I guess the title could go onto my business card. Or will go on my business card. Or, perhaps, on my PURPLE tombstone. Solid amethyst, carved by myself, except for the date of death, of course. Here’s the best that I could do, online, without any notice, the front and back side of my tombstone:
THE MATH DOESN’T ADD UP! THE MATH DOESN’T ADD UP!
Yeah yeah. It’s all in the Phiction, you see. (I couldn’t fit ‘Pscience Phiction Wordcrafter’ onto the tombstone.) Maybe I’ll start posting complete chapters. You’re getting a glimpse at it before anyone else. That’s a real spoiler alert, if you believe in such things. (I think I need the word ‘Psychedelic’ on the tombstone somewhere. It’s still a work in progress. Like the novel.)
Anyway, I wanted to post a letter that I sent off to Graham Kerr, aka the Galloping Gourmet. I will have to edit it because, by now, it will make for a post that is longer than your interest span.
How you Blessed me, Inspired me; How you saved my life:
As an abuse victim…my mind’s mechanism for dealing with the abuse was to delve into fiction, as often as I could. I didn’t see the world the same way that other people did, but that was fine. I usually managed to not care that they weren’t blessed to see the PURPLE sky and pink taffy clouds and the morphing volcanoes. It was all there, it was all real, somewhere inside of me. I became what is known as DID, or dissociative identity disorder. I know that there is debate, especially among the Christian community, but it does exist. It is a spectrum disorder in that it presents itself in varying degrees in various people. I was fortunate not to have crossed the River Styx into psychosis. The JOY and PEACE that I experience, the PRAISES to the LORD that I can SHOUT in GRATITUDE for such a BLESSING. And that I’m integrated! Hallelujah!
Back to how you saved my life: From before my memories, I have been told, while still in diapers, whenever any cooking segment would come on the TV, I would run to the kitchen and begin pulling all my mother’s bakeware from the warming tray beneath the oven where she stored it. Eventually she HAD to let me have my own several items with which she tolerated my playing “Chef.” By the time YOU started appearing on TV in my area, I began mimicking you. I loved it that you were a little, I don’t know, quircky, whacky, different. You seemed so comfortable in your difference, and that made me more comfortable in my own. Playing “Chef” was one of my fictitious worlds that brought me much peace and joy. It was a gift to a 2 year old boy, it was a gift to a 5 year old boy, it was a gift to a 25 year old man who had already BEGUN to see his dream of becoming a pastry chef. Who spent whatever discretionary income that he had on way more butter and cream and bakeware and cookware and dough mixers than most single men. Pushing boundaries, burning things that ought not be burnt in other people’s eyes, and doing it on purpose. How do I make something for myself with pimento in it and create it in such a way that I find a way to love the very aspect of pimentoness that I seem to hate. Push the boundaries. More money next month. Two trash bags, filled with mistakes….
If I hadn’t had something to go to, this world of cooking, and Star Trek, and all Science Fiction, reading at 5, more new things, seeking, seeking, seeking seeking TRUTH. Seeking in sciences. And writing. And Poetry. And writing. And psychedelic word art. And writing. And dancing and History… These things saved my life. They are all GIFTS from a MOST GRACIOUS GOD. What developed as a seeker’s heart to seek for healing from existential wounds, lead me to the CROSS. And I like to thank the people who helped me along the way. I thank you Mr. Kerr.
Your Brother in CHRIST,
with baskets full of joy for the world you were a part of creating for a boy you never knew,
I pray that my few PURPLE words will bless the man. In the name of our SAVIOUR, JESUS the CHRIST, AMEN