The Ivory Tower Fantasy

Joshua, you kept saying to me, Joshua, when you walked into the room I didn´t stand a chance, but it was was me who didn´t stand a chance, but that is just nitpicking. Stuart introduced you to me and I knew we would hit it off, but who would have thought we would actually be together for this long?

Ten year, Adam, ten years it´s been. Ten blissful years.

We got drunk, we got high, we fucked all night, we had fun. We were young, you say, but you know it better. We were in the prime of our lives and we loved each second of it; each weekend that went past us in a blur of champagne, LSD and Viagra; each day we spent planning our nights. We loved the coma as much as the hangover, the blur as much as the clear vision. We do not regret one single moment.

Adam, you are my soul mate.

I remember what you said about soul mates on New Year´s Eve in 1996 and I know you don´t believe in it, but you believe in the healing power of pills and I believe in soul mates, so we both are idiots. I didn´t know right then, but it soon became clear to me that I love your dearly. We had so much fun. You were a writer and I was an actor and we lived a bohème life and we both survived on lousy jobs and little money and lots of drugs and alcohol and though we learned that you cannot survive on love alone we always made ends meet, didn´t we? We lost our apartment, we slept in the car, we lost the car, we slept on friends´ couches, we lost it all, we won it back, we had highs and lows; first sky high and high as kites at Gianna´s, then drastic lows and cold turkey at some backstreet alley we never want to see again. And yet we managed.

Didn´t we, Adam?

We lived our lives. We went too far. We didn´t go far enough. We were yuppies and hipsters and bohèmes and neo-liberal greasers without motorbikes and indie and New Age and then indie again. We went soul-searching, went skinny-dipping, went sky-diving, chased the dragon, stared at the stars and stared at rainbows, were haunted by the shadows, went soul-searching again, believed we didn´t have souls, found them at Sorrow, rediscovered them at The Nest, lost them together with our car, together with our youth, together with our faith in society. You got stabbed and I got beat up and we grew tired with society and its twisted ways and how every homophobe seems to be able to recite from the Book even though there is nothing in there about judging genuine lovers and disapproving of the truth of our love while at the same time idolizing theirs as if it was worth more than ours.

You painted a lovely picture of us growing old together, and alas, Adam, I willingly drowned in that Ivory Tower fantasy. You have a way with words and maybe you really are a writer, but your ambition drowned itself in booze and your muse was out painting the town in proud rainbow colors with us and was too drunk or too high on the next day to be of any use to your writing career. And I played straight and got tired of playing and lost jobs because of my unwillingness to adapt to a society that wouldn´t adapt to me and maybe I´m not an actor, but I tried and failed and stopped trying.

Adam, I love you. And in the end I am right, because it´s me who doesn´t stand a chance now.

So here´s to you, my love.

And whatever the heck people say, I know you are in heaven and I can´t fucking wait to be with you again.

Save me some of the pea and parmesan soup with garlic pawns.

Bottoms up!


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