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[For me and only me, so that I can always remember you.] This is to express what I remember about Leigh. The video to others.. well, you just won’t get him. But that is besides the reason why I am posting, his energy of voice and slightly nefarious energy still continues to haunt me. Even though our personal connection was short-lived, his energy proceeds to pull me in a direction of curiousness. A man who I always wanted to understand, but could never. He was the most intellectually profound mortal I have ever had the luxury of crossing paths with; boarder-line genius, savant, endowment of prose and poetry and the most fascinating stories that were devilishly of prodigy mind. A brilliant being who forever had a cigarette lit, constantly puffing away in and out, whether it was attached to his fingers, his tobacco stained lips or hanging seductively on the edge of an ashtray. In the humorous part of it all, I believe the unfiltered cigarette was his artistic muse. Constantly inhaling the poisonous mist of the infatuated essence of the toxicity of life between his lungs, nostrils and articulate mouth. All the while the diluted smoke echoing in a dance around him, as he playfully spoke within the rhythms of the vapored tobacco.

Quite honestly, I am not sure how Spirit works. I know that we all have one; the soul. Yet, the cataclysmic way of how we all come together, how we actually meet, the whole dynamic in the seeds of communication; the Soul is something we will never understand and spend a lifetime of trying to align ourself with it. All of the fascinating men I have intimately known have ironically been extraordinarily profound in intellect; diverse with an eclectic measure of high intelligence. With Leigh, he made the most thunderbolt of impression on me. It was his mind that was the seducer of it all. Higher in perception than anyone I have ever encountered. Every time I would describe Leigh to someone, I would simply put, “He is a literary genius”. In the deepest conversations that I tried to follow, he explained to me the intricate ways of how the universe worked. When he blurted out one day, “We are already dead” I was shocked in a knowingness in which I cannot articulately explain here. What he meant, as I pondered the reality of life, was that he stated we are already dead, and our destiny was to understand the choices we make. Him unifying the conclusion, after hours of him speaking about the quantum mechanics of this solar system, that we are not of the living. That reality really does not exist as we think it does; that we are just chemically charged as to “if” we are living, but in all actually we are dead. Thinking we are of the living.

This video is made weeks before his death, and I am borrowing it from the one who posted it on YouTube. The peculiar thing is, for the past 2 months, I kept on hearing his voice in my head. And for the past 60+ days I kept on Googling him, well.. somewhat of a lie. I searched for him on July 13 of this year, but not paying attention to the signs. And all of a sudden today, out of the blue, his name screamed loud in my mind, so I began typing his name on the empty space bar.. and hit enter. Shocking to find several videos of the last days of his breath on tape. Leigh, believe it or not, was the inspiration to my last name “Leigh” and after we merged briefly together, I adopted his name and made it my own. It seemed so suiting to be known as Zuky Leigh.

  • In the beauty of it all, he wrote 2 pieces about me. One untitled, and the other called 309 Fireworks:


on a softer note
i see a flower
trying to break
through a crack
in the sidewalk
so many footsteps
threatening annihilation
a warm wind
your long lean stem
in all directions.
to pick you
would be to destroy you
to let you be
would be to consider
the same thing
i am lost
in all aspects of you
but for what it’s worth
i cherish
your very existence
reminding me
that life is precarious
that beauty and joy
are found
in the most acute scenarios.
a moment to reflect
on the whims
of insane gods
that decide such
a magnificent creation
should be tested
to such extremes.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
(written for zuky by leigh binder.);
someone who recognized my haunting fragility

[309 fireworks]

The road winds and divides; cars racing and revving through the curves and braking into oblivion; I ignored it all as I drove through the night. I envisioned a planned meeting of vice turning to obsession, taking a rented car to its mid-size limits. Wanton passion burns with the voracity of a turbine engine as hand holds peek through tight jeans floating through a crowd.

I watched the sun rise for the umpteenth time and wondered about the fluidness of a fine beauty laced with emotional upheaval. Cliché’s are obvious, but a smile can hide all the lies and truth of a woman desperate for love. My own desperation is that of a wanderer in search of something to say and lay my head to rest until the next inspiration. I can’t recall how we really understood the need to meet and embrace, but some things are better left to mystery in the aftermath of three hundred and nine firework explosions.

Some things can be touched and others must be handled with the focus of fine china, porcelain dolls and grand pianos. I’ve never danced my fingers on ivory keys of delight, held a porcelain doll and stared deep into the craftsmanship of perfection or looked upon delicacies placed on a five hundred year old plate of flawlessness. There are many effects of finery and delicate nature in the world; of which demand admiration with a silent knowing, acclaimed, boasted of and caressed with a solemn promise of never leaving. How can I make such promises without destroying the very nature of a singular beauty? I’ve never stayed anywhere; a stray cattle dog running into the night in hope of a temporary home, until the night fades into a rising sun of despair. Denial is the weary cancer of always being alone.

My discomfort of the world dissolved as she smiled through a cracked door and strode through my world and invented a secret place for us to hide until the next morning. So many times I was desperate to tell her how much I loved her in that moment of bliss and joining. So many times I felt exasperated at my ineffectual words of comfort when she froze in fear of being left, being abandoned, being discounted for anything else other then what she is. She only wants to be loved; to be admired for the color she brings to a grey tired world which has forgotten the truth of living.

I sit here at the airport waiting for a flight to another place, another time, another moment to breathe with impunity. I sit here and remember three hundred and nine fireworks, fading into my chair as a disconnected voice reminds me my flight has been delayed. I look around and see lonely faces of travelers and businessman, drab, dispassionate, colorless.

It was only one frame in a life of illusion but now I can’t conceive of a life without color, without veracity, without fireworks, without her.

Poem: Three Hundred and Nine Fireworks
(written for zuky by leigh b.); Tuesday, April 3, 2007; (the beauty of the title has nothing to do with fireworks. our room was number 309 and was labeled “fireworks”)

[personal message] January 6, 2007 
A message to me, and me asking “why he needed me”.. the most fascinating response I have ever received from a man.. and he wrote: 
“You know these things but wish me to explain them so I will……..I need to dive into your soul and feel your pain and mix it with mine, I need to break down in tears after we have exploded in simultaneous orgasm. I need to feel your presence when I am surrounded by people asking questions and feel as if I’m drowning, you; your spirit, my life preserver. I need to be able to sit quiet and know that you not only feel me but understand me, not another person wanting explanation to something they think they understand. I need you to hold me and rock me and stroke my head, kiss my neck and remind me that your presence on this earth and our connection is reason enough to get up everyday and explore our bodies and soul. I need to feel you 1000 miles away, to know when you are thinking of me, I need to be so close to you that we can sit across the room and I can think you into orgasm. I need our private jokes, our private looks, our private world that no one else can enter except upon death and that though you fantasize of others which is only natural when you look at me and I’m inside you, feeling, you, taking you to our own personal heaven, to know that there is no one else and nothing else that you are thinking of at our moment of joining souls and being one in a moment of eternity. I need you to understand my moods and I yours in turn and have mutual respect for space but in a moment of need that we can put aside our self absorption and become selfless because in truth that is the very definition of love.”
  • And my 2 poems about him: remain{s} and The Secret


IF I REMAIN YOUR exquisite LOVE{r}
please touch my soul with your sweet breath.
You might think your kiss{es}
were enough
for me, yet your distance is pure death.

Stale BLOOD shot within each pore of my
as I quenched you for that one time.
Running through our aquatic bodies;
bursting heart{s}
were jocund and sublime.

Before your flesh is again captured,
I beckon you to SEIZE my
A bewitching tongue moans for your essence,
refusing a trade for money.

Tarot cards mislead me to a literary genius
of profound{ness}.
Seemingly, yours embraces success, yet did not speak of

God{s} above blindly choose to abandon
the decadence of my fingers.
Always searching for your perfumed lips,
tainted poisoned tobacco lingers.

The moment my eyes gazed upon
your alluringly gallant wonderment.
Red devil engraved into raw flesh,
screaming in joy{s} of his punishment.

Profoundly, I would sell my possession{s} to taste you in my world
each day.
As the owner of an
one would never let stray.

IF I REMAIN YOUR exquisite LOVE{r}
hold on tight with a silent bark.
For it is you that has taken my
away and left them in the dark.

© 04.2007. All Rights Reserved.
(for leigh); friday 4.13.2007 9:55PM

[the secret]

Whispering in the gentle wind
a miraculous being came to me one clear night
No proposed invitation or seen forewarning
of this super natural delight
Astonishingly surprised, my frailty recognized
his immaculately deep soul
Feverishly gazing at his familiar face
a spiritual presence made me whole

Decades of decadence I have been with
extremely intense and hypnotic lovers
Phenomenally this particular one seems
to pull me away from my covers
Blanketing me with sensational fragments
of light which brush through my quivering heart
His virtuoso of life commands appreciation;
he’s a profound work of art

Beginning to discover his genius
is nefarious as a Dali painting
Intricately woven brilliance reflects
a mastermind that’s keenly entertaining
Eccentric surrealism uninhibitedly
masters his liberated mind
Poetically encompassing exuberant
imagery and free verse intertwined

Devotion flows in his direction for
this mortal speaks a menagerie of truth
Evident by the hands of unkind God(s)
was granted this during his innocent youth
Tragically claiming to suffer from nadir
and entering into this world broken
Withering pain exists in his gallant stare,
constrictively silent and unspoken

Captivatingly intriguing this demonic nectar
is consuming my dark world
Conjuring up a pentagram of itinerant
magic for me to come unfurled
My transformed surface is undergoing
a matrix of revolutionary change
A dominated vibration of supreme essence
is gravitationally strange

Spellbindingly I find myself not wanting
to live without his illustrious gift
Supreme fright of acknowledgement that my
past search for beauty somehow has gone adrift
He claims that he has no control of my flow
of energy that is being revealed
Yet it’s blatantly obvious we are both
on the glorious journey to be healed

Transcending elements allow my disturbing
eyes to possess an obsessive gaze
Indulgently intoxicated my spirit
drinks in the inebriated haze
Indescribable euphoria embraces my
resistless rapturous passion
Languishingly freely my deprived body
should be devoured in any fashion

Contrarily, I have just betrayed my
personal vow from sexual abstention
Confessing my desires to vocally
demonstrate my erotic intension
Fanatical ill fantasies of raping his
permissive structure insistently
Exuding a tantalizing voraciousness
in fucking his mind consistently

Savagely shocking to see my poems
emanate a less perverted existence
His deviant aberration embarks my
direction with a cautious persistence
The words exuded from his inventively
skillful psyche are sinisterly grand
A magnificent mental labyrinth with
verbal dimension which I understand

Besides the distinct fact this eloquent
Aquarius is resplendently trenchant
An admiration with this gentleman goes
beyond my intellectual penchant
My expression gears more towards discovering
how his body is receptive with mine
Wishing to become deeply drowned with cherished
emotion, euphorically on cloud nine

Grave realization that he coils my world
with a rapturously cherished sweet breath
This omnisciently golden force has altered
my universe and dismantled my death
Sagaciously comprehending this present
is an event without duplication
The angelic lords above will never
grant another echo for my salvation

Loving someone to the deepest ends of
this earth is the essence of my survival
Saturated with delusional grandeur
of intimacy for his arrival
Harmoniously chanting words carved from
my tongue, penetrates the air with sounds of Leigh
This cantillation holds The illuminated Secret
to a girl called Rosemarie

© 01.2007. All Rights Reserved.
(for leigh); thursday 01.25.2007 3:15AM

  • For the man who will always haunt me with mystery of his nefariously genius mind. Leigh Eric Binder January 25, 1959 to June 4, 2014

leighleigh binder