An American Tragedy

DARE I ask Alice.

The sun shines over a colorful city (my childlike version of a Paul Klee with pastel)

This morning, I browsed the news and a small, rather obscure piece jumped out at me via former child star, and longtime recoverer from the Hollywood cesspool, Corey Feldman. Just googled it again, a few hours later, and here’s TMZ’s post. Excuse the disgusting ads on this site.

He announced “with tremendous sadness,” that his drummer, Duke Gaad, had passed away from a fentanyl overdose, and how sad his heart was to lose another young friend to this crisis.

My own heart raced, asking the question, “wasn't this Steve Gaad’s son?” heralded as one of the most influential drummers of all time. I don't need to explain. Look him up.

Mind you, there were no other announcements anywhere, of what has become the American way. Increased drug abuse, due to the open invitation of cartel control, and death by needles. So much so that the experiment with needles, on the people, has surpassed the street and been equally captured by big pharma.

I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Gaad. You held that baby boy in your arms. You had your hopes and dreams, family conversations and secrets. We all do. You shook your heads and said how very talented that boy was.

I am sorry to every single family and friend that couldn’t save their loved one, nor hold their hand in death.

Daily Mail never mentioned the fact this was your precious son, but called him famous. They don’t know much about music. God’s amazing gift to so many. The only source announcement out there, early this morning, besides Corey’s Instagram.

No one listens anyways. But maybe. Just maybe. Help is on the way.

Bobby Kennedy’s swearing in as the United States Secretary of Health and Human Services, has my heart hopeful and reimagining an America that puts real human problems, addictions, disabilities and financial struggles first.

“Sudden” is so real and when it catches up with time slipped away in unspoken conversations, cries for help, that go unheard, it’s tragic. It’s over.

What was buried underneath your name and gender?

I keep saying the devil is not creative. He is in your face. He lies with impunity and cares about no one. He shows you illness, death, loss, every single day. He shows you how to scream and sing along, like a trained puppet, without thought of what is really going on in everyday lives, poor lives, rich lives and every life between. He longs for you to break apart from your family, friends, job and worship money, power, fame. He mocks you if you care about real issues like this.

I recently had a conversation with my youngest most beautiful son. As a longtime artist and music fan, married to a 50 year double bass player, he brought something up, very poignant, a wakeup call so to speak, with me. It was something he wanted to talk about. I didn’t begin the conversation.

He met a new friend at the climbing gym, in San Francisco, where he lives. His new friend is deaf. His friend, who works silently on a computer, had some mechanic talent and told Ian (somehow) he could help him fix his motorcycle. So they met, and in silence, Ian handing his new friend various tools, his motorcycle was fixed, just like that. First Ian jokingly pondered the simple act of getting things done quickly due to the barrier of conversation, and getting to know each other, then he asked the question: “what defines us?” “is it our sexuality, this never-ending use of gender, or is it being deaf?” He then proposed, “what do you think matters more, being gay or being deaf?” I answered with our first conversations over his own sexuality, many years ago, when he said to both my husband and I, “I am so much more than gay.” In defense of his own private and young revelation, he said something like, “I’m talented, smart, and have so many dreams.” Of course we agreed, loved, encouraged and sponsored many dreams. It has never been on my radar to use anyone’s sexuality for gain or popularity.

You are so much more. Duke was so much more.

My answer this time was the same. “Imagine, Ian, how hard it would be to find a friend, let alone a relationship, being deaf?” “The chances of them knowing sign language and also being compatible are slim. It’s hard enough. Imagine a world where everyone is looking down at their phone and you are deaf.” Imagine being blind, or having another disability like OCD or Tourette’s Syndrome, being too tall, too short, or sick. Imagine isolation and loneliness. Which leads to other things. Like drugs. Afterall, Ian works with the drug addicted mentally impaired in a small home environment. He sees the struggle day in and day out.

America, this is what genocide looks like right here and it got worse during the pandemic, with the addition of more opioid addiction, and a world-wide unvetted vaccine.

AND WE DARE, as a nation, TO RESIST DRUG EDUCATION in all facets of our lives, “keeping it real,” teaching kids to “just say no,” and call those who have first hand knowledge with drug addiction “conspiracy theorists,” while educating our children on pronouns. What kind of world do we live in when a teenager lobbies a local politician in Los Angeles to pass a bill for all Jr. High and High School students to carry Narcan in their backpacks? while the devil’s army sells potential to hell.

Is this just saying no?

We live in a nation of soggy, worn out bandages and each and every one of them needs to be ripped off.

DARE me to speak and love you forward to your dreams.

"When logic and proportion
have fallen sloppy dead." 

DARE I ask Alice.

For more on the drug addiction crisis I also wrote this piece.