Rowland S. Howard said that on the last album he released before he died of liver cancer in 2013. Then Bowie and my father, 2016, cancer. I’ve seen a healthy life wither into nothing in a matter of days. I’ve looked into somebody’s eyes the moment their consciousness left their body permanently. These things change a person’s perspective on life. You could spend a decade looking for perfection but you won’t ever find it. It doesn’t exist. Perfection is perception. Experiences & creations are all we have. Everything else is borrowed. Its bad luck to strike a hand outstretched in genuine apology. Pretty soon people will be scared to open their hands to you, as well as their hearts. My heart was a red ball of yarn being batted around by kittens who suddenly became alley cats and sunk their claws into the flesh of the hand that had loved them and would be stroked no more. Sometimes I think of. her, my friend and sometimes lover, but differently than she thinks of me. Now she’d rather not answer and we haven’t talked since the 31st of January. What a sad end to a long semi-relationship. I knew it was bad news. Knew it would end badly for one of us (probably me) but my heart wanted her even as I knew she didn’t love me. In the end. I guess I lost another friend or two this week. One of ‘em I loved but doesn’t love me, its okay because I have Lunch as much as anyone can be loved by a force of nature with a cigarette and glass of white wine. She teases my dreams, Siamese Queen keeping me alive. I made two peace offerings at personal temples & lit incense. Neither goddess deigned to answer me. A profound sadness stole my mind and threatened to direct it towards destruction. I fought my demons the Western way, with sedatives, hypnotics, minor tranquilizers and weed. I know what you’re thinking: it’ll catch you someday and you’ll pay the price for the peace of mind most people don’t need to buy. Well it hasn’t caught me yet and I’m gonna push it until the whole world feels my fire. Or feels like fire, like living withdrawal hell. Not like I haven’t been there before anyway, and I’d have to dig deep to beat my own record. Who cares about the future? Tomorrow we might die. Tonight I want to feel fine. A couple of drops of ETZ, a couple of Klonopin and life looks way better from this angle. So what if people who once told me to call them for help turn their backs & stay silent? In the end everybody does & maybe I had it coming anyway. Who knows? Who cares? What good is a memory anyway when the days are all sad and exactly the same?