Hug Your Friends, Or, A Love Letter to a Man I've Never Been in Love WIth

So, here we are. One year ago, I was counting down to going to Atlanta to see Gary Numan. I was so excited. Best laid plans, yeah?
It was the beginning of the worst year of my life, not even being melodramatic. I literally almost died this year. Like, honestly almost died. By the anniversary of that, I don’t think I’ll even be able to see the scar that saved my life, it’s so wee. There have been good moments, sure. I’ve even made new friends and such. But December 10, 2017 started a vortex of suck. I lost what I honestly thought was my forever human in a disastrous way. It left me far more broken than I can describe. It left me completely alone. It’s not that I believe that I’m not worthy of love, I know that I am. I’m just not sure that I can do it again. I am a whole, complete, person on my own, I don’t need anything or anyone to “complete me.” I find the thought ludicrous. Several people have told me that they don’t know what happened, really. That’s true. I’m not a victim. I made wrong choices. I fully trusted someone with my heart. Turns out, that was a bad plan. This is what I will say, as plenty of you are friends with him, this isn’t a secret. He has an addiction to pain. As a mate, I don’t scream and yell. I don’t try to wound another for my own leverage. He found someone better suited to his needs. He hurt everyone involved tremendously in the process. As he says a lot, just like Bill Belichek says, it is what it is. I don’t hate her. I don’t hate him. I am tired of being nice. How should you be expected to treat your junkie ex’s dealer? I love him. I always will. I will never be with him, no matter what. I have no intention of being with anyone in that way, ever again. I’m broken, heart and soul. Just as much today as I was then. Just, broken. But, that isn’t the focus of this missive.
I don’t remember much about the actual show, I was slowly dying inside. I know that I have an autographed copy of Savage. That’s cool. Everyone involved with this idiotic farce was in the same room for the show. I lived in Atlanta for six years. I was desperately looking for anyone to talk to that I knew. Not like, serious, meaningful talk, just to say hi. A reason to walk away from him, as I went to the show with him, and was leaving with him. I saw entirely one person. Which brings us to the point. You ever know someone who affected you profoundly, but probably has no idea? This is kind of about that. It just needed that much setup. But wait! There’s more setup!
When I was a young goth, I loved going dancing. I lived in NC, but I went to Georgia a lot. Fun Fact: I am the only member of my direct family for many, many years not to be born in eastern NC. Generations, even. I was born in Duluth, GA, because my mom got pissed off and moved away. We moved back when I was five, so I grew up here, but spent a bit of time down there, because that’s where her two best friends live. Well, when I was of travelling on my own age, I discovered The Chamber in Atlanta. It was my super happy place. I have never cared about dancing by myself, but sometimes it’s just nice to be surrounded by a lot of people really digging the same thing at the same time. And at The Chamber, there were so many boys that actually danced, and danced well. It was like The Fallout Shelter here, but four times the size and people. Maybe five. There was one, especially. He was like a work of art. I could watch him for hours. Not even in a lustful sort of way, just like art. When I was living with and married to the first ex husband (it’s a joke, haha. There has only been one,) he frequently spent his nights elsewhere. On more than one occasion, I would drive to Atlanta, dance, and come back, and no one ever knew that I was gone. That kind of thing is very easy, when you are young. When I was stressed out, I would go watch this guy dance. Never tried to talk to him, nit sure that it ever crossed my mind. Years pass, and I end up getting pissed off and moving to Atlanta. Perhaps it’s genetic. Anyway, I go dancing, like I am wont to do. As often as I can. One night, I’m in the parking lot of the bar, and my most favorite car drives up. I’m finishing my makeup, as I do, in my car, and guess who gets out of that car? Right?!?! It’s him! So I go in, and I’m not sure it is him. Until he dances. He dances like I do, not really looking at anything around him, except for collision detection purposes. Completely lost in the music. He dances perfectly. He’s beautiful, perfectly. He really is flawless. One of the top three most beautiful men that I have met, ever. Like, ever. Oooh, but I haven’t met him, yet, right? So, one night, I walk up to him, because I was drunk, and I learned what it was like to have that brilliant smile aimed at me. Also like me, his neutral expression is very neutral, but if he makes eye contact with someone familiar, the smile is nearly blinding, it lights up his whole face. He smiles with his whole body. So, I’m fuck-it-all drunk, and I walk up and say hi, and tell him my name. He tells me his ( I knew it already, we’ll call him Kevin.) I tell him. That I used to drive for six hours to dance, and to watch him dance. Then, I quietly freak out. What if he’s not very nice? His (then) girlfriend was a customer of mine, she wasn’t ever very nice. Oh god, I’m thinking, this is why they tell you not to meet your idols, because you never know what people are really like. He’s not an idol, he’s just so intimidatingly perfect. Again, I wasn’t flirting, his (then) girlfriend was a customer of mine, and she was so pretty. Me? I’m forgettable, at best, maybe completely ignorable. I’m usually surprised when people remember me. I’m not pretty, not like that. Different league. Fuck, different sport, even. My attraction to him has never been a crush, not lust, not physical. He’s just like, a little sun in any room. So, I’m still freaking out, and wondering where I’m going to find a hole to crawl into in a second floor bar. It seems like forever since the stupid words came out of my stupid mouth. Complete suspended animation. The air has become jello. I might drown. (I don’t people well.) So, after fourteen years (or two seconds) he smiles. At me. And laughs, and hugs me, a real hug, and tells me that that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him. From then on, as long as I lived in Atlanta, when we were in the same place, he would smile and wave, occasionally I got a hug, if we were close. Y’all know, I’m completely weird about touching about 90% of the human population, even casually. He seems to fall into the 10% that don’t make me cringe. It turns out, he’s honestly nice. And so fucking smart. I read his facebook arguments, he’s always logical and not condescending. He doesn’t call people names. He’s smart and funny and gorgeous and classy and perfect. He dances like an angel. This is the strangest love letter to someone I’ve never been in love with, or felt that way about, ever. I told you there was more setup.
December 10, 2017. Gary Numan show at The Masquerade (new location.) Nothing makes sense. I’ve been stress crying and puking. I am literally falling apart, holding myself together with my own arms wrapped around me, trying to act okay. Looking for a reason to walk away from the ex. Any reason.
There he is. Kevin. I walk up in front of him and give a silly little wave. He smiles that smile at me, a real smile, and gives me a hug. A real hug. A hug I don’t back out of, which is uncharacteristic. We make small talk, he asks about NC, I point out that he’s tall (in case he’s never noticed, I really don’t people well!) I go to walk away, and get another small hug.
Are we friends? Superficially, sure. We aren’t close. I always see him dancing, in my head, when I hear Cuts You Up or Fade To Grey, I’m not sure why those two songs, specifically. But I will always remember that moment of kindness, that moment that literally held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. I thought it couldn’t get worse (it did.) I don’t remember as much of the show as I should. But I will always remember the hug that grounded me. He probably doesn’t even remember that I was there. I have no words for what that hug meant. I actually hug more people now, because I know what that one hug meant for me, in a moment of (hidden) crisis.
Be kind, y’all.

(Music) Mezzanine

I think about music a lot. I rarely get to talk about music. So I’ll blog about it.

I usually take songs on their own individual merit, which is actually how this very writing started. It was going to be solely about the song Inertia Creeps by Massive Attack, from the album Mezzanine. Which led me to Risingson, another track off of the same album. Then I listened to Angel, and here we are, with the whole album. Have you listened to Mezzanine? If not, you should, right now. I can wait.

Generally, in my blogs, I don’t use people’s names, because even though this is all my story, I am actually pretty private, and I’m not here to name names. Here’s the exception.  My friend Joey has influenced my taste in music more than any other human in my life. When we met, I already had my love of The Cure and Depeche Mode, Rosetta Stone, and Sisters of Mercy. I love to dance, more than almost anything on the planet. Joey gave me so much more (he’s a DJ) and loud, so that I could feel it. He gave me Sneaker Pimps, which led to my love of IAMX. He has played all kinds of nonsense for me, over the years, just so I could hear it really loud. Without him, I might me missing so much from my life, like Faster Kill Pussycat by Paul Oakenfold. Joey has affected my enjoyment of my world and my life more than pretty much anyone else, and I can never, ever express how much I appreciate it, or how much it has changed me. There is not a single day that I don’t hear something in my headphones that Joey didn’t introduce me to in the past 25 years.

Joey gave me the song Angel.

Once upon a time, we had the best Goth Nights in the world. We even got videos. Way back, I rarely talked to anyone when I went out. I don’t think I talked to Joey, even, for a few years. We had a giant screen for videos, too. The first time I heard Angel, I stopped dead, on the dancefloor, and stared at the video. I assume it was 1998, around when the album came out. The video is dark, and a little frightening, and completely compelling. As a first track, Angel sets the tone for the whole album. It’s dark and slow and gritty and obsessive. Technically, this album is thier first excursion into trip hop and heavier electronica. I don’t know what either of those things mean. I just know what I like.

I’m not taking the tracks in order, but, Angel is the first. Almost everyone is familiar with at least part of Teardrop, as it was used for the opening credits of the TV show House. As a track, it’s fine. Exchange is one of the most fun things that I listen too in headphones. It’s laid back, and if I close my eyes, it feels like some sort of really cool, laid back fairy is smoking dope and circling my head. Dissolved Girl starts with a panic attack pulse into really deep bass. The lyrics will feel familiar to anyone who has done something that was much wanted, but ill advised. “I need a little love to ease the pain.” Purely physical, not entirely passionate, sexual, but not necessarily relief.

I enjoy the other tracks, but I want to get to my favorite, Inertia Creeps. Now, I happen to know that Robert Del Naja wrote it about a relationship that had recently ended. It feels like it, like yearning for something that isn’t in reach anymore. I love Del Naja’s voice. I love everything about him, actually. He is an amazing artist, and one way or another, without him, we might not have Banksy. I digress.

Inertia Creeps and Risingson are both aural sex, to me. There are few songs that have an actual, physical effect on me. These two songs might as well be really heavy foreplay. I dance to both of these with my eyes shut and belly dancer hips. These two songs describe in my head, with sound, the place I would like to be. A dark bar, half sex club, dark booths, shiny black vinyl and soft black velvet,  bass you can feel, dancing like no one else is even there, unless of course, you have someone to dance with. Boots spinning on concrete floors. Risingson even has a touch of that familiar anxiety, why am I here, now? These two songs are why I want to learn to hula hoop. They make me want to have someone to grab by the hips and hold on to. The line “toy like people make me boy like,” always makes me smile, you want to be a toy, I’ll play.

Gotta go dance around for a bit.

Thank you, Joey, for giving me Inertia Creeps, hella loud, in a dark room.