You can’t live without a mother. Without a mother you can’t die.
–Narcissus and Goldmund, Herman Hesse
Don’t let your reptile brain override what you knew was right then and is certainly right for you now. Don’t go on a world tour of pain rehashing things that you’ve passed on or take another stab at things that’ve long since passed you by. Shitty people are shitty. The sea changes people say they’ve been through, that’ve brought them back from the dead and into your life are just another charade and they’re never doing it for you, so don’t get enmeshed. Move on. Always forward. Never back. This paragraph will be one fuck of a non-sequitir if it doesn’t tie in with anything except its cribbed title from an article about Joe Biden. Truth is I don’t know what to write about this week, I don’t know where I am, except in a state of free fall, and I’m grasping–at love and the past and ideas of things that didn’t bring me comfort before but I insist will now, somehow. It could be high time for some real deal spirituality. I’ve shirked it long enough. It could also be a great time to forego ideas of love and romance and let go the need to be taken care of. How much more could I need anyway? I’m on the love seat I bought yesterday, in my bedroom of the new apartment. I just ate a reheated Mixmix from last night’s dinner at Koriente. My car is parked in the driveway and it’s peaceful here, a little stuffy but fine in the fading light. No one’s going to blast in here and stick a gun in my face. These walls won’t fall tonight and I’ll enjoy my first night of sound sleep in over fourteen days on a brand new mattress, delivered this afternoon. The world is on fire and the end days are winding down–but everything is ok.
I bring up love and romance because I’m a romantic. And I met a woman who we’ll call Kali, and she smacked me down to size when she told me that what I needed was what I had. I’ve been unemployed since October 1 and as mentioned I’ve been falling through the days. Lucky there have been some truly profound moments in the sun down here, too–days the old, street fighting me would hardly believe. It occurs to me that other than knowing we’re on the brink and it’s all over baby blue, the torrential malaise of my psyche these days might have something to do with survivor’s guilt. I made it through, it’s true, to be on this harried plateau where I feel the utter depths of a longing for suicide but grin from ear to ear in the sun driving fast in my car. I know I’ve had to leave a lot behind and I’m not as glad about some of it as I am about the rest. There’s a lot of junk back there but love too, and innocence, and every time I hurt you I know I hurt me too. The best thing that Kali did for me was remind me this wasn’t free. The bad love and the streets–they’re more than just fodder and grist for good poetry. It was real and it really happened. I’m suddenly overcome thinking about the folks I left behind–them in their misery because it was their karma and me out the door ’cause it was mine.
I can’t see an end to the insanity. Certainly not in the New Century and maybe not in me, either. I’ve a brave man in my life talking to me about God, and I’ve the same reaction to it I’ve always had. The only thing changed is not that I’m losing control but that I never had it. Fate, the World, cold plasmas of space–it’s the nature of things to break down, our bodies included, and I feel the more that gets in the better and the less you leave behind. I didn’t think it’d get darker but I guess that’s why you get stronger. Not to see the light but so you can rival the darkness. Things are really winding down. My spirituality has always been the seasons but now we’ve no Winter and no Fall and the smiles on all the faces are a prison. The only other benevolent change has to do with music. It’s affecting me the way it used to. It’s splitting me down the middle again, making me feel alive and thousands of volts. It’s giving me my edge over the sleepers and I burn down the streets of this town like a Black Irish shadow with earbuds on. Rock and Roll never forgets. Neither love, you should know. There are some of you reading these words right now and I can feel you in my heart and it makes me strong. We are all we have. I’ll keep falling as long’s you keep holding my hand.
See you next week motherfucker.
Going for the Throat 
Well, there is comfort in going back to someone in the past because it’s what you know and the pain of dealing with the past seems less than venturing forward toward a new rejection. At least if you get hurt by a past relationship, you feel it’s something familiar. The possibility of new rejection can leave you paralyzed. You wonder, is it better to put yourself out there and realize that people are just shits, to go back to the shit that you knew, or to just sit in your loneliness and feel like shit. After a brief walk in the past this week, I realize (especially after talking to you) that I have to find a happiness that is not tied to another. Work is work, and my kids are my kids, but that is not all there is to life. I am glad you are filling your life with music. There can be happiness in creating something that never existed before. There can be a thrill from stepping onto a new stage, not know how the audience will respond. There can be satisfaction in setting new goals and, little by little, seeing yourself achieve them. I tend to forget that at times. Always keep in mind that your contentment isn’t found in others. You hold the key to your happiness. – Kindest Regards, my friend.
The devil you know? Thank you for another kind and thoughtful comment, Annemarie. We have a lot in common here. I’ll have to fill you in sometime. Thanks as always for reading. See you soon!