, I get up.” I require helping hands. You, maybe, too?

Miles Standish Proud. Nothing creative here. Plagiarism and auto-bio-graphy. Dipping into FORBIDDEN BOOKS and sweeter memories.

We - mutate - quickly.

I’m delighted that you read-between-the-lines! I pay pounds-on-pennies for pegging my plagiarisms!

I do not do. Well. I do not do well in my attempt to capture fancies. The first message? The title? Not intriguing. Grounded rotten apple. I’ve passion, righty-right-all, but no SHOWMANSHIP.

If we’re honest; if I am to be honest, I believe that even the most magnanimous moderators have selfish reasons for being here. There’s a word for that, and studious studies show. Help, support,of course. Other reasons. Some people undress and expose themselves. Some people are voyeurs, watching the orgy of naked bodies roiling. Some folks really are damaged - those that bought into the fallacy that they are their illnesses. Some people become addicted to this place and some come and run.

The only commonality that I believe that I have eked out following personalities in a random fashion is: everyone here is afraid. Everyone here has a fear. Or many fears.

All. We are sick and afraid. Here? This is a Grand Costumed Masked Ball but absolutely nothing happens at midnight. Yeah, some of us are naked, some in glorious dress, Some Walmart People (Google), some so ostentatious and pompous as to inspire reflex vomiting. Masks on, masks off, all sick and afraid.

I wonder. I am in wonder and awe at how wonderful and awful we can be.

A final word.

But ya know that I gotta provide an illustration - you can call it an illusion if you don’t trust me.

I have never understood why people enter into lifelong monogamous heterosexual marriages. I know of many lifelong, non-monogamous, non-heterosexual marriages lasting four decades. I think the former perverse. I find the latter intriguing. Not my Earl Grey, but mysterious. These many marriages are between friends of mine, and lovers, and the answer to the riddle, the thing that they share is: honesty.

Previously, I wrote of my distaste for the banal. Now, introducing ‘honesty’ as a trait to bind and bond and keep bonded? Bile in my throat. A blood pressure spike. A fit of pique.

Earlier, I suggested that we are a polyamorous bunch.

Successfully guiding the polyamorous kayak down the killer river of one Class V rapid after another requires honesty. I’ve been told.

Being openly afraid and honest with one another would be so - Christ, I don’t know. Yes, I do; I’m afraid to say.

Coffee and an egg-white omelet.