Flow by Crooked Colours plays.
That’s about what our house looked like if reincarnation is real. Maybe it’s a bit bigger. Let’s see…
It wasn’t huge but it was very large.
I was the second cousin of a Duke or an Earl. Maybe first cousin. But I didn’t have a title and my family was heavily involved in industry. We were industrialists.
I was born in the 1870’s and she was born in the 1880’s. No. She’s not JFK. He was never a woman and she was never a man.
But I did make gay faces and imitate them. Because I was gay in my head. Even though I wasn’t gay in reality.
Let’s visit her at our old house. And let’s say that she was the niece of the Duke of Lennox for now. She didn’t have a title. Her portrait may never have been painted nor her photo taken. Mine either. Or if it was it might not have been kept. We had no descendants. All of our children were stillborn or died in infancy. It was particularly heartbreaking for Lacey, although I cared too obviously. But she was the mummy.
I show up at the door.
“Hello!” I say.
She smiles.
“I thought I was gay.” I say. Let’s get that out of the way.
And what’s her reaction? She laughs.
It’s not quite that funny to me. And I feel bad for her. But that just makes her angry. Because she thinks it’s mildly hilarious.
“What time is dinner?” I say.
She looks upset. “Same time it always is.” she says before walking away.
Her laugh isn’t jaunty and middle class like the Jane Austen series you see now on PBS. Her laugh is…what would seem haughty and inappropriate to you today. Her laugh is…sincere. It’s a snicker. Maybe Queen Camilla could laugh that way still. It’s too bad it’s not seen as much as it was. It’s a sight.
I wander in and sit down and the maids smile politely at me as if I’ve never been anyone else. Then I realize I should have some tea.
An Indian man suggests we turn all evil Boomers into eggs again. And make them dance like in Ally McBeal. “Time Is On My Side” performed by The Rolling Stones plays. Why? Because they perverted my story. And they stubbornly refuse to believe that I imitated gay men. They’re too arrogant and stupid to comprehend the idea and too conceited to believe anything they do or think is evil. An Indian man suggests we make dancing eggs for our amusement. Helpless buffoons we use to have fun by shaking them in eggs and watching them dance like toys.
“That’s brutal.” says Lacey.
“Yes. Hell is worse.” says the Indian man.
Take Me to Church by Hozier plays.
Lacey looks at the man on the cover and laughs at him. “What is their fascination with sticking their hands in their pockets? What the fuck does that even mean?” says Lacey. “It’s a threat to the old money aristocracy. But I can never figure out what they’re implying.”
“I agree.” says a man who knew us both. He laughs with Lacey.
Why is he in my house?
“I tell you Lem! We should plant lavender this year!” he says cheerfully.
“It’s my house!” I say.
“Is it?” he says.
“We wrote these lyrics for you!” says The American Kennedy Class.
“Who is it directed to?” asks Lem.
“The big guns in your house!” says Jack, excited.
“The big guns?” says Lem, I.
“Yes! Whoever has the social power in your house.” says JFK, like it should be obvious. He assumed it was me and is me. But it’s not.
Lacey’s family had a title. In her immediate family. And yes, being related to the Spencer family was a very big deal…but her title meant more.
“No. You’d have to address this to Lacey.” I say.
Let’s read the lyrics as JFK sings them on behalf of The Kennedy Class to my Scottish aristocrat wife.
Take Me to Church
My lover’s got humor
She’s the giggle at a funeral
Knows everybody’s disapproval
I should’ve worshiped her sooner
If the Heavens ever did speak
She’s the last true mouthpiece
Every Sunday’s getting more bleak
A fresh poison each week
“We were born sick”, you heard them say it
My church offers no absolutes
She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom”
The only Heaven I’ll be sent to
Is when I’m alone with you
I was born sick, but I love it
Command me to be well
A-, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
If I’m a pagan of the good times
My lover’s the sunlight
To keep the Goddess on my side
She demands a sacrifice
Drain the whole sea
Get something shiny
Something meaty for the main course
That’s a fine looking high horse
What you got in the stable?
We’ve a lot of starving faithful
That looks tasty
That looks plenty
This is hungry work
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Offer me my deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Offer me my deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
Only then I am human
Only then I am clean
Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
Source: LyricFind
“My goodness!” says Lacey. “Was I so-called deity?” Lacey asks God.
“Yes! If there’s reincarnation you may have been what the Romans thought were deities. Of course that’s a lie. But…you had what humans would call superpowers.” says an Englishman, who’s not me. He fancies Lacey.
“Alright.
Well…you sound insane, Jack. If I was a fake deity…you’re right to call my godhood a lie. It was. Except…I wasn’t exactly human either. I wasn’t alien. I was…like Zeus. And I died.
Umm…I’m not going to be your lover. And you seem rather confused about what’s going on.
Did you think I was your lover through Lem?” says Lacey.
“Yes!” he says. If there’s reincarnation.
“What pathetic drivel. Why would I ever fuck you?” says Lacey.
“I agree!” says Lady Dashwood.
“He’s vile looking.” says Lacey.
“Is there something wrong with your bottom?” asks Marie Antoinette.
“No.” says JFK.
“No. You’ll just never do. I’m sorry.” says Lacey. “You misunderstood.”
Lady Dashwood nods in agreement with Lacey.
“Now…as to the only Heaven you’ll ever see? Did you mean with Lem or me?” says Lacey.
“I wrote it with the assumption that it was Lem who I was talking to. But it’s actually addressed to you. I’m directing it to you.” says JFK to Lacey.
“You will never be alone with me.” says Lacey.
JFK thinks.
“So are you stuck for eternity in Hell or ceasing to exist?” says Lacey.
“I hope not?” says JFK.
“Oh dear. You’ll have to straighten that out with God.
And then what’s this bit about ‘the starving faithful’, the ocean being drained and my stables?” says Lacey.
JFK cries. He rarely cries.
“And the part of the song about class not existing in Illuminati sex-magic ritual is utter rubbish. No human can escape class. It’s always there in the fallen world. It can lessen or be slightly altered…but not necessarily completely and it’s always there.” says Lacey. “At least that’s what I’ve observed. Of course…how you handle it is of the utmost importance.”
“The starving faithful are people who Lem doesn’t put out for. But to you it’s about being superior and being mean about it. I automatically assumed you were totally heartless towards the poor. The ocean being drained just sounded good. Because I assumed Lem was jealous of the sea. He was so quiet near the sea and I loved the sea…so I assumed he was jealous of my love for the sea. So I was giving you the power over the ocean as much as me and my followers can Satanically give you. To appease you. Your stables? Ahh…Lem was withholding, I assumed. And I hated his old money ancestry. So…I was threatening to kill your horses. And eat them.” says JFK. “Like…brutally rape you and him to get off and fill my sexual appetites, that I called tensions.”
“Hold on. I have to process all of that.” says Lacey. “Lock him up.” she says to God.
Later.
Take Me to Church by Hozier plays.
“Alright.” says Lacey.
Jack eyes Palestinian and Israeli food. Drools. On a Friday night. Brisket. Chocolate. Fresh vegetables. He has a hunger-seizure staring at it.
“Why are you so hungry?” asks Lacey.
“The Irish put me through the Potato Famine yo reach me a lesson.” explains JFK.
Later.
“Jack. Lacey isn’t who your family has thought she was all these years. I’m sorry.” says a dead woman.
“God will have to deal with the mess that is Take Me to Church. And I can’t figure out what the hands in pockets mean but I hope to someday.
“It’s sexual!” says a dead British aristocrat.
“Oh. Because it displays the crotch?” says Lacey.
“Yes!” says the man. “And it showcases it, of course.”
“For what purpose?” asks Lacey.
“To request pardon…for kicking our ass.” he says, laughing.
“They’re like weird, smug lesbians but as men.” says Lacey.
“Are you all non-binary?” seriously asks Sarah Ramirez of the Kennedys.
“Lem did you get jiggy with a huge bitch?” asks a dead English aristocrat.
“And completely stab Lacey in the back?” asks Lem. “No!”
“I have a feeling that’s maybe what it seems like.” says the dead English aristocrat.
“Jack…we’re wondering if you were a hateful non-binary person.” says a living English member of the upper class.
Keen to Cross the Pond 
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