My old house was wonderful, if exorbitantly priced, and hosted some excellent soirees about which I cannot go into detail except to drop some names (not of guests but of 'inspiration') -
Michael Barrymore (it could have happened to anyone!)
Elton (reported to be the Godfather of the so-called "Gay Mafia" ,-)
The Emperor Nero
Vincent Ward (what do you mean "who?" - he's a genius!)
Ernst Rohm (of the Long Knives fame)
Frankie Howerd (who was famous amongst Western-super-Mare taxi drivers, who allegedly had to shuttle London lads to his country house from the station every weekend).
and not forgetting
The Great God Ra (esp as portrayed by Jaye Davidson in "Stargate")
Although all there in Spirit, in the flesh they would have made for a hellava dinner party - Alan Moore, wanna write the story?
Recent moments of self realization:
CRYING : I have taken to describing the thing that makes my cry so often as "feeling the proximity of the Deity smiling in the dark...", and that is certainly part of it, as well as the, for me, heady combination of the Sacred and Profane...(see www.sacred-profane.com)...
The sight of street persons, drug dealers, boy prostitutes talking to God or praying for my immortal soul (or that of others) pushes my buttons every time.
That being said, I realized the other day while listening to a Thai folk version of "Its Raining Men" (think: The sound of Kylie echoing from a nearby stinK Hole) that my need to cry often, is actually part of the grieving process - something that perhaps I've been avoiding, and replacing with Kenneth Williams on crack. I guess I must have the same feelings others do, after all...