When I pulled in to the Elmira Correctional Facility I sat in my car for a few moments and tried to catch my breath. Here I was, literally steps away from meeting one of my idols.
Yes, I idolize a murderer in prison.
But Michael Alig isn't that to me. He's my hero. He's taught me more about myself and the world from his own life than he'll ever understand. Perhaps given the opportunity, one day he will. But for now, my darling Michael, just know you helped save my life.
The turquoise walls of the ladies' room in the Visitation Center was the most colorful in the there, or rather, the ONLY colorful thing in there. It reminded me of a sad rec hall or rundown tourist stop. The woman behind the counter could tell I was a newbie.
I wear my heart on my sleeve. Sue me.
Her Royalty, Lady Gaga, definitely would not have approved of my Poker Face.
Apparently everyone else could tell too. My naive cadence was more transparent than I thought. My head was in the clouds. My heart was pounding through my chest. The way I looked was the last thing on my mind.
I walked the dozens of tiered steps leading up to him. My breathing got heavier the higher I climbed, but more so because of my anxiety than the actual workout.
I imagine smoking weed for nearly 13 years doesn't help my stamina, but hey, we all have our vices and I pray that my poor little alveoli forgive me for the abuse we've endured together.
(YAY-Digressive tangent rant!!!: I consider marijuana to be a medicine and fully support and advocate its beneficial properties, both fiscally and mentally when used appropriately. And I will take this to the streets-Updates to come).
The man walking ahead of me looked over his over shoulder, catching me out of breath. I wondered if he was judging me.
Fuck it. I'm breathing deep and heavy. I'm taking every moment of this in with as many atoms and molecules that I can conjure and collect.
I walk through the first of many steel doors and put my stuff in a locker that held an adorable little toy dinosaur, welcoming me to his steel cage. A metaphor, if you will, for the journey Michael and I were about to embark on together. My little monster was upstairs waiting for me.
Almost every officer I encountered on the way up to the Visiting Room asked me, "So, what? Did you see the movie or something?"
Well, "duh," I thought; "don't most people come for that reason?"
They were right. I had. I was one of many. When I saw Party Monster: The Shockumentary I fell-in love with Michael.
But what they didn't know is how different I was.
REAL TALK:
There are certain types of people in this world that make you feel at peace with yourself. Kindred spirits as I like to say. Parallel lives and interconnected existences: the renegades, the revolutionaries, or the black sheep, the outcasts, and the fuck-ups as most of society deems to perceive us...those of us that stand alone…together.
Shit happens. Crazy crazy things happen every day. But that doesn't determine who you are tomorrow.
I am stating to the world that I am in-love with Michael Alig. I mean, absolutely gaga over him.
He's broken and beautiful, just like me and every doting fan that sees him for who he really is. He's brave and fierce and willing to survive the experience he's living and move forward. Despite the past, he has an inspirational vision of tomorrow.
I mean like, really really innovative ideas that I believe may revolutionize and revamp popular culture in a positive and progressive way that we desperately need right now in the United States.
Michael is an anomaly. An enigma. A fallen angel.
As ironic as that sounds, considering the crime he's locked-up for.
I sat in the Visiting room waiting anxiously and stared at the clock. It felt like time had slowed down.
At one point I walked up to the CO and asked him if he, (Michael), usually keeps people waiting.
Well shit, he IS Michael Alig and all. But he assured me that it's usually the authorities that hold-up the process and there's an order in which the inmates are called, and that they usually like to shower before visitation. Fair enough, I thought, gotta put your best game face on for the show. It can't be easy to look and feel your best locked up behind bars.
I sat patiently. Palms sweaty. Only five minutes had gone by since I last looked at the clock.
And then he came over my shoulder and grabbed me, even though I was expecting him for literally every millisecond that had just passed. I was in awe. There he was. Finally in my arms.
He joked. "What are you on?" I was eerily calm. He knew it though, hit the nail on the head. I popped a couple Xanax before bracing myself for what I just decided would be the most challenging part of my day. I always find an excuse to pop a Xanax though…(but that's another post I'm not ready to share yet).
We hugged. He sat down.
His smile is beautiful.
HE IS BEAUTIFUL.
A true indigo child.
One of the lost and fallen youth.
"You look great," I told him.
He smiled coyly, humbly, and replied "I don't feel so great." (Sorry, Michael, but the truth needs to come out that people are being mistreated and undernourished in the correctional facilities. Trust me...I wouldn't never say anything with an intention to hurt you).
The time swept by. I spent as much of it as I could embracing his hand and caressing his fingers. I wanted to be closer to him. I honestly couldn't stop thinking about kissing him.
I have a thing for gay men.
They turn me on.
But Michael is an exception to the rule, or perhaps he is the rule?
When it was time to say goodbye Michael barely pushed out the last few sentences of an adorably sexy tangent on Moore's law while I hugged and kissed him goodbye on the cheek over and over.
My brain never had time to register the rabbit-hole our minds had just wandered down together about technology, love, drugs and life but I'm sure we had a great point.
We hugged again.
I watched him walk away and told him to behave.
I miss him already.
