I too would give my friends kisses on stage

Call Me

You're drawn to here again. Your soul feels heavy, weighed down by the mundane burdens that build over time, barnacles latched and dragging onto the hull of your motivation. It is night, and the stained glass windows of demons and swirling symbols reach outward into the darkness, pulling you in, helping you navigate your way to the safe harbor of his congregation. You arrive just in time.

The warmth does not end with just the light emanating from the candelabras, it is within the energy of the space itself. The soft movements of the congregants, his call and their response , their little sighs and noises of life bolster you as you wade within the crowd. You feel their hearts uniting in ways that in most parts of your life were strictly impossible. 

And then you see him: tall, resplendent. His marble-carved face holds the left eye of a monster, the right eye of a doe. His long gloved fingers dance across the articles on the altar, moving them with reverent grace. His voice holds you like a hand cradling your weary head. You watch his service with awe and you feel fully immersed in the glory of this Dark God.

The assembled flock start to leave, murmuring to each other as they exit. You sit there, too tired to move, to think, to decide. At a certain point you are the last of the crowd within the sacred space, and the silence descends. It's a different silence here than at your home. It feels like the silence of possibility, the silence of true respite. You sigh deeply, sinking more into the velvet cushion on the pew. 

There is a rustle of luxurious fabric, and you look up to see Papa Emeritus IV, still fully adorned in all his glittering splendor. He is gently resetting the altar space, his hands picking up each item with reverence and placing them back to various cabinets or chests. He realizes that you are still there, sitting just a few feet away from him. His white Infernal Eye burns into you, but his human eye drips with kindness directed towards you. It is a fierce look, but the rat-like skull visage he had designed for himself lends an odd innocence to his face. He puts down a chalice he had been holding. “Child,” he speaks in a low rumble. “Whatever is the matter? Come here.” He glides over to the edge of the dias, opening his arms out to you. The jeweled cape he wears glitters in the candles around him.

You get up, feeling aged. It takes effort to put one foot in front of the other, but his kind face and soothing voice coaxes you towards him. You stop just at the bottom of the steps of the dias, looking upward at him.

“Papa, I...” Your tears start to flow, and you don't care anymore if he sees your weariness about life. You feel at home here, secure in this place with an understanding soul listening quietly before you. “I try. I try so hard. I do what I can to make a difference and to be part of the world. But still…still I never feel like I fit in. Like I'm a part of something.”

“You're a part of this,” Papa reminds you, gesturing elegantly around the space.

“People don't understand this,” you mutter. “Sometimes people look at me like I'm insane. Sometimes I feel insane for loving you so much.”

Papa says your name softly, chidingly. “Love makes everyone feel insane. Passion proves you're human. Come forward my child.”

He opens his arms out to you, tilting his mitred head toward you like a dark saint, a noble animal. Your ribcage can barely contain your rattling heart. You step forward into his presence, into his arms, carefully pressing yourself against the silken embroidered solidness of his chest. His arms close around you, sweeping you into a gentle, protective embrace. Your eyes become heavy, lulled by the smell of sweet smoke imbued in his robes. His gloved hands rub gentle circles against your arms, his cape enveloping you like the tender wings of a bat. You sigh deeply. This is the safest place in your world.

“Dearest,” he begins, and a hand wanders to your head to stroke your hair. “You worry so much about others. About their need and their approval. You have nothing to fear. You needn't open your heart to those who don't see your beauty. Not everyone deserves your light.”

You fit perfectly in his arms, and at last the tears dry on your face. Your arms curl around his waist and he does not resist, but rather presses you further into him. Your ear brushes up against his heart, buried beneath layers of jewels and cloth-of-gold, but it is a man's heart, a heart that beats like yours or mine. To reside in the space between those beats, to nestle within the sound…

How did the song go? Wild horses. Wild, wild horses.

“You are home here,” Papa IV says softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “There is nothing to fear here. There is nothing needed of you, asked of you. All that you do, all that you strive for…is not wasted.” 

At last you feel ready to step back from him, to admire him from a distance. He holds your hands still, smiling behind his skull-like visage. You commit his scent to memory. The gems across his body you know will dazzle your dreams for many nights to come. “I'm ready now.”

“Come.” Papa IV offers you his arm and you walk down the aisle, to the entrance of the nave, back towards the noise and grey of the real world. You squeeze his arm and he stops short of the door, looking into you, giving you the full attention of his shark-like eye. "Tesoro… I will always be here. In this seat in your heart, I remain. You can always reach me. Close your eyes and I am there.”

“You test his words and softly close your eyes. “Despite the darkness, his image endures. His golden light, the rich blue folds of his vestments penetrate your mind's eye. He is truly there. He will always be there.

The air of the real world hits your face like an icy blast, and you step into it, your heart a bit lighter than when you arrived. You can achieve anything. Peace can always rise to meet you, to appear on your own terms. As the door closes behind you his voice reaches out in a final caress that echoes through your soul: “ Call me. Call me. Call me.”

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Terzo: “Like I’m gonna kiss that smelly-ass ring it’s probably been shoved up your Prime Mover’s—”

Secundo: “Oh it’s DEFINITELY been shoved up her 🐱 that’s why kissing it is so very cool.”

HEY WHAT'S UP FEELING MANIC I GUESS I SHOULD EAT