EVERYONE WANTS A PIECE OF BRIAN'S ASH part 2

   When someone 'had it coming', it sounds deserved, but in a really bad way. This applies to any Nazis who are still alive and hiding in Argentina, to  homophobic congregations of Southern Baptist churches in Tornado Alley, and to Bernie Madoff.

       In the three and a half months since Brian Murphy's death, 'had it coming' has taken on an opposite meaning to me. What I consider to be one of the most important of my self-appointed duties is to make sure that certain special possessions of Brian's get to certain people who, in my mind, 'had it coming' in a really good way.

     Some of these people were very old friends of his and some were new. Each of them has had a special connection to Brian and to something of his that makes them its rightful heir, whether or not they even expected to be. Like a matchmaker from a very strange dating service, my job is to hook-up the right person with the right inanimate object.

     You could say Brian had his most 'long-standing' obsession with a particular kind of inanimate object:leg prostheses. Anyone who knew him well was aware of his collection of the fake legs. He would get long, thin airmailed packages with wooden, leather, and metal prosthetic legs and feet that friends would find in obscure places around the world. Invariably, Brian would hang these prostheses in dangerous spots over the bed or a couch just to make them a little more portentous.

Brian and I had just moved back to San Fran from New York into a new apartment on Market Street. It was two weeks before Halloween and we were in a mad rush to finish 'STAMPY', the rampaging elephant that we were going to both be inside of.
        The apartment is still bare and unpainted here,  and Brian did not have time to hang up his 'Wall Of Legs'. He had to wait until after Halloween, but in the meantime, he perched his favorite two prostheses high up on a dangerously narrow built-in shelf ( It looks like it's going to fall on my head any second).

    Anyone who knew him well also was aware of the real reason for his obsession with prostheses. It was actually more about his obsession over amputated limbs. Brian was not shy about his turn-ons and proclivities, and he spoke about them in the most casual manner, not unlike how other people speak about what foods they like.      

" IF YOU LOVED ME, YOU WOULD GIVE ME A BLACK EYE "

   When we first started dating I was everything Brian hoped for in a boyfriend, except that I wouldn't punch him in the face or strangle his neck when we were having sex. I also learned that my greatest flaw was that I still had all four of my limbs, instead of having one that was half amputated into a shapely stump.

    You see, one of Brian's greatest fantasies was to be stumped by someone ( and I don't mean on a T.V. quiz show). He wanted to be manhandled without the handle, so to speak. An amputated arm would do but it was an amputated leg that sent him spinning.

HUSTLER WHITE , the underground classic by director Bruce La Bruce (not a European 'La')  about hustlers working Santa Monica Blvd, was one of Brian's favorite films. In the movie, one of the hustlers is knocked down by a car that runs over and crushes his leg (over and over an amazing amount of times). The hustler loses his leg and has to wear a below-knee prosthesis to walk the streets in search of drive-by business. To his surprise, and to the shock and jealousy of another hustler, business picks up from guys looking to get "a hump from a stump". 

    

 The disadvantages of any amputation are obvious, but Brian Murphy was able to come up with a list of a few benefits: 

• You never had to give a guy Viagra, and you can sit on it even when he is sleeping or passed out.
• It's almost impossible catching Syphilis from one.
• You never had to worry about being cut by sharp nails.
• The overall handiness of an arm without a hand. An arm without a wrist can go many places that a hand can't fit. A foot-free leg can do the same, and can do so in a surprising number of positions with a force that has a real kick to it.

( Please note this list will never be included when I do patient-education with any amputees)

“Peggy”

      Peggy was Brian's prized prosthetic possession. Crafted at the turn-of-the-century, this type of leather and wood peg-leg was worn by the most stylish pirates of the time. It was the oldest one Brian had, and was the only peg that hung on his 'wall of legs'.  Peggy, short for Margaret except in this case, was named by Steak Haus, who was Brian's old business partner, founder of Retarded Whore Productions, and first best dykefriend, as well as being the one who gave Brian and Peggy a place to live back in the early 90's.

   As soon as Brian died, friends started vying for the peg-leg. After all, it was the object that came to mind first for those who knew him well. I didn't want to let it go, but when Steak called me and said she had to have Peggy, it was all I needed to hear. Steak 'had it coming'.

    I wanted to hand-off Peggy in person. Steak was having a mini-memorial for Brian in her house in Southern California before the big one in San Fran to commemorate Brian's Club Fuck! performance days in L.A. It would be the perfect opportunity to make my  personal delivery. 

    Peggy

     As they put Peggy on the conveyor belt, the horrifying thought occurred to me that what if Brian had hollowed out the leg as the new hiding place for his drugs and money that I never found. But it was too late to grab Peggy and make a run for the exit, so I just stood there and prayed as the leg glided into the x-ray machine. 

  When it came out, another security guard carried it over to talk to a third guard. I kept a grin pasted to my face and waited for him to either bring it back, or strip search and arrest me. They were laughing, which was a good sign, along with another guard who came to gawk at poor Peggy.

    One of them brought the peg-leg back, and told me that I would have to check it in Baggage. “ It can't go in a carry-on. It could be considered a weapon for someone to use. They'll tape it up so the bag stays sealed.” He tagged the duffel bag and stapled the claim stub on my boarding pass." Can I ask you a question about this thing?”

    I nodded, getting just a little nervous again.“Sure”.

“My Aunt Verna just had to get her leg amputated from Diabetes. Is this like what she going to have to wear?"

    I told him it was highly unlikely. “ Only if she's a pirate,” I smiled, relieved that the question wasn't anything more personal. "This is an old kind, from the Moby Dick days. She'll get one with an actual leg, in metal and fiberglass. This one is more for show 'n tell."

 " Good, cause my Aunt Verna definitely would not want to be wearing that," he chuckled as he got ready to carry the duffel bag away, looking at Peggy still peeking out of the top.

    

The 'forest of legs' is the last remains of
Brian's prosthetic collection, and
will be handed over to Steak when
she comes up to San Fran again from L.A.

                                   ***

   There are two types of jewelry most men might have. The first kind are watches, cuff-links, neck chains, and one or two rings.  The second kind is jewelry that only men like Brian Murphy would own. 

These earrings are what I consider to be his truly valuable jewelry. 

Brian's earlobes were among his favorite orifices to put things into.

SILVER-STUDDED 

BUFFALO HORN PLUGS
Believe it or not, out of all the
thousands of photographs
taken of Brian, I couldn't
find one of him sporting
any of the more elaborate
earrings.

    I'm not sure of the age or the origin of any of the earrings, nor do I know their monetary value. I am interested in learning their history but I actually don't want to find out what they're really worth, especially if it's a lot. Their destiny is already decided no matter what they're worth (if they're really worth a lot I'll kill myself). The earrings are going to the man who I'm sure knows everything there isto know about them. His name is Paul King, and he 'had it coming'.

          Paul and Brian
      Paul was on stage with Brian back in the Club Fuck! and Club Jesus days. He is as heavily tattooed and pierced as Brian, and could be as outrageous and wild.  Years later after Paul became sober, he opened the tattoo and piercing shop called Cold Steel on Market Street, and gave Brian a job as a Master Piercer, which Brian had become in 1996. 

Paul was always fascinated by tribal rituals and history, and he has just gotten accepted to Berkeley's Anthropology Studies. Like I knew he could, he identified each earring and whether it was a reproduction or not. Most were from Bornea, and the more ornate ones are called Aso, meaning dog or dragon.  There was only one he couldn't place, the big 'door knockers'. I'm sure he went right home and spent hours searching until he found the answer. He, unlike Brian, doesn't like being stumped, mentally or physically. 

Eventually they parted ways over artistic differences-- Brian thought it was fine to come to work high and do intricate piercings, Paul did not. Regardless of their distance since that time, Paul still loved Brian dearly. He also was invaluable in organizing Brian's memorial at The Stud. I haven't seen him since the memorial, but I'm meeting with him on Saturday to present him with these earrings. I don't know if his holes in his earlobes are still as big as they were, but I know his heart is.

                                                             ***

     Brian Murphy was not a religious man, and the only reasons why he would ever be found in a church was to protest  discrimination over AIDS and gay rights, or to have sex with a member of the clergy. However, there was always a place for Buddha in his life, and he always kept at least one or two Buddha heads at home.

 Struck by it's grace and meaning, Brian brought home this beautiful, one hundred pound stone statue of Quan Yin, the Buddhist Goddess of Infinite Compassion adorned with gemstones in her hair. He placed the 36 inch high deity on a stand that made her taller, and draped tribal beads around her.

Some friends tried to convince me to keep her but I knew the goddess belonged with someone more spiritually inclined. If I had to choose a religion at gunpoint, it would be Buddhism because it offended me least, which is how I based my feelings towards religion in general.  The people who say they don't need something like the statue of Quan Yin in their lives are usually the exact people who need it most. Who doesn't need Infinite Compassion? But if I was able to pass along Peggy, then I had to be able to pass along Quan Yin too.

One of Brian's other favorite Jews besides me was our dear friend, Liz, who has studied Buddhism for years and has created her own spiritual path that veered more towards the Far East than the Middle East. She is both a Jewish American Princess and a Buddhist American Goddess, or a JAP BAG. She brings these two totally different states of mind together, perfectly blending the art of complaining with the art of compassion, making her one of the most perceptive, self-aware, empathetic, loving and open people I've ever known. For these and other reasons, Liz 'had it coming'.

   Liz has one of the oldest souls around. It can be traced back to somewhere between Cleopatra and Eve (possibly including time as a Hebrew slave). She loves diamonds, but only if they're black, so they're easily mistaken for something less expensive which doesn't bother her at all. If someone is going to talk about her jewelry, Liz would much rather be asked about the crystals and gemstones she wears, which are one of her sources of beauty and strength. 

   Her clothing sparkles magically too, kept in a closet that is a sea of deep blues, plush blacks and purples, shimmering silvers and goddess golds. There is not a pastel to be found, except for maybe one or two panties at the bottom of a drawer. Hanging from hooks are all the shiney and shear scarves and shawls she loves to wear, which somehow never hide her cleavage that is always wisely exposed, giving a little savvy, sexy twist to her spirituality. 

    Liz and Brian enjoyed each other very much and had a respect for each other's minds. She was fascinated with Brian's life, and tried to understand him without ever passing judgement.

    When I showed her a picture of the statue, she was floored.  Quan Yin, by universal coincidence, is Liz's greatest inspiration and is her personal favorite out of all the deities. The perfect home was awaiting the stone goddess, and all I had to do was schlep the hundred pound statue over there (to be honest, my dear ex, Alex, drove me over to her house but I did have to carry it up the stairs, through the house, and out to Liz's enclosed patio).  

          After I placed Quan Yin in the corner where she would stand, I ceremoniously bowed to both Goddesses to mark the end of one more journey to deliver a piece of Brian. 

    

    Liz's husband, Marc, an amazingly talented artist who is obsessed with photographing events as they unfold, had me hold the unbelievably heavy statue for 15 minutes as he posed me carrying it, and then after, made me bow 15 different times until he was happy with the shot. He is infamous for spoiling the spontaneity of a moment but always gets the picture that I'm grateful for, so I've learned to follow any direction he gives me.  

     Liz was filled with emotions over the gesture of being gifted Quan Yin as well as the honor of being thought of to receive something so beautiful and meaningful of Brian's, and for it to be done with such ceremony and respect.

    Marc tried his best to respect the moment but he was too excited to put down his camera and miss out on what was turning into a great photo shoot. It is how Marc shows his love best. I respect him for the amount of effort he puts into trying to relate to the gaggle of gays always surrounding Liz, not to mention all the lesbians who feel a womanly kinship to her. 
    Marc can sometimes be amazingly astute and hit the bull's eye with his arrow, and other times can be as off target as someone blindfolded playing pin-the-tail-on-the- donkey in an earthquake. I've come to appreciate his hits and his misses, even when it's about me. Luckily, we tease each other very well, and I feed off his truthfulness. Sometimes when he tries to express his love or his opinion, it can detonate in someones face. And his voice has a gentle innocence that doesn't prepare you for the lack of tact or mercy he can show even when he's being genuinely kind. The problem sometimes is that like a camera, he can be brutal without meaning to. 
   At the same time though, he's one of the most enthusiastic, sincere and helped friends I have, and I seem to enjoy his unique character more every year.

    "  Gary, I can make you look younger. Just tell me how many wrinkles you want removed,” he offered.

   “  No photo-shopping me. I want to be the only gay over fifty who actually ages.”

   “ OK, wrinkles it is, my friend. I could add some if you want,” Marc said as he pointed his camera at Liz and I. He took more shots of the two of us and Quan Yin and lowered his camera. "I have an idea for a great shot," he said all excitedly. “Lizzie, could we give Gary that birthday present we bought him now? It goes along with the whole 'he gives you something perfect and you give him something perfect' theme. Isn't that what this is all about? "

    " Sweetie, it's really not the same thing. One's a real gift and one's a joke. It might not be the time," Liz widened her eyes with the same look of embarrassed disbelief that she often has to give him.

      "He'll love it. I'll go get it, " he smiled at us both, ignoring her opinion and hurrying into the kitchen.

        " It's really not your birthday present. It's just some little thing. It was totally Marc's idea. Believe me, I'm letting him take all the credit," Liz rolled her eyes and said to me as Marc came back into the room holding a glass mug.

    " We were going to wrap it. Here it is, " he said with a big, proud smile, handing me the mug. "I asked the guy if he had one that said 'assoholic' or ' assman' but this was the closest he had."

    I held up the mug that had MR. ASSHOLE printed on it and told him it was perfect.

    " It's not that you're an asshole, but that you love asses," Liz clarified, then turned to Marc. "Tell him you're going to white-out 'MR.' and make the I heart sign over it."  She turned back to me again to make sure I understood.  "Then it would make sense. Well, as much sense as your love of assholes ever makes," she laughed.

   " No it's perfect," I reiterated. "I love it. Almost as much as I love asses, " I laughed. " You have made sure the right person got the right thing," I bowed to him and to Liz.

The right things getting to the right people

      

    "You see," Marc said to Liz. " So what do you think about Gary posing with the cup and the statue? "

          " I love it! Start directing," I said before Liz could say anything. 

    The biggest challenge for Marc was getting me to hold the mug just right. 

          "I'm not seeing 'MR ASSHOLE'," he told me.

           "Marc,  I'm right here," I said back.

           "Turn the cup up and towards me but look at Kin Yanni. Put your hand on her head."

             Liz came out with a Martini to watch the shoot, and held her hand to her heart. " The Goddess of Infinite Compassion meets MR. ASSHOLE. A perfect Zen moment."

           I smiled at Liz and took a sip of the Martini she had poured into the mug.

                                   

                  

 

                                                        ***

                                   

        There was a question I had to seriously ask myself. What did I need to keep? This wouldn't have been such a complicated decision if Brian had lived, and shopped, more normally. He accumulated an amazing amount of possessions in an amazingly short time. His success as a 'chemical entrepreneur' allowed him, for the first time in his life, to buy whatever he wanted, and he was essentially on a two year shopping spree that lasted until he died.

       When an object sparked his interest, he would buy every variation of it that he could find. They became themes in his life, and he enjoyed being overrun by them. Single objects didn't inspire him as much. Single objects had no sense of family. To Brian, an object alone wasn't as meaningful or interesting as a group of objects. One thermos from the 1950's is dismissible but 15 of them is art.

          15 hunters had to be killed

              for their thermoses.

       Brian's sense of display was genius, starting with how he displayed himself. All through his 20's and early 30's, he posed and placed himself in performance pieces and photo shoots around the world. Though he was subversive and irreverent and fiercely individual, Brian loved being on stage amongst his friends, and felt part of a certain larger beauty that only a group can create. 

      This sense of beauty derived from a group stayed with Brian as he turned the focus away from displaying himself to instead displaying the objects around him. How he arranged his collections was more aesthetically important to him than any piece itself. He had a great eye for spotting things that belonged in groups, and saw them displayed in his mind even before he put them together.

       

                                                                       *

     There was his group, or herd, of Rhinoceros as well. Each time he bought another one, I would ask how many mounted rhino heads did he think he actually needed.

"None," he told me.

"OK, smartmanties," I smirked, " How many do you actually want?" 

    After Brian died, I had to ask myself the same question. How many of his 24 rhinos in different shapes and sizes did I actually need, I mean, want? No one needs a Rhinoceros. Only a zoo, especially if it has just one rhino that needs company. 
   I must say, for a few moments at the start of all this, I wanted to keep them all. This must be how the very rich feel. They don't need all the money they have, but they still feel the loss as if it actually made a difference. I resisted my temptation to be a Rhino Herder and Hoarder and split the herd up, freeing them to roam onto new walls and shelves and desks.

My final choices are two mounted heads, one porcelain and one paper mache, one small, fancy silver rhino, and one life-size stuffed wall-mounted rhino butt.

                 * THE ORBS * 

      Without a doubt, there is one collection of Brian's that eclipsed everything else. His collection of orbs was his most inspired vision. It was his greatest feat and his last artistic statement. He put a tremendous amount of energy and resources into collecting them, sorting them, displaying them and storing them.

       When Brian turned 41, the year of his Prophecy, he must have felt it was going to be his 'last' collection, which made his efforts even more frenzied. Before he started collecting them, I wasn't aware of the universe of orbs around me. The only orb of note I had ever heard of was the Orb of Isis on The Simpsons. The rest were just 'balls' to me. It took Brian to show me the magic of them, and the abundance.

  What Brian was actually creating was a space around him that evolved into a magical galaxy.  Brian's Aunt Susie was so taken with the beauty of the orbs and how he displayed them that out of anything she could have taken, she chose boxes of the orbs to mail back to Arizona. She saw the magic in them as well, and wanted to bring that part of Brian home with her.

   Even with all the orbs Susie took, I was still surrounded by magical balls. This was the same story for so many other things I felt had to be shared. My mission wouldn't be over until more of Brian was divvied up and spread around. The Memorial at The Stud was going to be my last big opportunity to find the people I've been hoping to find. Like its said, 'If Murphy can't go to the  mountain, let the mountain come to Murphy'...

                           ***

Part 3, THE MEMORIAL will be the last Brian Blog.Come with me a little longer, this journey is almost done.