|Immaterial Beauty - A Eulogy
||[Apr. 9th, 2015|04:33 am]
Beyond all the drugs, the bittersweet hug of lust and beyond the lies and the rust
eyes of aquamarine dwelled on Unforseen and drew out a tale of benighted trust
I knew you so poorly and I would have adored you if I didn't deplore the morning
But now you are gone and this is your last song, a tale that shouldn't belong
I remember when I met you, I had been awake for two days and I was coming down. I was sitting outside a Fred Meyers grocery store where I had purchased some food which I had eaten. I was finishing my breakfast and washing it down with a quart of heavy whipping cream. I was homeless at the time and I had taken to the habit of drinking heavy cream to stay warm in the night. You were living in a halfway house for mentally challenged people... but you weren't mentally challenged in the way that you pretended to be. You had been arrested several times for theft to support your addiction, and you pleaded diminished capacity to avoid a felony theft charge. This plea landed you in the custody of the state, reliant on counselors and therapists to determine your fitness to care for yourself.
You just walked right up to me and gave me your phone number. I was so surprised because I thought you were very pretty. You were walking with another guy at the time. Apparently you chose me over him in the heat of the moment. Such an odd meeting...
I'm writing this because you're dead and I'm pretty sure I know how it happened. Perhaps you overdosed on heroin. Maybe you were murdered by a "boyfriend", which I now know means pimp. You called me your boyfriend when we were together, although I knew it wasn't real. You were too pretty, and you could get whatever you wanted by telling men what they wanted to hear. It ruined your life.
So they beat you when you didn't deliver. They sold you to their friends for money to feed your and their habits. When you couldn't sell your body you stole from stores, from others, whatever you could find of value to convert into a few more minutes of peace within your soul. You asked me out that day and I soon discovered that you were looking for free drugs. I had them, but I wasn't wealthy.
The thorazine shuffle was apparent in your housemates when I showed up to see where you lived. I signed my name to a register and consented to a background check as a prerequisite to entering your domicile. You lived in a 9 bedroom halfway house, populated entirely by men. I wondered about that, and wondered what sort of system would place a beautiful woman with a history of prostitution and drug addiction in a home filled with mentally ill men.
This is a metaphor for your entire life.
We met a dozen times or so, each time you urged me to return. I remember thinking that you had probably been fucked ten thousand times in ten thousand ways, so I had absolutely no desire to base a relationship on sex with you. I was amazed by your appearance but I knew it concealed a dark and bitter underside - like beauty often does. We injected methampetamine about half the times we met up. A few times we had sex, a few more times we made out in public places which weren't suitable for anything of the sort.
At first I was disappointed with myself for stooping to the level of associating with pure eye candy. Your mind was scrambled. You told me about aliens abducting you, about witnessing "the reptilians", about colors and about shapeshifters. You were crazy. I wasn't sure why I persisted in seeing you.
I took you on picnics, of a sort. We went to parks and threw down blankets to just sit in the sunlight. I was poor, but I know how to make an impression on the heart of a woman. I knew then that most likely, nobody had taken you to the park to just sit and talk for years. I listened even when you made no sense - which was often! I listened and I asked follow-up questions and began to realize there was a genuinity to your madness which was difficult to believe.
Such beautiful eyes... eyes of the sort that cause men to do foolish things. I envisioned a fulfilling relationship with you, amidst the barrenness of your history. It was madness to be sure, yet I felt that simply by making an effort for something real I would be providing some value to your bankrupt life. I was homeless, addicted to meth... and yet I wanted to give you a thing of value. I wanted to show you that men can be people.
It wasn't pretty and it wasn't rosy. We fought about the silliest things and you betrayed me in ways I can't imagine. Yet behind your eyes there was a knowing wisdom, and as we talked I began to hear your tone change from a forced lilt to a pleasing purr. I earned your trust although you never deserved mine for a moment.
One night you invited me over to your house and snuck me upstairs to your room. We did drugs and had sex all night. I took a shower in your bathroom, and as you were called downstairs to the house meeting I hid in your bed. I remember that my feet smelled so bad that night I was surprised you put up with me at all. When you came back upstairs, you told me it was time for me to leave: I climbed out the second-story window. Your house manager happened to be doing dishes in the kitchen just below, looking out that window as I climbed down the outside of the house and dropped to the ground. She said, "I saw you!"
I said, "You sure did." And ran. I wasn't allowed back at your house after that. A few days later I went to jail for using drugs while I was on parole.
You wrote me letters without me asking you to. Nobody else wrote me letters on their own: I had to write them first and cajole them to correspond with me. I'll never forget the feeling I had in jail when your letter would arrive, in all it's disjoined and incomprehensible glory. You deteriorated further while I Was away and your writing became rambling and intense. You knew people were out to get you, possibly aliens or reptilian shapeshifters out for your blood. It made me so sad, because I saw the glimmers of a real person beneath that gleam of insanity- and the drugs were obliterating you.
Everybody uses you
But everyone chooses you
so you can't use it
you only are losing
You moved home to Alaska while I was in jail. To escape the people out to get you, so you said... but I had a feeling it was also to dry out. Your mom took care of you in Alaska and that's where I wrote you letters. I called you every week, even though it cost me ten dollars per call. I was addicted to your voice: your real voice, not the fake voice you used with Men but the real voice you used with me. I was stripping layers of defenses down from your exterior and finding just what I thought I would find.
You are a frightened girl who never grew up.
How many lost voices are there in our culture? How many lost children, lost babies and lost women, sacrificed not to drugs but to the grim demons of lust and control that they empower? Hiding behind these shallow addictions are humanity's enemies lain in wait since the dawn of time. How many families will never come to be? How many lovers will never unite? How many lives will never begin?
I arrived too late, too poor and too strung out to make a difference in your life.
I saw in you a brilliance that couldn't be quenched by all the insults sprayed out from the end of a penis. I saw in you a childlike and endearing trust of all things hopeful, a genuine belief that you could still be a princess someday just as every adult had told you. I saw in you a delicate girl hidden away behind a torn and beaten exterior, your greatest treasure beneath every word and every movement concealed to protect your potential, one day when it is safe, to be reborn. I saw in you undying hope and undying pain, confusion and a fear that all would eventually be lost no matter what you did. You aren't just a stupid girl. You aren't just an addict. You are light, and you are memory, and you are a soul composed of all the value of humanity's greatest triumphs. You are rejoined and you are beautiful and you are found.
I have had visions of you during my less clear moments. I have always been certain that you are intelligent, that you are lucid and that you are successful. Your beauty without will be unmatched by a beauty within; and every joy that was denied to you by your unfortunate childhood circumstances will be given to you in your next incarnation. You will understand why this has happened to you, and you will understand why it is necessary to die before we can live.
I could have been your counterpart, but I learned through you what that meant and I avoided this fate. I will not become the male form of your incarnation, because men in your position must descend to a level of depravity to sustain themselves which I find to be inhuman. By witnessing firsthand the damage you have received through your association with such beasts, you averted my own descent. Your life was more than a cautionary tale for me, it was an inspiration to me for myself, that anybody from any background is worth cherishing. The valuable things in life are where we choose to find them, even if we choose not to find them at all. I hoped to one day meet you again in this life, until I learned of your untimely departure. I still hope to meet you in the next.
Your name was Keelan Marie Lacross and you died at the age of 31, the same age as me. This is your name no longer. Peace, and freedom, and life, are finally yours.