First, the timing this month was not that great. If a new book hadn’t been released, I’d only be posting on one topic right now. I’m posting about something really important, about a friend of mine with AIDS who just lost his long term disability from Kansas City Life Insurance Company. I’m his power of attorney and I’m working on an appeal. So Please check out the post below this, too.
Second, here’s a short excerpt from the new book,
A CHRISTMAS CARL. If you want to know more about the book, I’ve written a few posts already this week, and they are easy to find.
As the clock struck three, Carl was in his own bedroom murmuring “no.” The covers were over his head and he was lying in the middle of the bed in a fetal position. He was somewhere in between a fuzzy dream state and reality, and he couldn’t control all the thoughts running through his head.
At the end of the third chime, a soft, gentle voice spoke out. It came from the foot of his bed and caused Carl’s feet to jump. “It’s time to get up now, Mr. Smite,” the voice said. “We have work to do and I don’t like wasting time.”
Carl remained still for a moment. The voice he heard was not familiar and the accent sounded British. He slowly lowered the covers to his waist and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and went forward, blinking a few times. In the shadows of the streetlight, there was a thin, older man standing at the foot of his bed. He was wearing a deep purple velvet suit; a fluffy white, ruffled shirt; and a gold lame scarf that had been fastened together at his neck with a thick gold ring. The gold ring was studded with flashy rhinestones; the ends of the scarf trailed to his waistline in two narrow points. And as if that wasn’t enough, his white hair was piled up and haphazardly arranged beneath a large picture hat that matched the purple velvet suit. The hat was tilted to the side for a dramatic effect. He wore campy violet eye makeup, purple sparkled blush, and bright red lipstick.
When Carl dropped the cover to his waist, the older man in the purple suit looked down at Carl’s half-naked body and raised an eyebrow. He pressed his fingertips to his lips and said, “Not bad, Mr. Smite. Not bad at all, from what I can see. You have exceptional chest muscles, indeed.”
Carl’s eyes bugged and he pointed. “I know you,” he said. “You’re that famous gay guy who wrote the book they made into a documentary.” He was so stunned he couldn’t think of a name or a title. “And they made a movie about you.”
The man smiled and waved his wrist. “Tonight I’m only the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Mr. Smite. I’m just a guide, and nothing more. There is no fame where I come from. I’ve come to show you what will become of you.” He smoothed out his scarf and fluffed the ruffles on his shirt. “But I am impressed that you know who I am. I was before your time, and sadly, there’s an entire generation of gay men who don’t know who I am.”
Carl thought hard for a moment, then said, “You’re Quentin Crisp.”
“I was when I was alive,” he said, rolling his eyes as if he didn’t want to be bothered. “And if it makes things easier for you, Mr. Smite, by all means feel free to call me Mr. Crisp.” Then he clapped his hands together fast and said, “Now stop wasting time, young man, and get out of bed.”
“This is ridiculous,” Carl said. “How can you be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? You’re nothing like the other ghosts.”The Ghost smiled. “Stop being such a bore, Mr. Smite. I was, after all, born on December 25th. That alone should give me a certain amount of credibility. I may not be Father Christmas, but I assure you I’m quite capable of handling this task.”
