To Live Like This

life

If you’re going to live like this, there are some things you should know:

You are going to fuck up. Often. People are going to question you. Often.
You are going to take their advice with a grain of salt.
You are going to prove them right. Often.
And then
You are going to prove them wrong.
And all you need to do is prove them wrong once
to emerge a hero, with a tale, a lesson, an experience that they will covet.
That they will exalt. They will tell the tale far and wide,
even though they were on the sidelines, giving their warnings  and crying foul,
because you fuckin’ did it.
You will be remembered.

You will have to fight against instinct.
You will refuse to acknowledge fear.
There will be fear.
And it means nothing.

You will not live to be scared.
You will not live to be proper.
You will not live to be OK.
You will live for the journey.
You will live for the tragedy and the suspense and the miraculous and the uncomfortable and the astounding and the unanticipated and the glorious.
You will live for the best.
And you won’t be left wondering.

You might not live without regrets,
but you won’t regret regretting
because, damn,
it will be amazing.

Memoirs of the Brain-Damaged

Uncategorized

I almost died.

Some people ask if I saw the light; if there was a tunnel?
No, not entirely. There were cracks through which the light shone and then became refracted in a dazzling confusion of color and pain-killers.
Probably purple. Possibly green.

I felt my childhood rupture along an artery… every summertime sprinkler cold on your skin. Every snow day that never ends. When letters were hieroglyphics and you wondered what they meant…

My ancestors were there to greet me. They waited patiently for two hours, ready to receive me in their myriad European tongues.
They dispersed when a surgical drill broke through my cranium.
Consciousness lost comprehension; rushed out of me in blood-cloudy spinal fluid. I can only recall the sun-warm sensation of the peachy pink twilights that you hope to remember.

Memory repeated until it unclotted itself.
My quiet repose was nearly absolute upon sterile sheets, undreaming a short lifetime of misunderstandings, when a cacophony of beeping machinery hearkened my immanent departure.

I was a precarious hovering, a mist threatening dispersion.
Verging on vanish, riding the faint vapor of a final breath, I briefly dissolved only to re-enter myself.
And I can’t tell you why or the hour of my assemblage, just that I know the color of nondescription.

I opened my eyes: light.