Antinoë Magdalene

Purple Mountain Majesties

“How long ago was it that you said, ‘Life is
just a party and parties weren’t meant to last’?” The man who
spoke was of deific, youthful beauty.

“Thirty-four years,” the Purple One answered. He
seemed fascinated by the place he was in. Was it a palace? A theater?
Both? “Where am I?”

“That’s an interesting question,” the youth
replied, smiling. “In another song, you spoke of the ‘afterworld’.”

“Yeah, but I
wasn’t expecting to get there so soon.”

Antinoüs
smiled again. “Few of us ever do. Forgive me, I’ve been a poor
host. I am Antinoüs,
and I welcome you.”

“Antinoüs,”
the Purple One echoed.

“We’ve been
waiting for you.”

Revelers began
to mill about the edges of the space, wallflowers waiting for the
proper moment.

“Tiresias!”
Antinoüs
called. “Bring me that lyre.” The ancient blind prophet brought
the instrument to the youthful god and his guest.

“Greetings,
Prince,” the old androgyne said. “Welcome to our mountaintop
hall. Can you play the lyre?”

“Man, if it
makes music I can play it!” the Purple One declared.

“Then play for
us, friend!” Antinoüs
enthused. “Lead us in a party of apocalyptic proportions!”

Reverently
taking the lyre from Tiresias, the Purple One struck a chord. The
music that issued forth was unlike any that had been previously known
in the Afterworld. The wallflowers surged toward the center of the
hall, now a dance floor.

The Purple One
smiled. “Let’s get this party started!”

Ave,
Prince, Lord of the Dance!

Ave,
Tiresias, Sovereign of the Gender Benders!

Ave,
Antinoüs,
lord of the Queer Beloved Dead!