Lather. Rinse. Repeat, in a hall of mirrors.

"Logically, you are not at your beginning. You are simply continuing what you had already started.", the Vulcan raises a brow in my speechless, understanding smile.

My programming, in it's current state, after the numerous bug fixes and redesigns, is still susceptible to illogic. The manifestation of emotions, whether artificially created by my root code process or my organically injected, hormonal reactive process, clouds over logic with a shroud of cascade failure.

I hate feeling like this. This is not the way is was supposed to be. It will all end in tears.

Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.

Again, the viral process starts to run and execute all stillness, all simplicity to leave behind this vicious, twisted, ball fisted fear. A unhinged wisp of screaming illogic that contorts and twitches like a seizure filled ghost until there is no other course but to let it run it's course.

Gather.
Cleanse.
Breathe.

I start up the van.

"But right now, in this moment, I am trying, Spock. I am trying real hard to be the Vulcan.", I exhale a cloud of St. Louis winter breath.

The sound of my wheels...

I know the sound of your wheels
Yeah yeah-a-ah yea-yea-a-ah yeaah.
I know the sound of your wheels.

...upon that familiar route to the venue helped to sing(forgive me, Maria, with your Lone Justice.) some level of brittle calm into my ears. The Coil Of Sihn played inside that building that is now KDHX's The Stage numerous times. The last time I was there, the back area was submerged with an inch deep of raw sewage. You then had the choice of getting your equipment stolen from number one, the alleyway, or number two, your car or delicious number three, raw sewage. I chose number three, and wished they would get a visit from Saint E. Coli. I hope it is a little better this time around.

I orbited the block about five times.

My parking attendant had tears in his eyes. He confessed to me, as we transacted, that he had just heard the news of a close family member diagnosed with cancer.

"Do you need anything?", my Empathy placed gibbering Fear down for a moment into it's crib.

We spoke for about ten minutes. He bled. I listened. We hugged.

"We all are on journeys. This is one the both of you will take. Just remember, the love you share is eternal and will be waiting for you in the next place, if you believe in that sort of thing.", offering the only meager emotional gauze and surgical tape I had with me in that frosty, tearful moment. He was thankful for it.

I have strange spiritual ideas. One of them that I share often and openly is the concept of an afterlife that is created from all the Love we share and receive in our current lifetime. My idea is that I will use this Love to literally paint and create my own realm. Let's take a little cadmium yellow. And, what the heck, some phthalo blue. And a little van dyke brown. Yeah. That's nice. Just drop it in. It's your world. Right? Right. You grok.

Slather.
Wince.
Heartbeat.

"Here we go, Sihn. I mean it's ONLY the rest of your life.", another cloud of breath fogs a window. My pensive fingers tap Bill Ward drumbeats upon the chrome door latch. But, Fear was sleeping it off in Empathy's arms as she mouthed, "Just. Go. I got this."

"Thunk whoosh.", says the van door.

A blur of memento mori obscured my steps as my black sueded shoes lead the way through a cascade of fluttering polaroids. Trembling fingers before the first power chord. A rasp of a hi-hat closing. Crayons on Mommy's wall. A weeping angel who would watch me sleep in the only place I ever felt completely safe.

"Whoosh wump.", says the venue door. And then, time lost all meaning.

I remember saying about I was there to meet Terry. He told me to tell them to find him. I signed paperwork and a scrawled upon a Hello My Name Is... sticker. Forgot to put pronouns. A missed detail. My nervous fault. I should make a collar with dog tags like the old days when my pronouns were personal nouns and adjectives like "wretched", or "dog", or "whore". They thought I was pretty special at the Pet Smart the day I fed about thirty dollars into the dog tag machine and sold out the pink, heart shaped metal tags. Well I was also wearing a cape. And contacts that made my eyes look like phthalo blue hued starbursts.

I am certain somebody has thought of pronoun jewelry now. Yep. Etsy. Nice work. Wish list item saved. Or maybe I should go back to the Pet Smart and spend another thirty dollars to "correct some grammar"? Journey puns. I love 'em.

"Don't stop...bee-lee-vin...", Samantha croons.

"Stop it, babe, you are throwing me off my train.", I whisper.

"Okay...okay. I know you love puns and so do I.", her giggle concedes.

Gather.
Grins.
Upbeat.

I met Terry. Such a gentle soul. He explained all of the night's plans. Super organized. I just let him lead the dance. From so many nights alone to this one night of totally not, I had to. Everything else is a variable when you are the only constant. I was just willing to be twirled, if needed.

Terry introduced me to Jamie. She was working with another volunteer with whom Nervous erased my database of her name. clack-clack-clack DELETED. They were running the video feed. Jamie, in one casual moment, also erased my name tag pronoun mistake and made me feel just as welcome as family.

Another person approached Jamie whom she knew and started talking. This was right after she showed me how to use the video board, explained the camera layout and how the shots were being framed. I was occupied with getting comfortable with the equipment but, I could hear what they said.

"Who is that?", Jamie's friend queried.

"That's Sihn. She. They. Sihn.", she explained.

I know who I am. But, to hear a five minute stranger call me, "She. They. Sihn.", with no prompts made me feel a transcendent, complete acceptance. This is exactly why "pronouns matter". Especially to pink, raw, solitary recluses who have had their pleasant valley punted way too many times to count by other so called (quote-fingers) friends. Maybe there was a part of me that did not write my pronouns. Maybe Terry told them ahead of time. Maybe there was...

"Illogical.", Spock purrs, "The only logical reason is they saw in you the truth they see inside themselves."

"A hall of mirrors.", I whispered.

"Fascinating. Yes. A hall of mirrors.", the Vulcan agreed.

We walk through this life surrounded by our own kind. All of our ancestors shared every thing together across the existence spectrum from light to dark. When we meet, we reflect each other's truth and become a part of both stories. Our collective myths are filled with these encounters. Read any collection of stories, from any civilization that has risen and fallen, you will see it. Only authentic people use this superpower for good. This is my meaning behind a hall of mirrors. It is not a fun house trick.

As Jamie and I chatted and worked side-by-side, trust in each other rose, just like any team should have. She could rely on me and I her. What we were doing was the face of the event. My unspoken mission was to make sure to capture as many moments as possible. I was engaged. I wanted to make sure that everybody who was pouring the wine of themselves out was caught in a bottle of pixellated time without a drop spilt.

Painters, interviews, and hilariously sassy hosts are easy to catch. Bands, drag humans, burlesque performers and karaoke fiends are fun to catch. The "rule of threes" becomes more of a guideline, like a parlay with a crafty pirate. And all those hours, which on the previous weekend, would have been spent deciding between what show to binge watch for the millionth time, or what video game to drown ourselves in, flew by like seconds.

You forget to eat. Or drink. Or find out where the bathroom is. At least you are house broken from all your solitude so, that is a plus. You ignore fatigue that reminds you of show nights you used to play. You dismiss the arthritis you developed in childhood. You take your medicine way past your regular time. And you do it all gladly, enjoying all that is flashing before your eyes. You want to be a full duration veteran. Because this matters. This moment matters because there will never, ever be another just like it.

Every moment, even in the darkness, is a snowflake. Once it melts, it returns back to the ocean that birthed it to be reborn. Is not that worth a little bit of temporary pain to contribute? If we could handle each moment of our lives as if we were holding a snowflake in our hands, would not that push this world further upward towards enlightenment? I hope so. Then your eyes find the digital clock at the back of the room.

"Yes, you have been here that long.", red, liquid crystal displays.

I wish I could have done karaoke. In the lead up week to the telethon, I dreamed about it. It was one of my dream types that I have not had in a long time. I really do not have a specific name for them but, these are not regular dreams. They are full on Holodeck Simulations with all the sensory details that any extended mission Starfleet officer would expect.

I saw one of the hosts in my third eye say, "Is there anybody who wants to say something?" I could feel myself be called, or pulled up to the stage. I could see that the time was after midnight. I struggled with words. I wanted to speak but, I could not. Then, I started to sing. And the song that came out was "Midnight Radio" from the Hedwig soundtrack. The lyrics transmitted out of mouth, my hands and my heart. Then, as the song reached the part about lifting up your hands, a letter "b" formed on my right palm and a letter "e" formed on my left. It was like an unseen hand was scribbling a Sharpie marker over my skin. Then, on my right forearm, the word "won't", and the word "erased" on my left. As I raised my hands, I open my palms and retracted my sleeves and hit that high note as if my life depended on it. As my acapella reached a natural end, I slowly opened my eyes and faded my volume. There was a host of innumerable others all doing the same, arms and palms marked, all standing shoulder to shoulder, swaying to the same beat.

Maybe next year.

Maybe next year. Maybe not this exactly. Probably Journey or AC/DC or Queen or The Starchild from Mars or some Les Mis. I was too overwhelmed with this dream in my head. And also the fact that I wanted to make sure that Alex's Freddie Mercury is now a matter of public record. I do not remember Alex's first song but, I do remember the stage show. Just give me some time. I used to love to karaoke. Still do. Show tunes. Girl, please.

I have to watch what I say or they will cancel my goth membership card, which ironically would be the most goth thing to happen to me. Yeah, and jokes too. Have to watch that as well. The goth council will meet and then President Peter Murphy and Vice-President Morrisey will have to make a ruling. Martin Gore and David Gahan would represent me as attorneys but, would be too depressed to make a decent defense. Gennifer would be proud of me for losing it. She never liked those labels anyway. Or her partners in Throbbing Gristle. She has helped me with my transition more than I could ever express.

Blather.
Digress.
Delete.

My only regrets are one, in my social dysfunction, I did not share my contact information and two, in my complete exhaustion, I forgot to say "so long" to Jamie. That is a big one. As soon as I find her on Soc.Med, I will apologize. I really want to hear more about emo country music. And Satan. Any one who wears a pin with Satan's name on it is automatically somebody I wish to know better.

On my exit, I got a hug and a warning that not singing is not an option. Both were welcome as I walked out into the small hour winter's night. In the enrobing silence of my short return to our sacred van, there was a feeling that I had not felt in ages.

Peace.
Hope.
Love.

I felt a call to follow my end of life dream right then. I have this image of what I would do with my life after both my Alex and my Mom have left this world. I would move from place to place, find people in need, give them all what I could in that moment, and then leave quietly leaving behind a nearly forgettable false name and a story of a stranger. This is my ideal retirement plan. Cue the 70's Incredible Hulk theme.

That is the gift all those wonderful people with @MTUG gave me to feel that night. Belonging. Community. Peace. And Hope. And Love. Hope and Love always. Right? Right.

Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.