Monday, October 7, 2013
"Goodbye Timmy Tom"
The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was.
Even the sky was wrong.
The sun dimmer.
Blue sand crunched beneath my feet as I approached the cabin.
Timmy Tom's hut of "Autumn Leaves, and Bright Hopes".
Chinese silk curtains emblazoned with Dragonflys
fluttered from the wide windows.
The front door was open.
I went in.
By the window beneath the dancing Dragonfly's.
There reflecting the setting sun was a small drift of gold dust,
and a scattering of crimson feathers.
I didn't know that Angels could die.
(Thus ends the saga of Timmy Tom or so I thought.)
It's quite something to see a handful of gold dust, and fragments of dried feathers morph into an Angel. "Timmy" wanted to know what all that noise was, and if anything interesting happened while he was gone.
If I didn't love him so much I could have smacked him for freaking me out this bad! Being Uncle to a semi-fictional teen Queer Angel is 'not' easy.
Keep clapping like Peter Pan sez.
That damned faerie is right at least about that. Clap like hell Timmy needs to know you really care...the little egomaniac.
"Moonwatcher" a fan from another page comments on the Timmy Tom affair.
The question asked by Saint Thomas Moore re the quality of Angelic motion as orchestrated at an infinitely small point is really a meditation on space time, and consciousness.
"Who the Hell knows" seems like a perfectly acceptable answer, though not couched in scholastic wording.
A modern skeptical Christian (William Golding, in a neglected masterpiece, "The Inheritors") has also suggested that we must deal with elements in our DNA which are less than the better Angels of our nature.
"Well, if he's an Angel he's a killer Angel".
Seems to me that Timmy Tom asks the right questions, is not unduly servile, but has no wish to reign in the Underworld, dances nimbly around pinheads, and bows gracefully to applause to a wide, and varied audience.
It is not a legitimate critical response to go around looking under all the seats, and protesting that there are no hundred percent Angels with admission stubs.
You never know who may just sneak in anyhow.
(Umm, yeah this is all very confusing to those that haven't read or heard on the radio the saga of Timmy, and his lost boy pal June June. Hey I'm doing the best I can on this blog cut me some slack.)