There was a blizzard this night on the way from Boston to NYC on the Chinatown bus and I was lost in my own silence looking out the window as the trees, lights, mile-markers and landscape passed us by. I looked up the sky with a longing of some sort that I always feel when I look up to the big vast openness that seems to be this life I lead. The heat was pouring out of the overhead vents and I was listening to music on the way down. I was thinking how I hadn’t been to the city in about 14 years or so. The last time I was there I was about 10 years old or so and I remember that so well. My parents brought me down there to experience the city and there were pigeons everywhere.
We did a lot of the touristy things like went to the statue of liberty, central park, the empire state building. I saw the Guinness book of world records museums inside of the empire. I had read that book so many times and loved it and always wondered why people set such odd goals and ambitions. Seems so silly to have the longest fingernails, the longest hair, the fastest motorcycle rider but I guess you can do anything with your life and if that’s what you come up with then so be it. I remember the cabs and the buses and the business of it all. Long gray overcoats, homeless people, small carts that sold hot dogs and hamburgers and other essentials of junk food. I remember how cold it was as well but one thing I remember the most that I am just realizing now is that night when we arrived back to our home in a small town called Ware, Mass I saw a shooting star fall right in front of my eyes, literally. It shot very fast in front of me and my parents even saw it so it wasn’t just some figment of my imagination which I have been known to wander off with.
It was a real live one and it burnt all the way up in front of me and it's funny now to look back at that and remember that because now after living in the city for over four years or so now it makes a lot of sense that without my having known it at the time, that must have been my wish fulfilled. I don’t remember wishing for anything, I just remember following the road, following that spaciness that everyone in school used to say I was, always the kid with a dream, always the kid lost in space, always somewhere else. Some people think that it is some sort of escapism, or magical trick to not deal with reality, the artist in me. But then I read into that a bit more and wonder if that is really true. Is it true that if you have a dream and someone doesn’t, are you the one lost in space or is that dream very real. I don’t doubt that the dream is real; I have so many experiences to show for all of my thoughts and feelings. Things I can’t even begin to tell you in this small paragraph about something different.
This is going back in time to see where we are now and I don’t even know where I am now, never mind trying to figure out what everything meant then. The frame of mind I had then and the frame of mind now is totally different and I can feel it and see it. I can see the walls building up around me as I keep smashing them down, I keep smashing my own down and then people around me keep telling me to put them back up, people all around me keep telling me who I am, what I am supposed to believe in and I just don’t buy any of it anymore.
There's nothing left to believe in, there never was in the first place, it was all useless things to scatter the mind with, to keep it busy, and to keep it going into a different place that doesn’t even exist. I have traveled in many places inside and outside myself. If you are reading this, then I know you know you have been with me whether it was for a short time or a medium time or a long time or you are still here with me. You have seen me at my worst, my most mediocre, my best, you have seen me fly really high and smash down to the ground, you have seen me want to completely destroy myself and then build myself back up and up and up and then you have seen me docile, meek and eager, searching for something, searching for nothing, not giving a fuck about anything, caring too much about everything, I have yelled and screamed at you, I have cried with you, I have laughed with you, I have done mischievous things with you, I have gotten drunk with you, I have gotten stoned out of my mind with you and talked endlessly about the span of time, about the life we live, about the death that is always around the corner, I, I, I, I, and I have even gone from I to we, we have had sex together for hours on end, for minutes of futile passions, we have fucked in all kinds of places, in bathrooms, in other people’s homes, in our apartment together, in your apartment alone, with other people laying next to us, we have kissed passionately to the point of complete ecstasy, we have gotten drunk off of love, so drunk that the world never existed anywhere else but in that moment, we have left our body, we have left our mind, we have left our own lives and acted out these otherworldly roles that we could never live up to, we have made so many promises to each other, we have let things happen, we have forced things to happen, we have even told each other to fuck off and never seen each other ever again, we have done so many things that I could keep going on and on and on about it. We have made each other realize a lot, we have pissed each other off a lot, we have projected our hopes and dreams, we have projected our futures and our pasts and the he said, she said conversation topic that never goes anywhere, we have hurt, and we have healed.
Now the page is turning and this all reminds me of what Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem called "if" He said that after it is all, you will be a man my son. I can feel those last lines of the poem. For once I can even see it. So much selfishness and selfless acts that have happened between us, millions of us, so many of us together that I can’t even keep count anymore and there's not one time I regret. I know this is turning out to be some long regarded sentiment and I usually don’t like to write sappy little things but at this point, I do not give a fuck about trying to write something that will appease to you. I am writing this because right now it is coming out, I don’t even know the next thought, I don’t even know the next comma or right use of punctuation, I don’t care anymore, it’s not my job to make sure that I copy someone else’s style so you can be familiar, it’s not my job to make sure I write non-run-on sentences, if my thought comes out this way then fuck it, this is the moment, this is what we definitely have, I don’t want to impress you or lead on into thinking that I am some extraordinary person full of magical talents that are going to make you like me anymore or any less than you already do. I can keep writing this same sentence over and over and over again in three hundred and seventy-five different ways.
I realize I am not your savior, I am not even my own savior, there is nothing to save, we have everything we ever wanted, and it’s always been in front of us if we are willing to see it. It’s deep in the black void in the body, in the soul, in the cellular memory of the heart. We remember everything just not all at once. It is impossible to remember it all at once and even if we did we would go mad, we would go crazy and even when we do remember it, there’s the possibility that what we remember might not even be accurate, it might just be a figment of our imagination, we may stretch it all out to see what we want to see or we may be that little boy in the painting that Caravaggio did in the late 1600's, David and Goliath and the sword of truth severing the head of the arrogant warrior full of pride. Humiliation kills pride. Pride is a dead scene, it’s defeated itself, humiliation is nothing to, just another way to make one feel bad about themselves and what’s the point? There is no point. And you can argue endlessly about anything and everything that I say and I say that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I am not responsible for your decisions in life, I am not responsible for your decisions and you can say even that this is a very unloving way of me and I can so oh really, is that true and you can look me in the eye and we can see who we really are.
And you can start crying about it and I can start crying because you trigger something so deep in me, that beast of compassion that melts the iceberg around the heart in the middle of the winter. Then we can start again and we can move like a locomotive, I think I can, I think I can and we can move up that big hill in the pouring rain, all alone, alone with the alone, with everyone around us and no one. and I can keep using black and white terminology but then I will always realize that there is color and there is so much color that it blinds us, it puts us in a frenzy, it takes us away and some people will call us crazy, they will say we have gone mad and that we need therapy and maybe that is so, but then we can always say that maybe it’s not all meant to be taken too seriously.
Maybe god is a fucking comedian and he’s a fucking hilarious bastard son up on the pulpit letting us all know that the sermon is actually a big joke and we keep falling for it every time but we keep falling asleep in the pews and yawning through the whole experience looking for something more interesting, looking for someone to tell us something, anything, anything we haven’t heard before, something that will wake us up, something that will give us something we never felt before, something that I can’t even describe to you and even look at it, I started out telling you all about NYC and memories and how this happened and that happened and the next thing you know I have opened up this giant heart of mine and it's pouring out and if you have read this far then you either think one thing or another about me or your reading along because you also feel this way and you read beyond the words and the typography and the design of the sentence which even isn’t real, and I can say things that don’t make any sense at all but you understand, you understand it all without even understanding it and I could keep writing this forever and forever and forever and you would keep on reading it, looking for something, anything. and you will say, just say something to me that I can hear or that I can feel or that and I will just let you know that now I am at a loss for words and I am even writing it down so you can know where I am coming from.
I can tell you that I am still walking alone with the alone and I don’t know where I am going but I have a map and a compass that doesn’t say anything, it’s all blank now, the flashlight it dead I can see in the dark, I have whiskers like a cat, I have the intuition of a mother, the clairvoyance of a psychic, the ability to speak with the universe and see it is conscious of my existence and that I am conscious of its existence and if you took me out of this place there would be a small little spot that not one person could fill that is me but I am so ordinary, and then you could think that I am only writing about myself because you can’t see beyond yourself but this story is about you, and you, and you, and you, and me and me and me, and about no one at all.
I will write to you more about my dreams, travels, experiences if you would please write to me and tell me that you are still here and remember what we have done together, alone, it doesn’t matter, let's write it all down for the world to read. See look at that, I started out with a fucking blizzard and ended up with the same thing in words worth.