Someday I’m gonna die. I admit it. True, I’ve managed to survive beyond the life expectancy science created for me in 1985, when at the age of 23, I realized: I’ve got AIDS … but I’m still gonna die.
The day Rock Hudson, the famous actor, gave the Sexual Revolution its 9/11-style wake-up call in ’85 was the same day I realized that I, too, had AIDS and could expect to live another 12-18 months before dying of a mysterious illness the media instantly labeled the “deadly disease.”
But I’m very happy to announce: I’m so fucking glad I’ve lived this long!!!!!!
Still, I know I gotta die someday. Like every descendant of the great apes before me. I’m not that good. I got skillz, but believe me, I know I’m gonna die. Hopefully much later than sooner. Anyway, I’m glad and fortunate to have survived 46 years so far, 23 of them living with AIDS. And I’m very happy that I’ve survived long enough to create a Museum of Me. LOL
“If by chance, there was ‘life after death’ how great could it be?”
Thanks to modern day technology, I can leave as much of myself as possible on the field after I’m done playing the game of life. Let the world do what they want with me, but I was here: Randy Boyd, the boy, the man, the nigger, the faggot, the retard, the reject, the little league athlete, the junior high and high school athlete, the high school actor, and so much more.
Like the high school newspaper feature editor; the high school newspaper editor-in-chief; the high school choir member; the guy who landed the Sidney Poitier role in “Lilies of the Field,” the school play; the co-creator of “News, Weather, Sports” in the big high school musical known as Junior Spectacular, a blockbuster of an annual production involving the entire junior class (jocks and geeks included).
The honor roll student; the guy who gave Junior Achievement a shot; the North Central High School Class of 1980 graduate; the lifelong cheerleader; the USC yell leader (1980-1982); the UCLA spirit leader (1983-1985); the 1985 UCLA graduate; the lone black brother of Phi Kappa Psi (UCLA); the freelance promo producer for network and cable television; the author of Uprising by Randy Boyd, Bridge Across the Ocean by Randy Boyd, The Devil Inside by Randy Boyd, Walt Loves the Bearcat by Randy Boyd; the author with a bio featuring several published short stories and essays; the author of other works in progress at press time; the author who blogs with his brain at Randy Boyds Blocks, and with his body at Funky Black Poz Jock.
The 46-year-old black man who’s lived half his life (and counting) as his generation’s worst nightmare (death by AIDS); the guardian of a beautiful golden mutt named Boomer, after the mascot of the Indiana Pacers; a man who at 46 (and counting) has never experienced a long-term relationship; a man who has had as much sex as any male but has slept alone most nights; a man who is, to date, a 46 year-old virgin when it comes to women; a man who has often fantasized about eating women out; a self-described buttman of any gender, but especially men; a man who has never identified with the terms “gay” or “straight.”
A kid who was born into black family in urban Indianapolis, Indiana, on January 17, 1962; a child who had no idea the other black families in the city knew of his family the way a television audience knows the backstory of a modern day soap; a boy who was an infant, then a toddler, then a young child, then a prepubescent boy, then a teenage boy, then a college boy who only knew the public version of the backstory; a boy whose family was proud of the high moments in the backstory; a boy who caught up with the private version of backstory late in life; a boy who was psychologically damaged by the real version of the backstory, not the actual events, but the secrets kept and the lies told in place of the truth; a boy who rose above the lies, loved his family as best he could, and tried his best to practice what humans called forgiveness.
A man who dreams of his tombstone reading, Disease-Free At Last.
A man who doesn’t believe any human version of “life after death.”
I believe that when we die, we simply cease to exist, like all living things. Sure we live on, as decomposed matter that eventually returns to stardust.
Consider this: if by chance, there was “life after death” how great could it be? Seeing previously dead relatives would be similar to running into old friends from, say, school or an old job. If one was able to experience anything resembling an all-knowing, all-being, never-die state, that would mean one lives forever and experiences All There Is. According to science, which all of rational life is based on (plane flights, television, your medications), All There Is is now up to one whole infinite universe. That’s a lot of All There Is, or heaven, or whatever name you give it.
Point being: if you were around for billions of years, what’s the significance of a human being you knew for, say, 90 years, several million years ago? If you lived for 13.5 billion years, running into a relative might give you a rush comparable to a high school reunion.
Humans know as much as koala bears know about life after death.
I could be wrong, this much is true. But I believe all’s I got is the rest of this life to live. So for better and worse, and for as long as this particular rendition of an intelligent species keeps itself and the Internet alive, hello, Robo Sapiens, this is me (to date)!