Being a mermaid can be tricky -- when you’re a man.
When I looked into my Howdy Doody mirror as a little boy, I witnessed a mysterious blue, glowing Presence -- something I call the Light. As a young man, when I gazed into mirrors and saw a handsome, hairy, mermaid staring back, something told me the trip down this particular Yellow Brick Road was going to be one helluva ride.
Since the beginning of my peculiar journey that started in Chicago in the early 1950’s, I’ve run across an odd assortment of heroes and heroines, ghosts and goddesses, wicked witches, guardian angels, mobsters, movie stars, sun rooms, sex kittens, treacherous nuns, tropical shores, and a heaping helping of breathtaking highs and soul searing lows.
Wherever you see carefree mermaids frolicking in the Light, you’ll always find jealous, angry sharks lurking in the shadows. But there’s a sad little secret hidden behind their ruthlessly cold-blooded eyes and razor-sharp teeth. The secret -- is that they’re afraid of Living Out Loud.
When I looked into my Howdy Doody mirror as a little boy, I witnessed a mysterious blue, glowing Presence -- something I call the Light. As a young man, when I gazed into mirrors and saw a handsome, hairy, mermaid staring back, something told me the trip down this particular Yellow Brick Road was going to be one helluva ride.
Since the beginning of my peculiar journey that started in Chicago in the early 1950’s, I’ve run across an odd assortment of heroes and heroines, ghosts and goddesses, wicked witches, guardian angels, mobsters, movie stars, sun rooms, sex kittens, treacherous nuns, tropical shores, and a heaping helping of breathtaking highs and soul searing lows.
Wherever you see carefree mermaids frolicking in the Light, you’ll always find jealous, angry sharks lurking in the shadows. But there’s a sad little secret hidden behind their ruthlessly cold-blooded eyes and razor-sharp teeth. The secret -- is that they’re afraid of Living Out Loud.
