Ihad loved him.

Not initially. Like that, at all. Purest platonic love I’d ever felt, actually. For the longest time. Came in seeing & talking just as clearly, roughly(in a spiritual fuck your feelings sense) as I do now.

We’d met in Japan. As everything was dissolving with the fucked up love of my life that I grew grievechronic in the carcass of like magic mushrooms, and as everything began with the Kumo to my Tenshi, the dragon cloud to my angelic tengu-vibed spirit.

Wasn’t looking at his ass romantically at all when we’d reconnected stateside. I’d needed a job. So much so I found his fn studio & made sure they’d let him know as soon as he’d stepped out of it.

But let’s be clearer than I have ever been on all this, because everybody has their evidence and their timelines in this they’re rocking to, so it’s time to clarify mines:

The love of my life was a 6’3 Dominican hustler club promoter dude who picked up languages the way regular motherfuckers picked up cups of water. My. Entire. Collection. Of. Menswear. Was .Cut. Off. Of this man’s narrow hips, high, hilariously perfect lil ass &46 inch fucking shoulders.

I had started drawing his ass In design school in Fucking Ohio. Months before we finally met, the portfolio that got me into both FIT &Parsons New School as a transfer was nothing but a hybrid of his body in my mind’s eye,Yul Brynner and Brandon Lee’s ass walking to that fucking window in the Crow.

I literally Artemis’d the fuck out at 20, funding my season abroad to see the stars over Greece from D’Aulaire’s illustrations…and hunt for his haunting me for Two years Kouros ass. Thought the guy I was being(what yall now call twin flame)called by was Greek.

…and because God had more jokes than a motherfucker, I went to the Tunnel (a club) to dance my last night away before a morning flight to Paris-the first place I was gonna hunt this gorgeous motherfucker down in- met my big sister transANGEL Kim (who could’ve been his female twin because you’d have never known she was trans),turned around and ran smack dab into Him, both of us blushgrinning gapemouthed .

…Because both of us were telepathic and I’d been growling that I was coming to FIND his ass for weeks…and his ass had been growling right back “come on, then!”

…was it as” thunderstruck type of shit” as dude’s Romeo+Juliet meet cute? 100 times moreso.

Did I Stilll take my ass to Europe in Girls gone wild/En busca d’Aventura mode?

Fuck. Yeah.

Heck, I knew where he was now🤗.

I say allll that to say…

Dude…who I did sincerely love through the hell of our arc~ was 6’0. In those boots men used to like to wear because it made them 6 feet. Not saying I DIDN’T wrestle with Satyrs. There’s a Cadre of 5’7 to 5’9 comrades who’d surely toast my ass to this day, straight Dosvendanya😁 ( they all spoke Russian alongside whatever mother tongues they’d escaped with). “Six feet” & a golden boy, community-wise. Who looked like my dad had looked when I was a baby. Gorgeous, no doubt. But I had a relationship with my dad, fucked though it was. By the grace of God that whole fuck your parent on blind autopilot missed me. He looked like my sibling.

I was still picking the shattered bones of the love of my life out of the surface of my soul like shrapnel when I went for the gig. And the only salve that Had worked in the aftermath of the 6’3 Dominican with ‘the braids snaking all phallic-like down his back had been Dragon Kumo dude (who was 190, 194 cm. To my 185cm. Same insane shoulder spread, narrow hips. Skewed slightly bigger. Popped the pants😬. Even the Dominican stood down the night Kumo & I’d met. True Twin Flame shit. Our…choices made sense to each other). Kumo being untenable and deciding not to be a gaijin anymore on the other side of pressing charges was what had led to the gruff demand for a gig in the first place.

So… I’m 6’1ish, in chaotic love with a Dominican Apollonic demon, soothed by a giant, Yokohama tengu God through it… and I had no inclination to fuck my fucking father because he was present enough in my life to make that shit a non-issue.

…and I got punished for that shit.

A black golden boy in his literal golden boy era was surrounded by pliant pussy, up to his neck. I tomboyishly went in like “Nigga, this is Xanadu…these crazy motherfuckers are the real show~ let me document This shit-” because his nutters were so much fun that they were…respite.

From all of it.

Pressing charges. Not being able to get my cousin out. Shuttering the line. Losing everything by deciding to stand up against something.

He had the best fans on the planet.

& a circle of enablers chomping on the bit to ruin all of it.

I hadn’t fucked one of my ‘societal brethren’ since in eons. Golden boy black dick meant nada to me. I was golden my damned self. I was ordering dudes to take off their clothes in like five languages. I was like…

Do you understand…the psychology…of a hot, straight male hairdresser back in the day?

That’s the closest mindmap I can give you of a hot, straight female menswear designer at the turn of the century. I had a Ball. Do you even comprehend how many gay men are in the male modeling industry? Surprisingly few. But the brunt of the agents, most of those they came in contact with were, and voraciously so. Predatorily so… the folks their livelihoods literally depended on! Can you imagine the fn relief my red-blooded, hedonistic All-American ass was to these guys? I was a big sister , fender-off’er, den mother…to my ABM dudes. Otherwise?

There’s a clip in what we do in the shadows where she goes “iiiii was a baaad vampiiire~” and I’m telling you, I laughed for days… because it was the ….I had fun.

How the fuck was I supposed to pretend I wanted to fuck a dude who Literally looked like my brother For a gig to stroke his high assed ego?Period, because fuck that… but come the fuck on-

From devouring men without ties in 11th grade in Ohio to…running in circles where I saw Shenkenberg in the grocery store allatime, knew Cameron’s baby mom in passing due to other designer acquaints- motherfuckers before he was Smith, he was the polite gorgeous blonde who walked me home when Fern Malis fired me from volunteering just so I could f ureaking watch the shows-

If…my world…had been defined within the confines of the culture most often assigned to my skin color, then fine. The cultural kowtowing I was supposed to vibe to could’ve made sense. But most of those motherfuckers had nothing but hostility towards my kind as it was. From jump. Because I’ve always done my own thing.

HE…Knew that.

HE…met me Doing That…in Japan.

Any illusions he had about my vibration were spoken into him when he was getting high. Because that motherfucker knew. The cage of light he knew I knew he was in.

At That time? If he would’ve openly banged one white chick his career would’ve been OVER. Treason. They would’ve strung his ass Up.

But I was the asshole for fucking who the fuck I wanted & saying When ASKED in the barrel we were all floating world mode fucking around in- that “fuck if I care if the world loves a guy? If he’s being an utter asshole & treats women like shit… him “liking me” only pauses that shit. Until he doesn’t. ” & when one of his enablers snarked “Oh, like you’d fuck a mailman?!” & I said “If that fucking mailman was a good Man & Good To me, fuck yeah. Besides, I like calves😜.”…you’d have thought I had killed someone’s dog.

By then I’d already gotten fed up “cyber-socializing ” and had gone over his head to the management company organizing his tour. To the owner. .. The motherfucker who Could give me the fucking job and would be signing the checks once we got on the road. And got hired. He got the concept. It was just hurry up and wait shit.

… then shit went sideways.

And I got “Saved.”

Because God had bigger fish to fry in my own story that didn’t center around learning how to write while licking my wounds on the road.

The entire thing would’ve ended sooner if I hadn’t gotten saved.

God made me stay and take it, too.

The entire cauldron of it.

Even made me fall IN the kind of love that it initially wasn’t eventually, writing to him in spite of the trench war as he became a junkie fucking with his record label wranglers & their enablers he’d once welcomed. It got to “God, what fucking kind of love is it going to Take?!Damn!”

I fell in love with him because saved, I couldn’t fucking kill him.

Laughing, but Naan a bit of that laughter is in my eyes. Cold clarity.

And to this day he knows it.

If I hadn’t gotten saved…and he’d done the smallest of the things he’d done- I would’ve killed him. Because I was already carrying so much familiarly.

& right in the midst of all that…he’d had a kid. With one of the ones more suited to what I had been defiantly unsuitable for.

I promised God two things: that I would get him back To his altar and I wouldn’t let the generational rage God had me grappling with in hopes of helping others(Grievechronic) trigger me into snuffing out that kid’s dad.

I put up with shit until 2008 , honoring those two promises. Through shit I wouldn’t wish on anyone. & I tried to stay in “love,” even as shit got vicious.

That artshow he eventually tried to capsize was called Repatriated: Homecoming. Hindsight? Maybe I knew he’d gotten back To the altar, even if only deceptively so, fucking around with fake Christians who were wholly more invested in that aforementioned golden boy construct than God beyond the surface.

I called it on a technicality.

Why?

Saw him. In junkie golden boy mode. With a little girl …in a neighborhood high school uniform. She could’ve just been short. Curly hair. Wasn’t just short.

“God, he’s there, at your altar, though foul. You can work with that. I’m out.” I sent a letter in a turquoise envelope, the true last line far as I was concerned.

The demon on him grazed the one zone that would’ve made me go “since you can’t respect children in the midst of your SHIT, the fuck use are you gonna be to that kid the second promise was made on the grounds of?”

That girl in that school uniform lured into this to goad That Grievechronic aspect of me back then is Why God accepted my “reassignment. ” God designed my ass an a pedo killer. There wasn’t Any debate.

In that moment…He stopped deserving to be a father. He stopped deserving to live. & I dug my nails into christ until God got me out of NYC to not make me be what he deserved due to even having that kid over there. It was surreal. I’d stood down all that had been done to me. On God. And I knew God was real because of what that had taken.

…but that kid?

Nah.

The Entire time he gave chase, for years, ensconced in his tornado of complicit blooming idiot cunts…he knew Exactly what he had done to make me finally give up on him.

Every stupid Christian from my church he charmed, every person who died my whereabouts out before I got tired of living in radio silence to avoid him… every moment of it he knew that anything of merit in whatever the fuck our dance was…went up in smoke seeing that little girl pulled into it.

No repentance.

I’d even forgiven this fucker for having a bitch hack my computer, paranoid I was writing about him.

But that uniformed kid mixed up in that shit?

This is all coming up Now…because THAT is something I have to forgive TODAY.