Ode to Christ The King

“Fond” wouldn’t be the word to describe it, really.

No, “despised” would most likely be a better fit. But still, as a place, it became firmly enmeshed in my soul as the years wore on. My experiences within it built upon themselves to create in my mind, not only a place, but also a metaphorical landscape for all my nightmares to play out. A stage, so to speak, for my mind to desperately sift through all its fears, anxiety and desires.

As such, it is fond to me. Or it was, at any rate.

Years of physically attending both the church and the school, I was well acquainted with each nook and corner by the time I graduated from the 8th grade and altar boy servitude. I knew of every hidden closet, every community-less community room, every darkened corner behind the school gymnasium stage. In short, I knew every portion of both buildings where an overtly shy little boy could go to get lost from the rest of the large, loud and scary world. A world that would surely eat such a boy who was so weak, demure and unsubstantial, destroying him well before it would ever accept him.

True, that boy did grow, becoming a man. Maybe not a strong man, but a man none the less. And while he left that place, the place never left him. No, the place returned every night, serving as the previously mentioned backdrop to his annoyingly trivial nightmares. Every. Damned. Night.

It didn’t take me too long before I realized, in order for the nightmares to end, the buildings had to end first. Of course! They needed to be removed from this world all together. Hell, maybe it was even a mission from God, a way that I could help other shy little boys to also escape.

So I burned them down.

Right down to the very last kneeler. Right down till every stage drape and Formica-covered desk top were mere bubbling puddles. Right down till the roof above the pass-through between the two buildings was lying forlorn between two dead piles of ash and soot.

I burned those mothers all the way down.

Sadly, the nightmares haven’t stopped yet. And now, their backdrop is new; one of smoke and ash, instead of brick and mortar. One where my little mind no longer has anywhere to hide. Outside of my dream world, I too now have a new backdrop. I’m not sure why, but it never once dawned on me that what I was doing would be deemed in any way wrong or illegal. I mean, I was just saving myself and other scared boys from suffering through years of dreams of dread.

As it turns out, the Roman Catholic Church and the State of New York disagree.

I’m not very fond of this new place either. A place I guess I’ll be spending quite a number of years at. A place, I fear, that won’t come down nearly as easily as the first one did.


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Quickly spying Daily Prompt’s “Ode to a Playground,” the above story came about in short order. It wasn’t until I went back to the prompt to create a link, that I realized the instructions asked for a memorial to be written. As such, I was getting ready to dump this altogether. But reading it once again, it occurred to me, I like it. And much like “fondness” can have several definitions, I suppose “memorial” can as well.


If I were a Drag Queen, she would be my Drag Mother.

No, scratch that. That’s not what I meant.

What I meant was this: she is to me, the Bloggerish version of what a Drag Mother would be.

There, that’s better.

More experienced than I, she took me under her wing – for no reasonable reason – and let me know point blank how it should be. She followed my posts, and freely told me what I was doing right. She honestly told me what I was doing wrong as well. Lovingly holding my feet to the flame when she felt – knew, really – that I could do better. And, when I was truly beginning to doubt what it all meant, to the point of voicing ideas about reinventing myself as a woman (again, in a bloggerish fashion only, as an actual operation would be far too costly); she took the time to privately message me, letting me know that change was good. Possible. That sometimes it was quite all right to shake things up and strip ’em down. Or, if the WordPress Daily Post people are reading along, to “start over.”

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And so it is.

And so I will. I mean, change implies growth, and growth is indicative of, well, growth. As such, moving forward this bloggie of mine will need to grow along with me (first point of concern – stop calling it a “bloggie.”) I’m going to trim some fat. Need to copy a paper on the merits of same-sex marriage for PSYCH101? Better snag it quick, as “stuff i have to write for school” is going bye-bye. Older posts too, may fall off the screen, as I re-tweak the site to satisfy my current outlook, and present a more polished appearance.

I’m going to get involved with more prompts as well (you’ve been warned, Prompt People!) I like these exercises, because they force me to focus more on form and fiction, and less on my usual lackadaisical pissery. Rest assured, you’ll most likely still get a mouthful from me at least once a week about some sort of imagined injustice or “woe is me,” but for the most part, this kid is going to try to keep things tight from here on out. Like Morrissey, I’ll now channel my mopey nature in an effort to be all creative n’ stuff – instead of just sitting around being mopey, like Morrissey.

Esthetically speaking, I’m none to sure if I’ll change the look of the site overall, but I can tell you this, the Darin Love ain’t going anywhere. I connect on a lot of levels with BD, and though my readership is small, I’ve got to continue to spread the gospel of Darin – yes – even “beyond the sea” if need be, funny guy.

Speaking of, the music will stay as well. I mean, how could it not? As it was my first-ever best friend, and a constant companion even these 43 years later. I can’t promise you anything current as, with age comes the belief that nothing new is “as good as,” and therefore worth investigating. But I can tell that every post will continue to have a link of some sort at the bottom to sonically reward you for your patronage. In truth, I sometimes think it’s my biggest draw.

Hey, what’s my word count?


Cool, time to wrap it up then. Drag Mother hates when I bloat my posts with unwarranted and wasted words.

So, there we have it. Change is good, starting over, quite all right as needed. I know that it’s a lesson I learned a long time ago, but apparently one that I need to be re-educated on from time to time as well. I’m excited to see what comes next. Thanks Drag Mom for the confidence. Thanks WordPress for the prompt that forced my hand on this decision. And as always, thanks to all of you screw bags who continue to read along =)


What? You didn’t think I was actually going to ignore my music snobbery, and pull the obvious Bowie card here, did you?