Act 1: Scene 1

August, 1989, Archer Avenue across from the post office, two doors down from the numbers joint and four doors down from the methadone clinic.
Hot summer. Early morning.
Enter the sunlight. Enter the stage, dead center and in the middle of real life.
This was me and this was life as it was.
This is how everything was back then, of course

The previous night’s demons are scattered in tiny skeletons that proved our deaths with plastic vials, which have all been noted by the news and the media as an earlier epidemic that killed at different speeds.

The warm air is fading from the wind the same as the memories from last year grow more distant, just like how the Earth moves away from the sun when winter comes around.
New York City is about to see another season and I am about to undergo another change.
I know.

The world is a cyclical place. We have four seasons. We have our bouts. We have our moments of joy and pain. We have days in the sun, moments when it rains, and times when it snows.
We have mornings when the ground thaws during the first warmth in spring.
I love the differences between these seasons. And I love them all for different reasons.

My kingdom for a horse . . .
This comes from Shakespeare’s King Richard III when he said, “A horse, a horse. My kingdom for a horse.”

I suppose a horse would be of great use, or perhaps this might come at a greater expense. But more, I suppose wealth and cost is all relative when it comes to the different levels of supply and demand.
And yes. Of course!
I have my own demands, but perhaps now is not the time for to express them.

I think about myself and then of course, I think about my old and former self with the same and perhaps normal or  commonplace questions of “where have I been,” or “what the hell was I thinking?”

Maybe I should go back to that spot where healing is supposed to take place. Or maybe the special dirt that I collected did not take. Maybe I need to grab another sample from the blessed Earth behind the church in old El Chimayo or pray more, like I did that afternoon in the old chapel where I watched an old woman weep and her son wheel her chair to the nearest candle.
Maybe . . .
Maybe the answers I sought were not the answers I prayed for. Or maybe my requests were denied for reasons that did not present themselves until now.

There has to be a time when we say to hell with it. There has to be a time when we say life is life death is death and all we have is this moment. Understand?
All we have is this, which is right here and right now.
There has to come a time when enough is enough and so, now becomes the time to make a difference between the definition of what it means to live or die.
Living is far more than just existing
And dying alive is far worse than dying alone.

There is no more time to waste.
There is no more time to give in or to give up and there is no more room for excuses and doubts.

There was a big storm last night. The wind picked up and there were trees down on the street.
I can hear the wind and the rain are still blowing around but the storm has mostly passed and all that’s left are the remnants of a northeast storm that devastated the weekend.
I sit here now and I have my trusty companion with me.
Ah, thank God for trusty companions.
And no, this is not a person or an animal but instead, I have my cup of coffee which is what I needed this morning.
Or wait.
No.
I have other needs which do not need to be mentioned at this time.

I say the same thing all the time. I tell everyone if you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And to act like you know or to insinuate that you do can be seen as an insult or counterproductive.
There is something to be said about the act and the process and the actual motions of going through something.
And I get it. Everything is subjective.
Everything is left open to interpretation and of course, fiction can become facts and facts can become fiction.
True things can be disagreed and be false and lies can become truths, at least from a personal standpoint.

We are fools at times. We are all subject to the deception of our own perception and in the case of us against life or me against me and I against I, there is a real world going on around me. There are so many things that I have not seen or experienced enough to understand and again, there are times when the fact remains.
If you don’t know, then you just don’t know.
And that’s okay . . .

I do not waste my time and tempt fate or dare the odds of my unforeseen destiny anymore.
At least, not like I used to.
I am too far gone now. I am far from the person I was and growing farther from the distant shadows that used to remind me of what took place on 3rd Avenue and 54th Street.
I am grateful for this, however, so please understand that despite my past and my mistakes; I am aware of who I am now and in the end, awareness is the key which can open the door to a brand new life.
Or, at least, so I hope.

So, you want honesty?
Okay, Let’s take it from here
Shall we?

And you know too. You know all about it.
You know about the ground beneath you and how it disappears. You know why everything you held dearly is gone and you know why the bottom lost hold and the fall is going to be far greater than any fall you’ve ever taken before.
You know.
You know all about it.

Maybe you have one or two options. Maybe there are a few choices.
Maybe.
But whatever the choices are, neither of them are attractive. None of your options are what you wanted and yet, this is it.
There you are. Alive and unwell and living pout loud while being consumed in the belly of the beast.

There was a video of a young woman who was asked why she wrote so many love poems.
The young girl responded honestly and with an answer that made sense to me.
She writes love poems instead of suicide notes.
Well done, I say.
Her answer is excellent, I tell you.

I am the same.
I write about love
or you
and I write about my love because the adverse or the opposite is unthinkable to me.

I understand what it means to feel lost or elsewhere and what t means to be or believe as if to be out of this hemisphere and more, I get how it is to seem like a stranger while alive and well and living here in familiar territory.

My best memory of times when I was supposedly well or fine enough to be welcomed is when I was alone or by myself. I chose to break free like a lion or a tiger who escaped and broke free from his cage. I chose the separation between myself and the crowd and so, I decided to go and find myself by walking around the streets of New York City.

The sun is later today. I looked up at the sky to watch the clouds moving overhead. and I can see the rain wants to let go and take a break for a while.
I can tell.
The sky has a different feel to me this morning. Maybe too many changes took place at once.
Or maybe everything is different now and the rain that came only served to wash away the remnants of my crazy yesterdays.

But dig it . . . 

It is strange to think that today marks 54 times that I have spun around the sun.
I have somehow managed to survive 54 trips.
54 birthdays.
54 times that I can say yes, I managed to pull off another year.
And yes, age is a funny thing.

Age is neither kind nor unfair and at the same time, age is one hell of a trip.
My body went from very small to bigger than what I expected. Also, my life has changed more times than people change sides with their political views.

I can understand the reason why people take a drink or a pill or look to find something that helps them sail beyond the concrete on the sidewalks of New York City.
I have been here for as long as I can remember. However, I have moved around from the Eastside, Westside, Uptown and as my life has turned, I am currently Downtown.
I work across the street from Ground Zero which is the spot where The Towers used to stand.

I am here at work more days than I am not here, which is how life goes when it comes to being an adult.
I look out from a big window on the 15th floor from my place of business and I look downward and see the memorial pools where the buildings used to stand.

And it all comes down to this. . .
There is only one truth and no amount of acting or pretending can change the truth

So then, what is true?
I suppose truth is often questioned because some people deny their truths and say “well, this is not true to me.”
But truth is truth.
Truth does not concern itself with us or how we think or feel about these things.
Truth is truth.
That is all.

I see no reason not to lie.
So, let’s be honest. I see no reason why anyone should deny their thoughts or their feelings.
Sometimes, you need to scream.

I see no reason why we don’t do this.
We should be able to scream if we need to scream.
We can shout when we need to shout.
And yes, I know.
I get it. I do
I understand this might not be a good look, so-to-speak.

The noises you hear in this place are not like anywhere else. I hate these rooms.
I hate hospitals or more, I cannot stand emergency rooms
I hate the tones from the nearby machines and the mumbling from the other patients.

I hate the dull groans from the sick and of course, I cannot stand the louder ones, or the cries in pain or the screams and the pleading for a nurse or a doctor to help come and help or take the pain away.
And the worst?
The worst are the quiet ones, the parents who sit helpless and scared, praying with all their might and whether they are faithless or not; everyone finds God when the life of their child is on the line. 

I have heard it said that you’ve grown when you start to find gratitude in the moments we are least grateful for.
I can appreciate that . . .
Maybe this is maturity. Or maybe this is what happens when we reach a better level of understanding.
Maybe this is what people call awareness. Or maybe the pain or the regrets found some kind of relief and subsided enough to let the resentments find peace.
Peace . . .
What a word this is.

Maybe this is the kind of growth that despite the storm and all the damages and the aftermath, something good came from something bad.

Understand something.
Everyone has their own science.
Everyone . . .

Everyone has their own way of seeing and understanding and processing information. We all learn in a way that makes sense to us and to some people, the easy things are difficult for others.
Everyone has their own pathology to which I say yes, I have mine too.
I have my own science.
I have my own chemistry which is flawed and perfect or perfectly flawed and yes, I have details and characteristics that make up my own unique and personal description.

I know. Or at least I believe that I know.

I know you have to find a way to somehow detach or unwind. And I get it.
I know what it means to need to get away or to want to break free.

And so, if I know this, then I also know what it means to be stuck in a maze or to get caught in some kind of a game with high stakes. You know?
Your life is on the line.
Your survival is on the line too and all you can do is either fold or bet into a losing hand

I have never seen much more than what I have seen. But then again, no one knows and no one sees everything, and least of all, no one ever sees life unlived and never viewed.
I suppose that I am allowed to be fair to my truths. And the truth is . . .
I want to see more.

I have never been tough. Never
At least, not really.
Then again, I do not define toughness or being tough the same as I used to.
No, this word has taken on a new meaning for me.

And you go and you try and you fight and you grind.
And you wake up. You eat. You work and you come home.
And we hope and we wish and we dream and we pray.
This is life.
God, grant me the serenity . . .

This is the life for all of us and yes, I agree that we are all growing and moving in different directions. We all have different backgrounds and histories and cultures that make us unlike anyone else.
We are all perfetly unique, which us a great thing to be.
But in the case of life; everyone has a path and a plan and a light and a way.
Everyone will experience heartaches and heartbreaks and death too.
Yes, because death is part of life.

Do you want to know what’s hard?
I have not seen my Father since the hour of his death in the month of December back in the year of 1989.
And yes, I understand that dying is part of living. I know this all too well.
But I was just a kid at the time.
I had yet to live or live enough to understand the terms of life or manhood or what it really means to be a man.
And who would show me now?

I had to pick this up as I went along. I was only a boy at the time. I had more scars than most adults and the above average of my scars were deep but equally invisible.
I was young and 17 with too many things to confuse me.

Labor Day Weekend –

The waves were quiet yesterday. The wind was nice and the sun was strong. Somehow, it seemed as though the beach at Point Lookout knew that the summer was officially over. Not that the beach has any sentiment or emotional attachment to the seasons. And it’s not like the beach cares whether we come or go.
No, I believe this is something for people who are of the flesh to be concerned with. Yet, I somehow feel a certain attachment to this place, the waves, the sands, the sunshine and the way sunlight glistens along the surface of the ocean.
I love this

I go back to that thought which my Mother tried to encourage that life is life and there is only one chance to make this life what we want it to be.
Mom used to try and push me with an attempt to make me think differently but of course, I was younger then.
I know.
I was older in different ways too, of course, and now that I am younger in many ways, more than ever, I realize that perhaps I was too young to see things the way I do now.
Hence, this is why they say maturity comes with time
And the same goes with awareness too.

I go back to a song from my youth and to a dance with my Mother, years ago, and to a song from Paul Anka simply known as “times of your life.”

And no one thinks.
No one flinches until they wake up one day and find how their impossibilities became possible.
Of course.

No one believes this happens to someone like them. “Not me!” and yet, we find that our impossibilities and became all too real.
I admit it –
The city has changed over the years.
The landscapes are not the same and the people are different as well. And still, I have the same old memories and the remnants of proof, such as the leaning junkies falling slightly and dangling near the clinic by 35th street. 

So much has changed.
But not the game.

I am north from where I would rather be and south of the sun, south of the clouds, and I am south of the moon, which was hidden last night, due to the clouds.
Something is coming my way.
I don’t know what this means or what it is, but I can feel this in my bones and down to my care.
Something is coming and so, I have to prepare myself.
Prepare.
Yes, prepare.

And when I say prepare, I do not mean this as if some kind of impending doom is on the way and nor do I say this in the fits of some kind of paranoid fear.
No.

No one ever told this was going to be easy.
Remember that.
No one ever said that all smiles are friendly and at the same time, not all threats are real or true.
Remember that one too.

I have been told that everything happens for a reason.
I have been told, “you’re in the right place, kid!”
I’ve been told, “Don’t quit before the miracle happens.”
And I have argued all the above.

I find myself looking for something that isn’t there.
Has this ever happened to you?

You know there’s something missing.
You know what it is and yet, you can’t give it a name or put your finger on it or say what it is.
You just know . . .
Something is missing.
Something’s just not there.

I am sending this to you in parts to open myself and share the process of what comes next. And so, here I am

Send me, I say….
What else do I have left to lose?

Part 1:

The waves are folding close to the shore this morning. The sun is mostly hidden by a drape of gray clouds with open patches that allow the sun to break through.
I can feel the warmth when the drapes peel back. But that’s fine.
I guess today is not a beach day for most.
I can dig it . . .
The beach is not vacant by any means. No, not at all.
However, I assume the usual clientele are elsewhere and doing something else, which, of course, brings no consequence to me.
No.
I much prefer this moment as it is.
The beach is my sanctuary and so, this is perfect. 

Charles Bukowski once wrote:
Find what you love and let it kill you.

I am still not sure how I see this or what this means to me. Then again, I am unsure if I want this or anything to kill me again.
Yes, I say again.
I say I don’t want anything to kill me again because we often die in pieces. Or more than anything else; we often die alive i more cases than we think and even more; we frequently mourn the loss of our own deaths more than we experience death in a literal sense.
I know this firsthand.
Then again, and getting back to what Bukowski said:
Find what you love and let it kill you.

True love is selfless. And, so, if love is selfless than me and my life needs to be dedicated to this.
Therefore, I need to be dedicated to my love, my spirit, and my hopes and I need to dedicate my dreams for a better lifetime in both this one and the next.

I have seen it. I have seen it all. Or at least, so I think I have.
I have seen everything.
I have seen the sun come out after the rain.

I have seen the sun go down and I have watched as the gray skies overtook the heavens. I have heard the calm before the storm and witnessed as they came in quickly and silently, as if to prove that something serious is about to happen.
The world is always taking place.
We know this.
I know that time cannot stop nor be rewound or interrupted.
Nothing stops the hands of time. Not life or death.
Not the blasts from a nuclear explosion.
Not the brakes on a car when the driver overestimated their safety.
Nothing stops.

inspired by an old friend from an old life

You have to pay attention to the task at hand. Get up, keep going, run into yourself at the front door and yes, there are times when it seems like the candle is burning at both ends.
And so, the burn out seems to be inevitable. 
The sober life is my only life.
Yet, I do not question this and nor do I function in the circles where criminals swerve to intercept the light and change what we see –
to suit their needs

Early morning. Rise and shine.
I wake up and wash my face.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and try to prepare myself for another day in this so-called life of mine.  

And looking up from the bottom always makes reaching for the top seem impossible..
At the bottom, the top look so high and so far from my reach.

I know . . .

So you say you want peace, is that right?
If so, then I have a question.
What does this mean?
I ask because maybe peace is not the same to me as it is to you.

What does peace look like?
What does peace feel like?

I am convinced of one thing.
The mind is the greatest obstacle. I know this. 
I know this because I have lost before I started and I have quit before I’ve tried.
I am not the only one who has lost this way.
Not at all, but at the moment, I am the only one here and you are the only one with me.
Or, so I hope.

I’ve lost to a belief system and old or outdated thinking errors that cause me to believe in failure or lead me to the disbelief that I can advance and surpass my own limitations. 

I took an early drive this morning to clear my head. Then again my head was heavy and my sinuses were not too kind to me. So, I was up early.
I was on the road but the rain came suddenly and fell so hard that the rainfall interrupted my attempt to make a conscious contact with God as I understand him.
Sure.
I pray.
Why not?
What’s the harm?
If anything, I see prayer as an action, or more, I see this as a method which helps my awareness because even if no one is out there and there is no God to care or listen, what’s the harm in voicing my needs and claiming my humility to gain a better life?

I admit it.
Yes.
My mind is always going. I am always rethinking, always calculating, always trying to decipher between safe and alert and tired and danger at the same time.
Ah, the benefits of overthinking.
This is exhausting, to say the least.
I am talking about my own overexcitability that keeps me going at a speed that y body cannot contend with.
No one is meant to run at full throttle all the time. And no one can keep up with a pace like this.
And even when I want to pause or stop or rest or do something, like, sleep through the night without waking up, the mind is always going off on tangents and worrying about the incoming missiles which are invisible and coming from from enemies that do not exist.

There is something to be said about catastrophic thinking and how these leads us astray.

This is to you folks.
This is to you, the moms, the dads, the married and to the divorced and all the in-between people in this world.
And this is to you too.
Absolutely, this is to you!
This is to the kids, the sons and daughters, adopted, step, and to the biological and the otherwise.
This is to the brothers and sisters or the people who are connected by the fabric of this thing which we call family.
This is also to you, the mismatched lovers who wish for more or wish they were elsewhere.
Find your way.
Make is so and above all else . . .
Do not waste another day!

I am famous for saying how today is just another day above the dirt.
And it is.
And that’s all this is for most of us. Today is just another day above the dirt.
This is always so for those of us who are alive and breathing and living to the best of our ability.
I have often told some of loved ones that today is a day closer to something. And I might not know what that “something” is and I might not get what I want.
But I know that I am a day closer to finding out.

In the meantime –

I think that before anything moves forward, you and I have to agree on a certain level of honesty.
Or, in this case, the one who needs to be honest here is me.
Besides, who else is here but us and as far as I can tell, you are as real as can be and at the same time, there really is no one else here but me.
If that makes sense.

Did I ever tell you how much I hated the scale?

Here it is, world. I am here.
Send me, I say to which I know. I say this out loud and to an empty room but to hell with it all!
At least I say this for myself. At least I say this here and now because if not now, then when?

Right?

I am told let the chips fall where they may is an old term that came from lumberjacks.
I did a little reasearch on this and for the record, I do not want to act like I knew about this beforehand.
I only knew about the saying because I heard someone say, “Let the chips fall where they may!”