Nothing fades away. Nothing fades away, only passion sleeps, waiting, seething, eventually and always reminding me of why I am still alive. I had a choice, I could have given up and so many fucking times I wanted to, I wanted to let it end, this pain, this stigma, the way that you look into my eyes and think you see me because of what I have written, disclosed. I wiped off the makeup, disrobed, offered to you pieces of me, yet there is so. much. more. that most of you ignore, fail to see. I give you the words I have, but some things cannot be described. Keep thinking you know me, read my words, and you will be close, but I never give everything.
Do any of us?
Through my words you think you know, through my words you assume, but have you heard my screams to love and life and sorrow? Have I heard yours? What I offer is only what I think you can understand, and I know you are the same. There is a privacy, a solitude that we all need in order to keep plastering the plastic smiles on our faces… but what if we were honest? How would you look at me, how would you think you understand, how would you speak to me if I told you a secret – that I have a shitload of Morphine I am saving for when I feel that I am done? It is not an escape, it is a new adventure. It is a road that I haven’t taken – a road not taken though one which is there, waiting.
This is only one secret, not so much one anymore. We all have them, and I believe that the fear of death is what makes us live so fucking beautifully, so hard.
Trust me, but I lied. I want to give you everything, from the pages to the words to the stage. I want to exhaust myself in what I can do, only… I need to do it again. Admittedly, there is fear; fear of being cut short again, fear of the pain. The Morphine is not a continuum, it is only an end and will remain untouched until then.
It’s a warm night in San Francisco, balmy, humid because of the rain. We have no claim to this, it is supposed to be a predictable city – cold, layered, the fan in my room on as the sky begins to light the view out my window, the view that hasn’t changed for over a year…
I need to create a good home for Ruby & I, a small change apartment where she has no place to play except for where I drive her is no place for a puppy, is no place for me – but then again, where and what is a place for me? For her? She loves sleeping with me on my bed, and I look around me at the mess – the guitar hanging on the wall, the bike leaning against it which I still need to finish fixing from when it was crushed by someone parking my motorhome… my motorhome. Gods, how I miss her. How I miss the magick of the road.
I found home in this city with the beautiful people in the Vau de Vire Society all those years ago, and they are still my family – they always will be – but I don’t feel as if I am theirs, not anymore. Sure, I a an Archer, and one hell of one – but I’m fighting with a show that might make a difference.
That is all I wish to do, make a difference. I want to figure out something with that beautiful woman who calls me her boyfriend, who I feel the same, who I finally admitted that I love because she fucking sees me, and for some strange reason loves me as well, and I need to do things, to do everything, for her.