The package from J. Screw arrived today; my “flame”-colored retro swim trunks. Did I tell you I’m going to Palm Springs for the first time next week? To a gay AA convention of sorts, though I hear the emphasis is on pool-side recovery, not the flourescent-lit-bad-coffee-folding-chair recovery I’m accustomed to. Never been to Palm Springs. And there’s nothing quite so scary to me as gay men and swimsuit weather. There’s a reason I love San Francisco. It’s called layering.
But I’m getting to the point where I’m wondering; okay, what the fuck with fear? What good is it doing? Who is it benefitting? What’s the cost analysis? (Okay, I would never wonder that last bit, but it sounded nice). Fear has its purpose, but when bent out of it’s true shape, fear only restrains; from life, love, the Lands of Opportunity. Under the hot dry sun the Human Bullet stretches; beads of pool water gathering, joining, rolling from his skin as a shadow falls over him. He peers up at the silhouette above him. “A virgin Margarita? I’d love one.”