Tuesday Mooney Talks To Ghosts

by Kate Racculia

you exist as real because you know, as of yet, no other way of being. But that’s the rub, aye. There are so many ways of being, of being real, of living, right now. And the true prize, the jewel at the end of the journey, is the discovery of the self. The selves, whether they be wrought or revealed, recognized at long last.” Vince’s voice quieted.

Drag was punk, drag was protest, drag was performance and art and fantasy, drag was as many things as there were people who practiced it—though for him, what was drag but a sequined scream? Look at me. Really look at me, please. I dare you to look at me and know me and love me.

And what he was meant to be was an artist, and what he was meant to do was to sing, and to move in the spaces surrounding the definite, between the sacred and the profane, the body and the spirit, the silent and the spoken, the living