George Harrison died last night.

But then, a lot of things... well, perhaps not died. There is this word I know, which means sort of to feel someone dying through you... it's not empathy, or at least, not exactly, because it's specifically related to death. The meaning describes the feeling, which is more or less, "To be slashed vertically with knives so that the souls can flow between flesh and skin."

It's also a bit of a raw, ripped-edge feeling.

That is kind of how I feel right now.

La belle Bluefox does a much better job of explaining some of the particulars than I can right now, because my mind is too swollen and sore for philosophy. Last night, Stephen and I cried for a movie for the first time in years. The only other one that comes close is Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Henry thought Stephen ought to see it... Gods and Monsters. It was Good. But that's kind of what set things off, that and a bet, and these ever-multiplying universes.

I didn't mind crying so much, because for once, it didn't sting. Usually, crying makes me feel like my eyes are full of tobasco sauce, and maybe that's part of why I don't. But some of last nights tears will go for Georgie-Georgie too; My sweet lord, Hari Krishna, Blue Jay Way, within you/ Without you, Only a Northern Song Something, Something, oh yeah.

There's a lot more I could say, but that'd get into the realm of slitting my wrist horizontally here so that you can see the color of my blood. I'm at work, and not up to it.

I'm going to be at a board retreat for Equality NC PAC all weekend. I love you all. Piea Paei Aiep Ieap.

<<agé chose>>

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