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Gay Writes

Angio Edema

By Bob Borgogno

Ah, the spring season, the season I love more and loathe more than any other time of the year.

Festivals begin; celebrations are abundant. Happiness and tragedy walk hand-in-hand with me as I taste the chaotic beat of life.

I honestly do not recall why most of the celebrations and festivals have happened, and are happening. Any reason to party I accept as a marvelous distraction and question no more.

All the people I’ve met and had a short but intense connection with randomly come up in my memory. Usually with a flash of the moment behind my eyes.

I love it when this happens — at least when it’s a happy moment. I get those tragic memories that come up and blur everything in my mind so that the hideousness of itself is all I can see or feel.

So I initiate alteration of my mind. Alcohol and pills, meth and GHB with a Viagra kicker, special K and ecstasy, marijuana and mushrooms, LSD and a hard, naked, rough lover. These have all worked to get me where I like to be.

With every ending of a celebration it’s necessary that I take recovery days before the beginning of a festival. Memories begin to flow again. One of my favorites is when I hooked up with this guy who worked at Disney in Florida as Buzz Lightyear. Fuck, he was hot. He had the biggest cock that has ever slapped my face!

Sometimes I think about my friend Ken. I met him about a week before I moved away from Madison, Wisconsin, to Palm Springs. Six months later, I’m taking a vacation in a lovely rehab out in Desert Hot Springs, and Ken happened to check in. I believe it was one of those big cosmic events that happen to me now and then.

I think about the weekly street festival in Palm Springs and wonder how the hell I ended up being involved with one of Coachella Valley’s biggest meth distributors after rehab. All the crazy, disturbing memories start to flow into my mind. A free supply of “Tina” for two years really fucked with my head.

I came home to Salt Lake to get a grasp on myself, again, only to end up falling in love with a guy more fucked up than I was. Together we were like gasoline and fire. Violent, passionate, and self-consuming. He ended up overdosing the day before the Pride Festival in 2011. Thus my reason for loathing Spring.

That really put a rainy cloud over my parade for a couple of years. These days I go and wander sober through the crowds looking for something or someone that will make sense of it all.

I feel like I am again at a rapid rate and missing out on something. What, I don’t know. I just know it’s missing and I haven’t been able to find it. I wonder if that missing something is money? That’s really the only thing I have neglected to pursue so far in my life.

I wish Hillary Clinton would have a major aneurysm and that Madonna would throw me a party. Ciao Lover!

Be nice to us older people, and each other.

Gay Writes is a DiverseCity Series writing group, a program of SLCC’s Community Writing Center. The group meets the 2nd and 4th Monday of each month, 6:30-8pm, 210 E. 400 South, Ste. 8, Salt Lake.

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