For people who cook better than me. For free cable and DVD special features. For the lights of the houses on the hills of San Francisco on a clear night. For the cities I have yet to see. For orchids. For the friends that drive me crazy. For folding chairs in fluorescent-lit church basements. For sodomy. For the need to create. For rooms of people united by music. For the ties that bind. For people who know stuff I don’t. For flannel pajamas. For haircuts. For scruff and rough edges. For my collection of little post-it’s my mother wrote on when she couldn’t talk anymore. For peeling fear like an onion. For dreams of flying. For fierce flaming queens. For big ol’ butch daddies. For the intersexed. For big surprises. For not caring about all that stupid shit. For knowing we’ll all be okay.

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