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It must be the oldest gay joke in the world.

Q: Is it possible for two men to have a baby together?

A: Theoretically no, but they sure do keep trying!

But for gods, now: well, that's another matter.

***

Earth's two Husbands, Sun and Thunder, have been together (so far as we know) nearly forever. You could say they're an unlikely couple. You could say they're well matched. Whichever it be, they're very different from one another.

Sun is hot and dry. He comes from the east, and he's always going west. Steady, predictable, he's all about the rational.

Thunder, now? Cool, wet, comes from the west, always going east. Volatile, unpredictable: with him, it's all about emotion.

Theirs is an explosive relationship: with all their differences, how could it not be? Oh, the fights. But, in the end, they always make it up.

They have a daughter together, born of their love: Rainbow, gentlest of goddesses. To see her is to love her, she's that beautiful.

In these latter days, they've named her the patron of same-sex love. Well, how could she not be?

After all, she has two fathers.

***

These days, Twin Cities Pride is a matter of corporate sponsorship and hundreds of thousands, but back then it was just a few hundred of us, marching down Hennepin Avenue.

In the dream, I'm in a roadside museum, looking at exhibits. At first, I'm the only one there.

Then the door opens, and a couple comes in with their way-gay teen son, waving hands and all.

“Gods, kid,” I think. “Tone it down.”

I listen—I can't help but listen—as he enthuses rapturously over the exhibits. I start to watch. He's no great beauty, but he's got that freshness of young things. He's smart and funny, rather appealing, really.

Suddenly he's there beside me, standing a little too close, and we're leaning together over the same case. He comments perceptively on what we're looking at. We talk. Our talk never turns personal, but I have a realization.

“I really like this kid,” I think.

From the door his parents call.

“Come on, Stevie, time to go.”

“Die now!” chanted the crowd as Diagóras of Rhodes circled the stadium. They meant it as a compliment.

Olympia, 448 BCE. Two of Diagóras' sons had just received Olympic crowns. "Die now!" chanted the crowd as his sons raised him to their shoulders and bore him aloft.

Meaning: you might as well die now; you're never going to get any happier than this.

In my long and rich life, I've been fortunate enough to have several “Die now!” moments.

Here's one.

Human fetus (male), 12 weeks

Already fantasizing about other male fetuses

Queerness begins at the moment of conception.

Support the right to love.

Happy Pride!

We will not stop dancing.

We will not stop loving.

We will not stop making love.

Let the haters hate us.

Let them do their worst.

We've seen it all before.

 For Which

For which we braved the pyre,

the noose, the gelder’s knife. For which

we will give anything, and have, and do.

A good: so natural a good, self-evidently

best and truest, which by its nature transforms

everything. The truth which gives the lie

to anything that stands against it, and so much

stands against it. For which we die, and have,

Leaping Lucifer!

The witches of the world have gathered for their annual meeting, Boss Witch (Martha Ray) presiding. Doesn't she look absolutely hideous in her hornëd hennin?

And who else could belt out the witches' anthem like the incomparable Witch Hazel (Mama Cass Eliot)? Now is that a witch or what?

Über-kitsch, you say? Not quite your cup of hemlock tea, perhaps?

Well, it managed to get this little gay warlock boy through the horrors of junior high, thank you very much.

So you can just go to Heaven.