What follows is something I wrote for myself but I wrote it with you in mind. It’s for me and it’s for you. Someday I will look back over these words and remember things I will have forgotten.
I am just telling stories, spinning yarns, barking at the wind. I wrote this for myself with you in mind. That is what I have always done.
Writing, editing and sending this are completely selfish acts and just the mere clicking of the send button has given me everything I wanted to gain from it. Writing was the needle puncturing the skin and sending was the injecting of the drug. The rush is now achieved, the shivers and tremors are all gone. The high is electric and the damage done, everything from here on out is just a hazy dream.
This is not about jump starting any new correspondence. Contained here is merely a collection of some of the things that have happened to me since we said goodbye. If you are curious about that, read on, if you roll your eyes at the idea, move on. Feel free to show it to your friends and say “Hey look at this crazy dude I used to know.” There’s nothing here that I am not willing to share with everyone. These stories are my stories and I tell them in various ways to various people. In the form that they are here they have been written specifically for you but they are in not for your eyes only.
Still reading? You’re nuts. Well, if you’re going to stick around this is where you pull up your chair and get comfortable. It’s a story. A (mostly) true story. No one dies or gets hurt, no one’s heart breaks, no one’s sanity fades.
Nothing exists outside the little white box where these words live. There are only the words and the ideas contained inside the words. Everything else is out there, far away, too real and too hard and too complicated. It’s like they tell you in Sunday School, “leave the world outside children, this is the Lord’s house, this is the Lord’s time.”
This is pretend time, let’s have some fun.
It goes the other way too. There is nothing in here that is real or hard or complicated. There are only twenty-six phonetic symbols, ten numerals, and about eight punctuation marks contained here. They can’t bite you or harm you or push you around. That’s the beauty of all storytelling, you can close your eyes and live somewhere else for a bit and then you open them and poof it’s like nothing ever happened.
When I write I am just a performer, a man on the street corner yelling at the sky. At the end of the day I collect my coat and walk away, I don’t look back, I don’t want to see the empty field, I don’t want to know that no one was listening.
Go away, cover your ears, close your eyes, don’t pay any heed.