On my main blog I told the story of how I was a pubescent twelve year old revolutionary little fag, and I also told the story of how damned sorry I was that I was so revolutionary, because I was getting the living shit beat out of me just about every day after I started that revolutionary act. I also told the story of how I emerged victorious in that revolution a few years later, in that suddenly no one could touch me, because peer pressure was in force that would not allow any more beatings to take place.
One thing that I failed to mention is that I was little Adam, the Prayer Warrior, who went up the mountain of Paradise in Banff, and met YAHWEH, the God of the Garden of Eden, and then came back to my hometown, glowing like a five hundred watt bulb. Yes, I had charisma, and I was glowing. I was the happiest kid on earth, and I emitted a powerful glow, and this sudden transformation was so noticeable to every kid I went to school with that it knocked them back on their heels.
You see, I did not achieve that revolutionary victory by myself. I had help.
Now, today, I am Jeremiah. Yes, I am so down in the dumps, I am like Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. I look around this place, and I ask myself just how long has it been since I have done some house cleaning around here. Oh fuck it, I say to myself. Yes, I just don't give a damn anymore. I am Jeremiah, and naturally I don't have much in the way of magnetic charisma. Even dancing angels cannot cheer me up. Even that offer of a great big embrace I just received has not cheered me up, although it should, because I am every old fags dream come true, and just the cure for what ails every bitter old queen. Or at least I will be after I get that big embrace at which time I will also be transformed into Happy Adam and I will no longer be Jeremiah.