Ziggy, Stardust and Me

I’m not crazy for feeling this way. They’re crazy for trying to stop me. And if it’s the last time I ever get to feel joy again, I won’t let them have it.

At some point you have to stop and say ‘Enough. This is me.’ and fight for it as hard as you can.

for one moment in time, two lonely astronauts floating in space, finally find each other.

The things that scare you the most are the things that bring you closer to who you’re meant to be.

Your imagination is your safe space, an escape pod to another dimension where you're free to be.

He looks at me. And smiles. "Just us remember?To the moon," he whispers.

So each thought is like an invisible string, right? Grab one like this--' He acts like he's pulling a long string from his forehead. 'Then blow it in the wind and watch it float away. Keep doing that till your mind's clear.

If you just amass the courage that is necessary, you can completely reinvent yourself. You can be your own hero.

We sway and disappear in each other's arms, and "So Far Away" starts crooning through the speakers, and for one moment in time, two lonely astronauts floating in space finally find each other.

So Einstein says, "The universe is always conspiring for your greatest good," huh? If that were true, we wouldn't be living here. Not in this broken time, not in this broken city, not on this broken planet with my broken Ziggy cross pieces. No. We'd be on our caravel ride through the stars. Together.

Hello? Testing? My name is Jonathan Collins. I am seventeen years old. Today is... some day in July 1993. And I am okay. Scratch that, I am more than okay. I am... I am... I AM.

They got it all wrong. They think they’re doing good with their fight and their ignorance and discrimination and all that. But really, they’re killing the earth with it.

How was a feeling be so bad if it makes me feel so good?

…she had a dream, and in that dream Jesus came to her and said, ‘You are from the stars and you came here to heal the world,’ so she made her mom and dad change her name to Starla. I think it’s cosmically perfect, like her, and kind of fitting because her face is covered in a galaxy of freckles.

I can feel me again. And I fix what's been broken in me all along... I don't want to imagine hiding on the moon or being on some space adventure in the stars anymore. This is the world I want to live in. Right here. With him. Because for the first time in my life, being in Web's arms, I feel free.

He takes my hand, traces some lines on my palms..."And maybe one day we won't have to come all the way up here to be safe, you know? Maybe one day we can stay...down here...you know?

People use words to hate each other too much. I don't want to be one of those people. I'll just talk to myself like I have been all these years anyways. It's safer that way...

Warm chairs. I don't know, like I'm sitting on someone's leftover germs.

Squeak sq-squeak sq-squeak: fifty tennis shoes jumping and skipping against the waxed wood floor. Dodgeball. Perfect. It smells like the armpits of Satan in here.

Your eyes are so— I don't know— they do something weird to me..." "Yeah? Yours do something weird to me, too, Jonathan...

I mumble a youknowwhatever and shuffle my Chucks on the tiles. Whoa, first time I've really noticed them. Holy scuffed to hell.

This makes no sense. None of it does. But maybe that's the point. Maybe the things that make the least amount of sense are the things you're supposed to do. I don't know. - I look at him, looking back at me. - But one thing I know: I'm not crazy for feeling this way. They're crazy for trying to stop me. And if it's the last time I ever get to feel joy again, I won't let them have it.

Then it happens. His image appears again, skipping and scraping through the guy testifying. Web. Torn and broken. A face I'd previously only seen in the mirror. No projected back to me, because of me. And still he's smiling. Glommeting like a starfolk. Of course I've thought about every possible way to go back. To sneak away, hide, and wait. To apologize, or have him spit on my face. But I can't. I can't wonder what he's doing right now. And right now. And right now. I can't taste his cherry-candy lips, feel his heart pounding in my mouth. I can't. And I can't turn off the light switch he's flipped on inside me, no matter how hard I try. And I have tried. Tried so hard. But I can't. I know I'm not supposed to feel this way and I hate myself for it, but...I can't stop thinking about him- A jolt zings my thighs. I wince, but try not to flinch. I have to learn to live with this, because... Secret: I know now I can never be fixed.

Web" She nods again. "And how does that make you feel?" -How does that make me feel? Like I was living in the middle of Fourth of July fireworks. Like I was exploding with so much joy there would have never been a Vietnam War because my joy would have caused world peace.- "It's wrong, and I'm sick." That's what I say. Because anything else and I'll be carted off right here, right now.

I knew it. She can telepathically hear me. Can't you, Starla? Well, here's the truth: Web is the dreamiest dreamboat I've ever met, a whambamthankyouma'am sucker punch to my heart. And when he held my hand, I thought I'd burst into stardust right there. And when he looks in my eyes, I feel...safe. How can that be? How can a feeling that's so wrong feel so right, Starla? Huh? Help me, please.

Carole King sings on the radio. A white cop beams a light through the window. The little boy’s father is dragged out of the car.” He yells, punching the wind with his words. “Crunching. Beating. Screaming. ‘Shut the fuck up, Injun, go back to your land!’ ‘This is my land!’ ‘Don’t you talk back to us!’” Pools of sweat drip from his forehead. “More screaming. Crunching. Beating. The little boy crawls in the back seat, curls up, cries. The cops drive away. A huge dust cloud blows all around the father and son. The little boy opens the back door. He looks down. His father lies in a river of blood. His eyes, dilated. The little boy’s superhero was dead.