Young Beautiful Man

This is dedicated to Shane Gooding, a man, a singer, a humanitarian who passed away in April of this year. My sister, Joy, was a year behind him in high school; they shared a class together: World Affairs. What irony! Discussing world affairs when we can't see our death sneaking upon us.

I never knew Shane, but something burning in me would like to remember him this day. This day when I think I am immortal, as do most of you who read these words. Death is amongst us. Death becomes us. And we, let death live.

I think about Shane Gooding today because he was a voice in the wilderness, cut short of the joys of mid-life crisis', the fear of old age, love accepted and love unrequited. I think about Shane, because he was straight-edge: no alcohol, no tobacco; standing for morality and ethics and peace. I think of the irony of his path towards death: CANCER. Throat cancer, to be more specific. What irony! He lived in such a way to avoid this vermin, and his life choices became the portal for this destroyer. Oh, life! You are queer; such odd ramblings and languages you possess. You, at times, attract greatness for the wicked, and harm for our prophets.

I think about Shane Gooding today, because that could have been me; that could be me. I think about you, Shane Gooding, because you possess the knowledge of what comes next, and we, all of us, knowingly or blindly remember you today . . .