Saturday, July 02, 2005

A House Is Not A Home Anymore

Luther Vandross has passed away. A voice like drawn butter to lobster, lyrics and melodies like chocolate sauce, he was the muse for Black romance. He will be missed.

I'm saddened certainly, from an artistic standpoint, but I'm also saddened by what he represents as an artist. He struggled with his weight, more than likely because he was a star in an image-driven industry. He came from a family that struggled with health issues, and, yes, there certainly was gossip about both his HIV status and his sexuality. I was also one that talked about it, but there's no fun in it anymore. If he was gay, it is tragic that he died without feeling fully free to be himself. And then again, he may have felt as free as he wanted to.

A room is still a room, even when there's nothing there but gloom.
But a room is not a house, and a house is not a home when I climb the stairs...

Luther's not there, and his house isn't a home anymore. God bless you. I hope you're free, at last.

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