~ ~ ~ f r o m O C T O B E R 2 0 0 4 ~ ~ ~
A squirrel sits on its haunches, nibbling a small, wild apple. The grass is high and the squirrel is half obscured. Its head rises above the blades, eyes glinting and ever-watchful.
There are hawks about.
Author Archives: Alan Ilagan
03
November
2024
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November
2024
03
November
2024
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November
2024
Midway Through Life: Shades of Gray
~ ~ ~ O C T O B E R 2 0 0 4 ~ ~ ~
“Perhaps you enjoy chasing squirrels, there is great pleasure in the quest of the unattainable. You and I know that wonder is the secret of bliss and that with reason comes the death of the beautiful.” – Okakura Kakuzo, in a letter to Isabella Stewart Gardner
Is this the very beginning or the very end?
Has the story been told, or is this the start of the telling?
It is the indefinable in-between – the latest of winter and the earliest of spring – the dying days of summer melded with the first flush of fall.
the shaded region between right and wrong
the gray area
in the middle
where artists dwell, and some intellectuals too.
There is no end.
There is just.
03
November
2024
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November
2024
A November Surprise
This year marks the 20th anniversary of my ‘shades of gray‘ project. Written way back in 2004, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to post it online, as it currently only exists in printed form – in an ancient three-ring-binder, the way my projects used to be housed and presented. Nostalgia works in strange ways… and like most remembrances, when examined up close, it feels slimmer and less substantial than it felt at the time. Quite possibly, I’ve simply become more long-winded. This may be a welcome reminder of how tight things used to be.
‘shades of gray’ was a collection of written vignettes – some just a few short sentences – that were held together by the notion of visiting ghosts, fueled by those whom we had lost. The featured pic here is the painting of ‘Charon Ferrying the Shades’ by Pierre Subleyras, which formed an introduction and inspiration for the project, which was dedicated to ‘all of the visiting ghosts ~ Uncle Roberto, Jeff Johnson, Lee Bailey, Nathan, Diane, and Andy’s Mom‘.
Toying with the idea of putting it up on ‘The Projects’ page, I originally planned to post it in its entirety, but with a lack of inspiration lately, and a desire for slumber over writing new blog posts, I’m spacing it out in individual posts – shorter and lighter, but more frequent. Such as today: following this introductory post, I’ll put up the first three entries – so you’ll get a four-post day.
I haven’t read this in about twenty years, since I don’t usually like to revisit previous work, and I’m a little afraid of what I might find. Bear that in mind when sharpening your critiquing shears – I don’t intend to edit or improve anything, much as it may be tempting; how lovely it would be to edit the past so easily. Alas, you, and I, will have to trudge through whatever nonsense I found invigorating two decades ago. A few hints of what is to come, courtesy of Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary:
shade – 6. The soul after its separation from the body; — so called because the ancients it to be perceptible to the sight, tough not to the touch; a spirit; a ghost; as, the shades of departed heroes.
7. The darker portions of a picture; a less illuminated part.
9. A minute difference or variation, as of thought, belief, expression, etc.; also, the quality or degree of anything which is distinguished from others similar by slight differences; as, the shades of meaning in synonyms.
The Shades, the Nether World; the supposed abode of souls after leaving the body.
Note: Shade differs from shadow as it implies no particular form or definite limit; whereas a shadow represents in form the object which intercepts the light. When we speak of the shade of a tree, we have no reference to its form; but when we speak of measuring a pyramid or other object by its shadow, we have reference to its form and extent.
02
November
2024
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November
2024
Dazzler of the Day: Cooper Koch
His shower scene is having a moment, as is his revelation that there was no prosthetic used, so Cooper Koch earns his first Dazzler of the Day crowning here. He joins his on-screen brother Nicholas Alexander Chavez in this honor, thanks to their work on ‘Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story’.
02
November
2024
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November
2024
Ben Cohen Takes It Off Again
It’s that most wonderful time of the year, when a new Ben Cohen calendar for 2025 is available for order. Shot by perennial favorite Leo Holden of Snooty Fox Images, I know several friends who will line up to keep time with Ben Cohen’s fine form. Check more of Ben out in his Dazzler of the Day post, as well as a bit more of Leo Holden as well.
02
November
2024
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November
2024
A Villain Re-Emerges
I have this thing where I get older but just never wiserMidnights become my afternoonsWhen my depression works the graveyard shiftAll of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room…
My 8th grade class at Wilbur H. Lynch Middle School in Amsterdam, New York had the usual cast of teenage characters – football players, cheerleaders, band members, slack-offs, fuck-ups, nerds, jocks, beauty queens, drama kids – the typical coterie of children masquerading as adults, just beginning to find our way and carve out identities of who we might be. Despite our varied interests and the panoply of society under one roof, we lacked one essential ingredient: a villain. Because of that, and despite the usual drama of teenage angst and budding hormonal avalanches, school was a rather dull and boring affair.
It was up to the one person with the flair for the dramatic and diabolical to set things into some semblance of half-interesting motion – and I was the only one wiling to do it. Did I sacrifice a certain mainstream popularity to do it? Perhaps. Did I throw away my chance at being voted Best Dressed Man when high school rolled around and those designations were really just votes on who was well-liked? Probably. Did I sink my teeth into the role with the relish and zeal of someone desperate for something – anything – to shake up the dull hallways of that school and wreak havoc with friendship circles? Better than anyone else.
I should not be left to my own devicesThey come with prices and vicesI end up in crisis (tale as old as time)I wake up screaming from dreamingOne day I’ll watch as you’re leaving‘Cause you got tired of my scheming(For the last time)
It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s meAt tea time, everybody agreesI’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirrorIt must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero
Looking back, it was all so much silliness, but at the time how malevolent it seemed – and how terribly was it taken. I watched the maneuverings of the girls in my class, how they wrote notes to one another, passing them back and forth when the teacher’s back was turned. I saw their friendship circles and noticed the whispers they would adopt in favor of some and against certain others. I was a master at appearing uninterested and uninvolved, while all the time not one single side-eye or shifty gaze escaped my notice. I was also adept at sneaking these notes out of their bags when they weren’t looking, and reading what they wrote about everyone else.
It was a glimpse into a secret world I would later access through more benign means – at that time it was a brutal violation of their privacy, but what cares a villain for such codes of honor and simple human decency? Nothing would jolt our narrative or change the dull doldrums of Amsterdam unless I did it. And so I hatched my simple plan, stealing the notes of my classmates and putting them into the hands of the very people they were maligning. Words never meant for certain people were deposited by me as the secret villain – and I left a trail of hurt feelings, betrayal, and distrust in my undetected wake. Supposed friends turned against supposed friends, wondering at first how things came to unintended light, struggling to repair wounds, holding on to not being hated. In the justifications that I conjured as I gave myself over to such darkness, I reasoned that they had a right to know what others were saying, that truth and transparency were better than polite deceit and tolerance. In reality, I think I just wanted to fuck things up. Out of boredom, out of wanting to be part of something, out of sheer mean delight.
Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy babyAnd I’m a monster on the hillToo big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite cityPierced through the heart, but never killed
Eventually I revealed myself as the perpetrator – and then the real fun began. When I managed to procure an especially juicy note, I held it over the writer as a form of power and persuasion. My reputation was earned and burned and sealed in stone right then and there – and though there would be redemptive movements and saving graces, I’d take that villainous persona with me wherever I went – even when I tried to kill it. Like most villains, my path would always and only end with my own internal consumption.
Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruismLike some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)I wake up screaming from dreamingOne day I’ll watch as you’re leavingAnd life will lose all its meaning(For the last time)
It’s been a long time since I felt that way, however, and the image of a villain has remained latent and silent all these years. Only when faced with certain pain and childish acting-out have I thought about revisiting such merry mayhem. Villainy has its benefits, foremost among them a freedom that comes only when you’ve given up all the fucks and are ready to let the world find out. Am I reveling in such an idea? Absolutely. It’s time I once again had some of the fun that everyone else has been having. Will I get called out on it? Unlike the others, of course I will. That’s the way it goes (see previous reference to having no more fucks to give). There will come a time when all grievances come to light, and while I won’t dare to judge anyone for it, the truth has always spoken louder than anything I could ever shout. When put down in words, the most atrocious acts are suddenly contained, and often that mere capturing of them somehow lessens their atrociousness. Or so the justification for villainy goes…
It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me (I’m the problem, it’s me)At tea time, everybody agreesI’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirrorIt must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero
01
November
2024
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November
2024
A Bad and Cruel Place
“Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?” ~ Bret Easton Ellis
Arriving at November, the penultimate month in the calendar year, after the warmest Halloween we’ve ever had, the world feels dangerously on the verge of something. Hopefully that’s my own little world – over that I have some semblance of control. The broader universe is on its own.
While I’ll never begrudge a bit of summer lingering this late into the year, it doesn’t feel entirely right – there’s a sort of queasy sickness to the air, a few more allergies in the slightest breeze, a sense that something is slightly off. And then I realize – things are very much off – and it’s going to take a reckoning for the world to be righted. I don’t trust all of us to do the right thing. If given the choice between doing the right thing or doing something that benefits us, we’re all headed to the latter. Fairness, accountability, and even truth itself, have been reduced to hollow shells of what they once were. Moral nobility is the exception. The hurt and wounded will do what has been done to them; the selfish and spoiled will take and take and take. The dogged do-gooders will behave right up until you lose them. A bridge too far is still a bridge, but too far is still too far.
November always feels like the cruelest month.
“It strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.” ~ Bret Easton Ellis
01
November
2024
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November
2024
Think About This
Seen online: “So many folks talk about how they’re being ‘forced to accept’ things that go against their beliefs. You’re not being forced to accept them. If you have a problem with people of color, with gay marriage, with trans people, with immigrants, with women of any race, etc. then you’re still welcome to feel however you want to feel about those people. You’re just not allowed to make their lives harder because of your feelings. You’re not allowed to turn their daily lives into a battle ground. No one is forcing you to ‘accept’ a single thing. You’re just not being allowed to terrorize people.”
01
November
2024
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November
2024
An All-Too-Brief Visit
Dad stopped by fleetingly in a dream the other night. At a time when I’ve been feeling alienated from family, perhaps he sensed some bit of loneliness I have yet to face.
I was under my Mom’s dining room table, and the whole place was a mess.
(That’s become less of a dream and more of a reality.)
In the dream, I’m trying vainly and valiantly to clean up another mess that had been left there. A sugar bowl for coffee, a candle, and a bunch of other things lay scattered on the floor. I scrambled to pick it all up before anyone got home. I don’t know why, I just wanted to clean it up and then get out without being seen.
Dad appeared then, just from the chest down, as I was under the table. He caught me and asked if I was feeling sick.
Then the dream ended.
Too soon.
Even in our dreams, some messes never get cleaned up.
31
October
2024
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October
2024
Sound the Siren
Music on the wind, swooping in, nestled among fantastical feathers. Color seen through the darkness, impossibly bright, and glowing brighter as the breeze nudges us toward midnight. The veil grows thinner, and this is when it’s easiest to fly between worlds. Sometimes we want so badly to escape this one. Fly, my pretties, fly…
Know, know too well
Know the chill
Know she breaks
My Siren
No teenage flesh
Know that she’ll
Know she breaks
My Siren
It was winter in Boston. Late 1990’s. Snow was there, and snow was melting. There was water in the air, ice on the wind, and witches seem to like when the weather gets hazy that way. Water as smoke, water as fog, water in the winter thaw. On the molecular level, water moves mountains, cracking stone and splitting rocks. It sparkles and stuns, like a gown you will only wear once.
I moved through that winter, I moved through that snow.
I moved through that spring, I moved through that grass.
I moved through that summer, I moved through those moons.
There were witches to guide me, witches to right me, witches to pick me up when I fell or simply gave out.
They rode on the night, gliding through folds of blackness, showing me the way through the stars.
Now I know that you know I
Never was one for a prissy girl
Coquette, call in for an ambulance
Reach high, doesn’t mean she’s holy
Just means she’s got a cellular handy
Almost brave, almost pregnant
Almost, ya know, in love
Then I arrived at fall.
Fall with her fiery splendor, fall with her flaming finale, fall before she shed herself into winter.
Fall with her welcoming arms, open like a freshly-dug grave site, earth so deep it’s still wet – like where we all began…
Fall brought me here, through all the years – the moons and suns and days and nights – brought me to where I would finally take flight. Spurred on by the Siren, imaginary exoskeleton fluttering and protruding from my back, lifting and placing me on the wind, I learned to fly when they first let me fall.
31
October
2024
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October
2024
Bewitchery Becoming: The Witch’s Playlist
“Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvelous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air.” ~ Washington Irving
A companion playlist to our Fade-to-Black listening experience for this fall, here is a bewitching collection of songs to add an element of witchcraft and magic to this most terribly enchanting of days. All sung by women, they are a siren call for my heart – strange twist in the mind of a gay man – and maybe that’s why I’ve always been more drawn to women when it comes to what counts. Give them a listen if you’d like, though I take no responsibility for any spells that may be cast upon your fancy.
Lala Lala Song – Cemetery Girls
Season of the Witch – Lana Del Rey
Sun, Moon and Stars – Loreena McKennitt
Sisters of the Moon – Fleetwood Mac
Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? ~ Taylor Swift
Silver Springs – Fleetwood Mac
Daffodil – Florence + The Machine
Like A Prayer (Choir Version) – I’ll Take You There Choir
Leather & Lace – Stevie Nicks & Don Henley
thanK you aIMee – Taylor Swift
31
October
2024
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October
2024
Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?
“The point is in this whole wide wicked world the only thing you have to be afraid of is me.” ~ Fiona Goode
Happy Halloween to the friends, readers, and those who dare to tread in these treacherous stretches of the internet without ever having met me. The latter is likely the luckiest of them all, and Halloween is the most harmless time of the year when you consider how much hurt I’ve caused the rest of the days. Yes, I said it. And I know it. The day doesn’t seem all that scary anymore.
… The who’s who of “Who’s that?” is poised for the attackBut my bare hands paved their pathsYou don’t get to tell me about sad
… If you wanted me dead, you should’ve just saidNothing makes me feel more alive
… So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your streetCrash the party like a record scratch as I scream“Who’s afraid of little old me?”You should be…
… The scandal was containedThe bullet had just grazedAt all costs, keep your good nameYou don’t get to tell me you feel bad
… Is it a wonder I broke? Let’s hear one more jokeThen we could all just laugh until I cry
… So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your streetCrash the party like a record scratch as I scream“Who’s afraid of little old me?”
Halloween used to begin with such innocence and end with such guilt. In my secret heart of hearts, I always wanted to be a beautiful witch – in a costume layered and rich with flowing robes, hidden jewel tones of royal violet beneath velvet as black as the darkest night. Boys couldn’t be witches then, even if we really were on the inside. The rage stayed contained – it whirled and spun and ravaged all that was inside me. It ate me up before anyone even noticed I was disappearing. The most wicked among us were devoured long ago.
I was tame, I was gentle ’til the circus life made me mean“Don’t you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth”Who’s afraid of little old me?Well, you should be
… So tell me everything is not about meBut what if it is?Then say they didn’t do it to hurt meBut what if they did?
My potions are perfume. My spells are words. My broom is the straw-man in my head, taking me away to anywhere but here. My exorcism is your antidote. You’ve come for relief or relapse, and I have nothing to offer of either. Long ago, I learned to forge a way separate from whatever you wanted me to be. There was always disappointment in that. I know there was. I felt it too. Maybe that’s why some of us turn into witches – the world is too wicked to make it through being anything else.
… I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made meYou wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised meSo all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebsI’m always drunk on my own tears, isn’t that what they all said?That I’ll sue you if you step on my lawnThat I’m fearsome and I’m wretched and I’m wrongPut narcotics into all of my songsAnd that’s why you’re still singing along
Let them call you those names – the ones that rhyme with ‘rich’ and ‘hunt’ – as they reveal who they are in their vain attempts to skin you alive. It’s going to hurt, and we shouldn’t pretend it won’t. Yes, I’m sorry to say, there is going to be much pain in this whole wide wicked world. And there is much reason to be afraid.
… You caged me and then you called me crazyI am what I am ’cause you trained meSo who’s afraid of me?Who’s afraid of little old me?Who’s afraid of little old me?
30
October
2024
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October
2024
When a Witch Turns Their Back…
… on you… watch out.
A witch rarely makes superfluous movements.
Every twitch, every touch, every nuanced side-glance of a shifty eye – they all move a witch toward their prescribed destination.
Sometimes it is a place, but not always.
Sometimes it’s a state of mind, but not usually.
Often it’s simply a nod in the direction of survival – witches being in just as dire a strait as anyone these days.
When a witch turns their back to you, it is intentional. It is intended and designed to unnerve, disarm, and transfix. All tricks of a witch’s trade.
It is a determination to leave a chill in your heart.
Play this song – an incantation without words – as if such a thing could exist, as if words were nothing and music could make you feel something without meaning.
Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Maybe you are not quite ready to assume the mantle just yet.
My mantle is heavy, black velvet and purple lining, but it propels me into the night in ways you will never understand, gripping madly to a rough piece of wood like a talisman or hatchet or broom.
I don’t think you know how many witches populate the world ~ which world? ~ and who among us might they count as brethren? A declaration of doubt turned into a question, or two. There, now you’re learning the ways.
Never turn your back on a witch. Back away if you must, or wait it out – usually it’s better to wait it out. Witches appreciate those who appreciate patience. Waiting is a dark art. Patience is often disguised as a virtue.
You only think the witch hasn’t seen you.
And you only think the watch hasn’t seen you because the witch wants you to think that.
Already behind them, and they’re already gone.
Rest tonight, dear reader, for tomorrow we fly…
30
October
2024
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October
2024
Mid-Life Crisis or Mid-Life Meditation
My therapist recently indicated that in the last two years I’ve checked off most of the major boxes for a mid-life crisis, starting with the death of a parent. Since I first started seeing her about five years ago when I went through what may now have to be called my first mid-life crisis, I did balk and complain that I’d already done that. She laughed a bit, then said I was able to handle one better now, and in a moment of humble-bragging, I had to acknowledge that she is correct.
While the fade-to-black theme of this fall has taken dark root here, I’m actually feeling ok. And, more strikingly, I’d categorize my present state of mind and existence as less a mid-life crisis and more of a mid-life awakening. That’s not something I thought possible five years ago, but it feels genuine and true now.
I’ve been maintaining my daily meditations, working on a stable base of mindfulness and taking each moment and whatever challenge that arises one thing at a time. Breaking life down into manageable minutes rather than a long pre-planned onslaught of months and years ahead. I’ve wasted far too many years pre-planning, overthinking, and preparing for scenarios that may or may not ever come to fruition.
I’ve also learned to speak my mind and let things out, even when they’re difficult to say, and difficult for others to hear. There are boundaries that I’ve set as well, and ways that I’ve started to distance myself from those who have somehow only ended up hurting me no matter how much I have tried to get closer to them. I find sanctuary in my home, with my husband, and the visits of friends, and I forge each day with the intention of being mindful.
It’s a different sort of life, even from what I could have imagined five years ago, and a better one in many ways. Slowly, I am learning. Slowly, I am making a place for peace. Slowly…
30
October
2024
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October
2024
A Detour
This space was originally slated for a very different post.
It was a post that needed to be written, but it may need to be revised.
It was raw, painful to write, and painful to re-read. I put it down several times, and that was after shutting it off many more times in my head. It was a family post, one that tried to explain all the icky things I’ve felt of late but have largely kept quiet. My therapist knows. Andy has seen it. And a few close friends are aware. It’s the same things that have been fostering the dysfunction that’s gone on for almost five decades – and it’s literally taken me that long to see the overridden arcs and patterns as they repeat themselves in different ways. I’ve addressed it directly, in various ways over the years, as I’ve repeatedly had opportunity after opportunity of being hurt to do so, and the last time it happened I tried again. Exasperated, I blurted out at the end of an extended silence, “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” my Mom said.
“You’re right,” I said, speaking out in a way I don’t think I’ve ever done. “It’s not fine. But it keeps happening, and here we are again.”
I realized then that it was a familiar scene, and in its familiarity I realized it wouldn’t ever change, and there was nothing I could do to ever make it change. I’ve seen my parents and how they interact with their grandchildren – it’s startlingly different from how they interacted with me and my brother – and that’s absolutely how it should be. It only stung when my Mom let it slip once that she may be treating them differently because she wanted to make up for what we went through in our childhood. That felt like one of those back-handed compliments and acknowledgments – it’s wonderful that she dotes on her grandchildren – it’s a slap in the face to make it up with them when I’m still here and still getting hurt.
That probably sounds quite silly, and I’ve been told to grow up for saying far less. It also doesn’t much matter, other than in my own need to let it out. It won’t change anything, and after 49 years I finally get it. I’ve also been told that distancing myself might be helpful, for my own mental health and protection, and so I’ve been removing myself from those who have kept this cycle going. Not in a petty or mean way, at least I hope that’s not how it’s perceived, but in a self-preserving way – a resignation to how things have been. In place of that emptiness I once feared I find myself curating time with Andy, time with friends, planning for Boston holiday visits with old friends, and reading classics again – the way I would find comfort on scary high school nights when I felt isolated and alone, nights in which I wrote out in rage “I WILL LEAVE HERE AND NEVER COME BACK” on my bathroom mirror – losing myself in literature and trying to find a way out through words.
And yes, this was the kinder post. Enjoy the detour.
